Chapter 31 Andrea
Andrea
James: So, your sexy rich guy. Has he tried anything yet?
I really needed a coffee before I faced James’s interrogation. If anyone had been close to trying something, that had been me.
Me: Perfect gentleman.
James: Well, if he attempts anything dodgy, we’ve got that sexual harassment letter on file, remember?
I’d forgotten about that. Being stuck in the lift with Liam seemed like a lifetime ago.
Me: I think we can get rid of that now, don’t you?
James: Your wish is my command, oh Billionaire Whisperer.
I looked at the woman in the mirror, dresses hanging from the ornate wardrobe behind me. London seemed a very long way away, and that was starting to feel like a problem.
There was a knock on the door, and Liam’s head peeked into the bedroom.
“I’ve got breakfast here, if you care to join me on the balcony.”
Me: Sorry, GTG, I’ll text again soon.
James: Later, girlfriend. Remember not to chew with your mouth open. Or fuck any billionaires.
*
“I wondered what you wanted to do today.” Liam poured hot coffee into a wide porcelain bowl—apparently the French answer to a coffee cup. He placed the silver pot on the table, steam rising from its spout.
“I mean, we don’t have to do anything. But if you wanted to—” he added. “For … authenticity.” He passed me a jug of warm milk.
“Authenticity. Of course.” I smiled and pulled the thick white robe a little tighter. It was silent except for the birds chirping. A sparrow hopped onto the balustrade, eyeing the plate of pastries.
“We could take a trip into Chantilly,” he said. “Or join some of the others horse riding. Or a walk in the chateau grounds—we could visit the Great Stables. There are a few options. We could take a look through the guidebook.”
The whole day with Liam. I felt my pulse quicken.
I reached for a tiny apricot tartlet that looked like it had been lacquered. The sensible thing would be horse riding with the others. It would fit the plan, support the charade.
Everything else meant being alone with him.
“Let’s go into Chantilly,” I said. “I mean, if you’d like to?”
“I’d love that,” he said. “Leave in thirty minutes?”
*
“So a boulangerie is basically a bakery. They bake bread,” I said. We’d been walking through the market for around an hour now, his hand swinging so close I was tempted to slip mine into it, but I decided against it after what had happened this morning.
“Right.” Liam was nodding, amused.
“But a patisserie is more like, fancy pastries. Profiteroles, macarons, that sort of thing. Like art, but with sugar.”
“Well, as long as we can get some of this Chantilly cream, I think either works.”
Every few feet there was something worth touching or tasting. A woman in a floral apron sliced cheese with a wire and offered samples from the tip of a knife. Tables were crowded with fruit, honey, and lace, glass jars of jam lined up like jewels.
“How about this place?” I asked.
The café looked perfect. Inside it was small, maybe five tables, with pale yellow walls and hand-painted lettering on the windows. A display case ran the length of the counter, lined with glossy tartlets and éclairs.
“Hopefully no cats in this one,” he said.
“Cats?”
“I don’t think my balls could take death by tabby again.”
Oh my God. Lady Lucinda’s. I clapped a hand over my mouth. “Liam. I’m sorry about that.”
“You didn’t look very sorry at the time. You know, claws can do serious damage to equipment.” His tone was serious, but his eyes weren’t.
“Well, you handled it well. Must be all the military training.”
I could still remember the look on his face. Agony, poorly disguised as indifference. I felt a stab of regret for Liam’s testicles, but not enough that it could stop the laugh bubbling inside me.
“I really am sorry, Liam. Just, with the contract, and all the formality … I didn’t—”
“I know. I’m intimidating. Unless my bollocks are being used as a pin cushion.”
The laugh escaped and wouldn’t stop, and Liam started chuckling too. I looked down at my lap and waited for it to pass, although it seemed to have started leaking out of the corners of my eyes.
“Mmm,” I murmured. “Well. Shall we order some of this special cream? With strawberries or raspberries?”
“Let’s get one of each,” he suggested. “And maybe to start, one of those savory crepes and a toasted ham-and-cheese sandwich. It is lunchtime.”
“Very flash. I knew you being a billionaire would come in handy eventually.”
Liam stopped and looked at me, his eyes suddenly flat, like he wasn’t sure I was teasing.
“Sorry,” I said with a grin. “Actually, it’s my turn. I think I can spring for lunch.”
He exhaled. “You know, it does come in pretty handy, I’ll be honest. But even if I was skint, I wouldn’t let you pay for the date.”
Date?
“This isn’t a date, Liam.” Even if it felt exactly like one.
“Right, of course not. Well. Shall I order?”
“Please. I’ll just nip to the toilet though.”
“Loo, Andrea, don’t forget your manners.”
“Right, sorry, the loo.” We both cracked up.
I headed to the back of the café. I needed a breather. We weren’t on a date, and we both knew that. It was just a slip of the tongue. It was fine.
When I got back, Liam was pointing at the menu and talking to the waiter. He rattled off a stream of French I couldn’t follow, then turned to me. “They don’t have any of the buckwheat crepes, but I thought you might prefer the other sort with ham, mushrooms, and cream. Is that okay?”
I nodded, and Liam turned back to him and continued. The waiter laughed lightly, said something else in French, and left.
I slid into my seat.
“Thanks for ordering,” I said. “I’m starving.”
“Me too. The ones we’re getting are better actually—ficelle picarde. They’re a local specialty.” He poured mineral water into my glass.
The way he said it, it sounded like he’d had them before.
Hang on. He’d just ordered lunch.
And that wasn’t clunky schoolboy French. He sounded completely fluent. His accent was flawless.
“Liam. You speak French.”
And I’d just patiently explained to him the difference between a boulangerie and a patisserie.
“Ah.” He looked at me, slightly guilty. “A little. School, then officer training at Cranwell, and I spent a fair bit of time in France with Nick and Juliette during the holidays. So it just kind of …”
“You’re fluent.”
“Well, you speak it too, right?” He raised a brow.
“Yeah.” I swallowed.
Oh my God. Of course he spoke French. Of course he could stroll into a foreign country and belong there. The man probably ordered croissants in the correct regional accent.
Wait—oh, shit. The reception when we checked in—
Why didn’t he say anything? But he couldn’t because I didn’t give him a chance. I’d totally done it to myself.
I breathed in deeply, a wave of embarrassment threatening to engulf me. I’d literally said I wanted to insert Mr. Roth into me, bold as brass, and he’d just stood there silently, pretending it wasn’t happening.
A bit like the cat-on-the-testicles thing.
Bloody upper-class etiquette.
“But … at the hotel …”
Liam looked down at his napkin. “I must say, I appreciated the offer, but a more private venue might have been better.” His eyes slid to mine, his mouth curving into a lopsided smile.
“Liam, how could you let me do that?” I groaned and dropped my head to the table.
He went quiet. When I looked up, the smirk had softened, the line of his mouth almost apologetic.
“It was pretty funny,” he said. “You handled it well, though. Must be all the sales training.”
“Humph. Touché,” I said, in my best French.
“Still got it, Madame Jones.”
“Merci, Monsieur Roth.”
*
The path wound down from the chateau and into the gardens. We’d decided to take a stroll after lunch, since we still had a couple of hours before we had to start getting ready for the wedding.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I asked. “The trees, the way the sun sort of … sneaks through the leaves onto the path.”
“It is, yes. Seems more so, now that I’m here with you.” He looked down, and we kept walking, ignoring the fact that he’d just paid me a compliment.
“Thank you,” I said quietly after a few moments. I wasn’t sure what else to do with it.
“You know,” he said, “I’ve been here before, more than once, but it feels different now.”
We stopped at the edge of the lake.
“Like how?”
“Hard to say.” He huffed softly and shook his head, like he found himself funny. “Everything looks brighter. Like I can see it more clearly.”
I nodded. I did know what he meant.
“So do you think we’re ready,” I said, “for tonight?”
“I think so, don’t you? We probably look quite … convincing.”
Ahead of us, another couple was walking our way. Was it anyone we knew? I glanced at his face as he registered them too, then I slipped my hand into his.
“Better safe than sorry,” I said.
“I can get behind that.” He looked down at me with a smile.
Somewhere nearby, bees were working their way through a patch of lavender.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” I said. “About Bonnie and you. The way she’s been with me, I don’t understand it. I mean, I know she had this issue with serviettes and whatever”—I laughed. It just seemed amusing now—“but is there something more?”
I really had the sense she didn’t like me, like it was personal.
“Ah, right, fair enough.” He held my hand a little tighter. “Bonnie’s always looked out for me, since we were kids. But when I left the RAF, she saw me struggling with some … stuff. She still worries about me. Sorry you got the brunt of that.”
My mind flashed to the scars on his body. The box in his room.
“I’m sorry, Liam. It sounds … a bit much.”
“Oh, I’m used to it. She worries about everything. She’s also convinced I’m a target for certain types of people because I’m—” He cleared his throat.
“Rich?”
“Yeah. Something like that.” He laughed, but it didn’t quite land. “I’ve had the odd … issue in my dating life, too. It’s difficult to know sometimes, if someone’s with you because—”