Chapter 2 #3
The sooner he escaped himself, the better.
But he hadn’t even tried to get his head around the idea of still having Moira working for him by the time he got home a short time later, having paid for an unordered and uneaten dinner and tried to ignore the stares coming his way from every direction.
This might have been Moira’s first experience of The Grand but it was most definitely going to be his last.
He pulled the boarding passes out of his pocket to dump them into the bowl on the hall table along with his car keys.
The stunned mullet feeling was wearing off. Bewilderment, embarrassment and hurt feelings were evolving into something that was easier to deal with.
Anger.
He was angry with himself first and foremost. How had he got things so completely wrong? Why had he assumed that Moira was just as happy to be with him as he was with her?
Why did the world not feel like an exciting place because she was with him?
Okay. He knew the answer to that.
He was dull, wasn’t he? He played it safe, which was precisely why he was so good at his job and had accumulated not only an enviable reputation but a bank balance like a lottery win.
He hadn’t won when it came to successful relationships with women, mind you, but nobody had been honest enough to let him know why.
Until now.
He wasn’t exciting.
He wasn’t even interesting enough, which could only mean that he was boring.
So boring that it had only taken one date for the woman he was – almost – in love with to fall head over heels for someone else.
Someone exciting.
He wasn’t just angry with himself. He was angry with Moira.
He was even angry with Mathilde Pascoe, which was hardly fair because he’d never met her in person.
But she had, for a brief moment in time – possibly because of that enchanting French accent of hers – made him believe that romance was the most precious gift he could shower the woman he wanted to marry with and, more importantly, that it was the secret weapon for success in winning her as his wife.
His breath had been literally stolen when he’d listened to her explaining why it was worth paying for the most expensive table at a restaurant high in the mountains above Nice that would be the aftermath of the successful proposal.
He’d forgotten the name of the restaurant – something to do with a golden goat – but he would never forget listening to her soft voice over the phone, a tiny quiver of real emotion kissing her final words.
‘This says it all. It says “I want you to have the most breathtaking view because I want to give you the world. This is how much I love you”. And it says “I want you to know that you are the person I want to be with. Only you. Now – and forever”.’
Aye. Somehow, in the course of all the conversations they’d had in the last few weeks, and that one about the restaurant in particular, she had made him start to believe that, instead of the attributes he had to offer – like loyalty and protection and a lifelong commitment – romantic love was something that truly mattered in life.
Angus found a growling sound escaping from deep in his throat. He’d known all along how false that premise was. How could he have forgotten those endless lessons his father had taught him by example?
He’d demand a refund for the thousands of pounds he’d spent on the romantic holiday of a lifetime that was already the biggest failure of his life.
He’d take the bloody ring back to the jewellers and get a refund on that, as well.
He’d…
Angus’s head turned sharply as his peripheral vision caught the shape of his small weekender bag, already packed and stowed near the door.
His eyes narrowed.
No… he had a better idea.
Angus McLeod was going to prove to himself, the world in general and Moira Stirling in particular that she was mistaken – even if she never knew why.
He was going to do something that a boring man would never contemplate doing in a million years.
He would go to work as usual and act as if nothing untoward had happened. He would be as polite and pleasant to his secretary as he had always been. But, when his workday finished, he was going to take a taxi to Edinburgh Airport.
Alone.
And he was going to go on this bespoke, ultimately romantic exploration of the South of France.
Alone.
Minus the romance part, of course. That was taking things a totally unnecessary step too far.
A Promise in Provence had created the itinerary and laced it with all things romantic.
If Mademoiselle Pascoe wanted to earn her extravagant fees and a career-building review, she would just have to scrape the romance off, like icing from a cake.
And how hard could that be? It was no more than the same kind of contrived nonsense that was used to decorate a birthday or wedding cake, after all.
A flash of inspiration told Angus that there was a far more important point to doing this than proving he was not the boring person Moira considered him to be. This had the potential to provide reassurance that he hadn’t been wrong for his entire life.
That the only thing that really mattered had nothing at all to do with whatever frivolous decorations were piled on the top.
He was going to take back the cake – the naked cake – and damn well enjoy doing so.