Chapter 19 #2
Chloe: Honestly? Since I moved to London, I’ve only met two women who looked like you. Total coincidence both times. Maybe I ran across one before, but it wasn’t until I met you that I realized how rare your look is. You stand out. Really.
Me: But still—couldn’t it just be chance?
Chloe: He lies about where he is, then finds himself a stand-in?
Me: An upgrade. She was way hotter than me…
Chloe: Oh, Kimmy… you’re ridiculous. And yes, I do think he did it on purpose.
You didn’t sleep with him because you passed out.
And now you’re around him every day. But you two have a contract, and you’re supposed to be looking after his niece.
He can’t start something with you. Why do you think I keep Tony at arm’s length?
Sharing both a bed AND a workplace is just a terrible idea.
Me: Yeah… it brings on chaos.
Chloe: Exactly. And he knows it. That’s why he went after a copy—because he couldn’t have the real thing. Or because he knows it’s a terrible idea to start something with you.
Me: Yeah…
Chloe: So: hands off!
She’s right. About everything.
But why am I tearing up again? Just the thought of him kissing another woman, touching her, being close to her—it drives me crazy. I can’t stop picturing that stunning woman who’s both like me and so much hotter than I’ll ever be.
I have to get him out of my head.
I just don’t know how.
Chloe and I keep texting until well past midnight. Sometimes she takes a while to answer—she’s busy at the bar—but she stays with me the whole time. In the end, she tells me I should get out there and meet people. There are plenty of hot guys who’d be dying for a chance with me.
Even if I don’t actually do anything with them, it would be a nice ego boost. And she’s right—my ego could use it.
It would feel good to get flirted with again.
Just like that first time Gabriel talked to me, when I felt like a princess.
I want that feeling again. And if it’s not coming from him… then it could come from someone else.
As much as the thought stings, it’s better this way.
I need to listen to my head, not my heart. My heart is what landed me in this mess—and it can’t keep going like this.
Thursday passes quietly. Late in the morning I have the driver take me to a hobby store so I can pick up the supplies we need to cast Rosie’s leaves in resin. She couldn’t stop talking about it all morning.
By early evening the three of us are in the garage, Rosie and I watching while Gabriel mixes the resin.
We keep our distance—it’s not completely safe while it’s liquid.
Then Gabriel carefully lays out the leaves the way Rosie wanted them.
The block, about the size of a thick book, will need a few days to harden. We’ll just have to be patient.
Friday we head to the airport. Thomas drops us at the entrance, where a friendly woman from the airport staff greets us.
She has our luggage checked in and escorts us to the business lounge.
The atmosphere is relaxed, and the food delicious.
Soft music is playing, and pleasant fragrances make the stay more than enjoyable.
“Is this your first time flight?” another airport worker asks, crouching down to Rosie’s height.
Rosie had wandered off while Gabriel was on his phone, and I was buried in my book. She was supposed to be drawing, but her curiosity got the better of her. Since she was quiet, it didn’t seem to bother anyone.
“Yeah,” Rosie answers the airport staff member.
“Are you really excited?” the woman asks kindly. They’re only a few steps away from us, but Gabriel and I keep an eye on the situation.
“A little,” Rosie murmurs shyly.
“But your parents are with you. If anything happens—if you feel scared or sick—you just tell them, okay?”
“Okay.”
The woman smiles, satisfied, and moves on to attend to other passengers.
Rosie comes back to us and resumes her drawing; her art supplies spread out on the table.
Gabriel and I exchange brief glances. Of course.
To outsiders, we could easily pass for her parents.
Nobody would guess he’s her uncle and I’m just his assistant.
Gabriel smiles, then returns to his phone, while I lean toward Rosie.
“We’ve got about thirty minutes, then we can board the plane.”
"Does everyone always get sick?" she asks me casually.
“No, that only happens to very few people. And you don’t have to be afraid. Your tummy will tickle a little when the plane speeds up, and then we’ll lift off and fly through the clouds.”
“Okay.” For her, the subject is already settled. Thank goodness—kids process things in such a completely different way than adults.
I lean back and glance at Gabriel. For a moment, I catch sight of his phone screen: a chat. But when he notices my curiosity, he quickly turns the screen away and asks, “Are you afraid of flying?” I’m immediately distracted. My attention snaps back to him, straight into those deep green eyes.
“Not really. I feel a little uneasy, I prefer staying on the ground. But afraid? No.”
“I see. I also prefer driving, but you get used to it after a while.”
Half an hour later, we’re boarding. The first-class seats aren’t just wider and more comfortable—they also offer so much more legroom, which I absolutely welcome.
It’s only a two-and-a-half-hour flight, practically a hop when you consider we’ll be crossing the Netherlands, Germany, and Switzerland. Rosie sits by the window, and can't get enough of looking at the world, which appears so tiny when you're up so high in the clouds.
“Do you think we’ll see some cloud ponies?” she asks excitedly.
Right—her children’s books have not only magical unicorns on land, but also in the sea and in the clouds.
“Hmm, let’s see. If we look really closely, I bet we’ll spot some,” I whisper dreamily, pulling her onto my lap so we can gaze out together.
I think I might have landed the best job in the world.
After landing, we head straight to the hotel.
While Rosie and I enjoy ourselves in the pool, Gabriel is tied up in a business meeting.
He doesn’t return until late at night. Since we booked a family suite, each of us has our own room, so I retreat—but I still hear him come in and listen attentively.
It’s a little after two in the morning and I couldn’t sleep anyway. Too many thoughts racing through my head. I set my book aside and slip into my robe, padding to the door.
Through the crack, I watch Gabriel drop his briefcase on the table before heading into his room. He looks tired and stressed.
Did the negotiations go well?
I notice another bag at the coat rack—probably samples of the olive oil.
Curiosity nudges me forward, and I creep through the living area toward his room. Just as I’m about to knock on the slightly open door, I see him through the gap.
He slips off his jacket, loosens his tie, then removes it altogether. Next, he unbuttons his shirt and shrugs it off, while I just stand there, staring.
His well-trained back muscles are a sight to behold, and his backside looks all too good in those dark blue pants. Then comes the belt, which he slides out of the loops in one quick motion. I swallow hard. When he undoes his pants, a rush of images floods my mind.
I want to knock, to let him know I’m there—but now I don’t dare do it. I’m rooted to the spot. And turned on.
My gaze clings to his perfect backside and narrow hips, the sharp lines of his hip bones making me grin despite myself.
Damn, he looks good. Too good not to stare.
I bite my lip, my eyes trailing up from his navel, past the defined muscles, his chest, broad shoulders, his throat, his chin, that arrogant smirk, and—
Wait. What?
“Can I help you?” Gabriel laughs, amused, as our eyes meet. My face burns hot, but I can’t move. “I can see you …”
“Oh. I, um … sorry, I was going to knock …” I stammer nervously—and finally do just that.
“Come in?” Gabriel smirks, buttoning his pants again. Only the small lamp on the nightstand is on, so while the living room is dark, his bedroom is pleasantly dim.
“I just wanted to ask how your meeting went today,” I say, nudging the door open a bit more so I can step inside.
“Good. Really good, actually. I like the new varieties, and I’ll be bringing some of them back to England.
A few more sample boxes for my clients to test will be shipped in the next few days.
It used to take two or three days, but now it’s closer to two weeks.
Customs has long delays at the moment with certain foods. ”
“Okay. But if you’re satisfied, then I’m happy for you,” I say, trying my best not to stare at his bare chest. Not easy—when all I want to do is press myself against him and kiss him.
“I’m very satisfied. The oils are better than I expected.
As soon as we’re back in London, I’ll cook for you and Rosie.
” Gabriel steps closer. I can feel his appraising eyes on me—of course he notices that under my robe I’m only wearing a pair of panties and an oversized sleep shirt. I feel naked, even though I’m not.
“That sounds tempting,” I whisper, then quickly correct myself: “I mean—delicious.” I must not picture him in the kitchen, completely naked. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment and force myself to focus. Stay calm. Be professional.
“I should hope so,” he replies, stepping even closer—so close I can smell his cologne. I swallow and turn my head slightly, needing a moment to gather my thoughts, to rein in the feelings bubbling up.
“Is there… anything else I can… do for you?”
Why those long pauses? What does he mean?
I look straight at him, right into his eyes, while he stands there, unmoving.
“No, I, um… I’m fine. I don’t need anything else.” I start backing away. “Tomorrow will be a beautiful day. Rosie’s so excited about the interactive museum. As a little artist, she wants to be just as famous as Leonardo da Vinci someday.”