Chapter 11
Kimberley
The driver drops me off in front of a magnificent mansion on the edge of London. It’s modern and tucked into a quiet neighborhood — the kind London hasn’t really had for years. We’re on Bishops Avenue, the so-called Billionaires’ Row. Only people with serious money live here. Security is no joke.
On the way in, the limo got checked twice — since I was in the car, instead of Gabriel.
I swallow hard as I step out, still not quite believing I’m supposed to live here now.
Well, at least if this trial week works out.
I haven’t decided yet. I haven’t even set foot inside the house. I don’t know a single thing yet…
Thomas carries my luggage to the big white double doors. Cameras track every step we take, while motion-sensor lights brighten the path.
I glance around nervously, ring the bell, and look at Thomas. He nods goodbye and heads back to the limo. He doesn’t leave, though — probably waiting until Gabriel answers the door.
Through the tall modern windows, I can see the lights on, though the frosted glass hides the hallway itself. A moment later, Gabriel opens the door. His warm smile makes a weight lift off my shoulders. He’s actually welcoming me — no tricks this time. At least I’m spared that embarrassment.
"Hey, glad you came," he greets me warmly. A delicious aroma drifts out. The whole mansion smells of wood, honey, and fresh flowers. And food. Right, he did say on the phone he was cooking.
"Thanks for the invitation," I say, motioning toward my luggage. "Just a few things for the week. I’m sure I’ll manage."
I’m nervous. So nervous. Because the moment I’m standing in front of him, I remember the limo. Gabriel’s kisses had left a pleasant warmth, and the feel of his strong hands exploring me did the rest. I’d better push that evening out of my mind if I want to keep things professional.
"I figured you’d bring maybe a tote bag," he jokes, stepping aside. "I’ll carry your luggage." He picks it up, and I step inside, looking around curiously.
What an enormous house…
It’s bright and welcoming, with white walls and a massive white staircase. Gold accents trim the wall mirror, the side table, and framed artwork. The floor is white stone with gray and black marbling. Fresh flowers sit here and there, alongside carefully selected large plants with huge leaves.
Are we really in London? It feels more like heaven.
I swallow and say, "It’s mid-September. Fall’s coming. I wanted to be ready for everything."
"I’ll talk to the bank tomorrow and have them make you a shopping card."
My ears perk up as Gabriel carries my bags toward the stairs.
"A what now?" I ask, grabbing my gym bag and following.
"A credit card. For shopping. Clothes, hair salon, even a new handbag if you want one."
"Don’t tempt me. I’d rather save my money." Cards just drag you into trouble. You lose track and don’t even notice how much you’ve spent.
"This is on top of your salary. Nothing comes out of your pay."
"That’s what’s hard to believe, Gabriel. After that nasty stunt you pulled the day of the interview, how do I know you’re not just messing with me again, or—"
"Why would I?" At the top of the stairs, he sets down the suitcases and looks at me, puzzled. "That was a spur-of-the-moment thing because I wanted to tease you. It wasn’t fair, making you wait so long. All that stress literally knocked you off your feet. And I’m still really sorry about that, Kim. "
His apology is so sincere, it actually surprises me. I didn’t expect that. I swallow again and give a small nod.
"I wasn’t completely fair to you either," I admit.
“Because you just fell asleep when we were actually supposed to sleep together?” Gabriel laughs softly as he walks down the long hallway to a white door, where he sets the suitcases down again. I trail after him, barely able to take in more of the house — everything is so spacious and impressive.
I’m a little overwhelmed by all this luxury.
“Thanks for reminding me of that embarrassment.” I’d actually tried to block that out, but he’s grinning again so mischievously and sweetly that I can’t help smiling back.
“It was actually pretty cute,” he says as he opens the bedroom door for me.
He found it cute?
His comment distracts me for a second, and it takes me a moment to realize just how stunning my room is.
“Here we are. This is your space now. For the trial week, anyway. And longer if you decide to stay.”
I want to look unimpressed, keep my composure, but I can’t stop myself from standing there with my mouth open, trying to process the fact that I really get to stay here.
“You don’t have a bigger room for me?” I mutter with mock irony. This room is at least three times the size of my entire apartment. I take a deep breath, unsure where to look first.
“There are other rooms that…” he starts, watching me.
“That was a joke,” I cut him off.
Everything is so bright and welcoming — white with beige accents, a touch of gold here and there.
White pampas grass, ferns, and dried flowers stand in vases.
A massive chandelier with ornate molding hangs from the ceiling.
Two large windows open onto a small Victorian-style balcony overflowing with colorful flowers.
I take a deep breath and give him a pointed look.
“You really want me to work for you, huh?”
I’m still skeptical. This is all just too good to be true.
“Rosie means the world to me. I’d do anything for that little girl — even pay someone extremely well, someone she instantly bonded with, just to improve my chances of being allowed to adopt her.”
“When will she be here?” I ask, eyeing the built-in closet and display cabinets along the wall, which hold minimalist stone sculptures.
The huge four-poster bed just begs you to dream. You could easily sink into the pile of pillows. A massive TV dominates the wall, and across from it are a couch, an armchair, and a table. A little slice of paradise…
I open the closet and my eyes go wide. “It’s a walk-in?” I can’t believe it. There are rows of empty shelves and space for handbags, shoes, jewelry, and clothes. “Damn!” I glance back at Gabriel, who’s smirking.
He comes closer and says, “The bigger room sadly doesn’t have a walk-in closet. I figured you’d prefer this one.”
“Good call…” I swallow and glance at my small suitcases. They won’t even fill ten percent of this space.
“I’m assuming Catherine will bring Rosie over in a day or two. She’s been in full-on party mode for weeks, and Rosie just gets in her way. That works in my favor, of course, since it gives me more evidence against her.”
“Evidence?”
“Yes. I hired an agency to monitor her. But it’s tricky.
It’s not enough that she parties. A young mother is allowed to do that.
Alcohol’s legal. Drugs, though, aren’t — and she prefers alcohol over drugs.
That makes it harder to paint her as irresponsible.
After all, she brings her daughter to me to look after her. That’s responsible.”
“I get it.”
This won’t be easy.
“You must be hungry. I cooked for both of us.”
“Yes. Honestly, I am.” I leave my luggage where it is and follow him back into the hallway.
“My bedroom’s on the other side. Rosie’s room is right in front. Each bedroom has its own bathroom; yours is just across here.” Just one room over. “You can get to your bathroom through your bedroom door or from the hallway.”
“What about cleaning staff? It’s spotless here…”
“I’ve got Handy. They come when I’m working or traveling. You can book them at short notice. Super convenient. You won’t have to lift a finger for cleaning.”
Why am I still hesitating? I should just say yes already.
“Was there ever anyone else you considered?”
“No.” The answer comes instantly.
We walk back toward the stairs together. “I hadn’t planned on seeing you again after driving you home. But when you brought Rosie over and took such loving care of her, I knew you were the right one.”
“There are plenty of women who are good with kids,” I say as we head downstairs.
"Yes, that’s true. But you did it of your own free will. Not to win her or me over. I even think you wanted to annoy me a little at first."
"Maybe," I admit sheepishly—but then I grin, and he laughs.
"Let’s just give it a try. Maybe it’ll work out."
"Yeah. Maybe it really will."
That would be wonderful.
We reach the kitchen. The ground floor boasts impressively high ceilings. The kitchen is worthy of the head of EDL: a large cooking island, rows of cookbooks, fresh herbs, and spices. Everything is spotless and perfectly organized.
Unlike the entrance area and the upper floor including my room—the kitchen is mostly black with metallic accents.
"These smells absolutely incredible," I gush.
"May I serve you the appetizer?"
"Absolutely."
When do you get the chance to be personally cooked for by Mr. Kensington? I’m a little anxious, but I try to hide my nerves.
"Would you like to sit here in the kitchen or in the dining room?"
Of course he has a dining room.
"The kitchen is perfect," I answer, taking a seat at the table.
Gabriel nods with a smile and moves to the counter where pots and pans are arranged on the stove.
I watch him curiously, impressed. He moves with such elegance that it fascinates me—every motion precise, his focus absolute.
The smile that occasionally flickers across his lips makes it clear: he loves being in the kitchen.
"I read that you trained as a chef and pastry chef. Was that your parents’ idea?" I ask. A little casual small talk is probably a good idea now. "Or was it something you wanted from the start?"