Chapter 34 Andrea
Andrea
Mum: Well, I’m glad you’re having fun, darling.
Me: I am, thanks, Mum.
My heels slipped on the cobblestones as I searched for a quiet corner to sit so I could get some air, clear my head. The lake was still, the moon reflecting on its glassy dark surface, and I perched on a low wall, staring at my phone.
Mum: You can tell me all about it when you’re back.
But I could only tell her parts of it. As far as Mum knew, I was on a trip to France with friends—not pretending to be the girlfriend of my new boss.
I wanted to tell her everything, but my mind was reeling. I didn’t know what I was allowed to want and what I’d invented.
Every touch of Liam’s hands on my skin had sent shivers coursing through me. I couldn’t deny it—I wanted him more than I’d ever wanted anything. Did he feel the same? When he looked at me, it felt like he did.
But this wasn’t my world. I was only ever visiting.
Mum: When will you be back, darling? The printer’s broken, and Murray needs to print something.
Right, of course. Something for me to fix.
Me: A couple of days, Mum. I’ll text when I’m home.
I put the phone back in my bag.
Just a couple of days and I’d be back in reality. Mum, Eliza, the flat, the bills. Mr. Darcy. My job.
I kept turning Sebastian’s comments over in my mind.
“I said at the time it was naive. But only in the sense that it was raw and honest … I’ve always been curious which way you’d go … I’d be interested to hear what direction you’re heading in now.”
Was he really talking about me? All I’d heard at the time had been the word “naive”.
And I’d closed that part of my life up like slamming shut a drawer full of things I didn’t want to look at.
That had been … a necessity. For surviving.
I didn’t even talk about painting anymore. I hadn’t for years.
A knife twisted in my gut. Had I wasted something I should have protected? I’d told myself I was being sensible. Grown-up. But the truth was, I’d simply stopped before anyone else could tell me to.
Why had I been so eager to believe winning the Montclair had been some kind of fluke—that real artists would see through my work as childish and stupid?
If I hadn’t—if I’d kept going, instead of pretending it didn’t matter—
And now I had no choice. Eliza needed me to keep things together.
Everyone had dreams they’d quietly abandoned. Or at least, that was what I’d always told myself.
I stared at the expensive fabric of my dress. My perfect nails. The designer shoes that weren’t mine. I didn’t have the headspace for this right now.
Fuck it. I slammed the drawer shut again. I’d handle it. It’s what I did.
My phone pinged. This time, it was my sister.
Eliza: Have you shagged him again yet?
Trust her to approach it with subtlety.
Me: No. Shagging’s not part of the deal.
She knew that. It was even written into the contract.
The contract I’d signed before I’d had a clue what I was getting myself into. Fuck.
That afternoon with him at my flat still rolled around my mind. Every time he looked at me, touched me.
Was Miranda right? Was he different with me, could we be something more than this? But knowing what his actions were doing to Kelly, to Monish, to a third of our workforce—how could I ever look myself in the eye if I slept with him again, now?
And once this was over—once Liam had got what he needed from Hugo—how could I ever really fit into his life anyway?
Eliza: That’s a shame.
A pause.
Eliza: Rudy dropped by tho … looking for his bong. Apparently, it’s sentimental.
She sent me a beaming face emoji followed by the vomit one.
Me: Did you let him in?
Eliza: Are you kidding? He was also wondering why his amp was lying all smashed up in the front yard … I denied all knowledge.
Me: Fuck, sorry about that! I blocked him.
Eliza: Finally, she does something sensible.
Me: Which shagging Liam again would definitely not be.
Eliza: Of course. He’s too nice. Completely off brand for you.
My bloody sister.
The worst part was that a small, treacherous part of me knew she was right. He was nice, and that was the problem. Nice implied consistency and attention. The possibility of being seen for who you really were, for more than just brief stints.
How could I begin to explain all this to Eliza? I couldn’t even get my own head round it.
Me: It’s complicated.
Was he really sensitive, like Miranda said? But how could he be? He took apart businesses like they were Lego. Not the behavior of a sensitive man.
Eliza: It’s really not, Andy. You’re just making it feel that way.
God, she was so annoying.
Me: It is. At best, he’s still my boss.
Eliza: So what? You’ve already boned him. What’s one more?
Me: That was a mistake. Anyway, I signed an NDA.
Yes. The best sex of my life had been a mistake. A one-off. Never to be repeated. Because it happened under false pretenses, before I knew who he was. Before anything got real.
Eliza: The NDA didn’t say you couldn’t get it on. Just that you didn’t have to. Obviously.
She sent an eye roll.
Damn her.
Eliza: The guy’s clearly crazy about you, Andy. You don’t find that every day.
Crazy about me? Right. I was just ordinary old Andrea Jones. Not rich, not privileged, not connected. The human equivalent of a supermarket own-brand digestive biscuit.
And even if he was—it didn’t change anything. “It’s just business” wasn’t an excuse to trample on people’s lives. At least, it shouldn’t have been.
No matter what it was distracting him from.
Me: We’re too different.
That was the reality. I sold pharmaceuticals for a living, and he was a billionaire.
I was too old to fall for a fantasy. It wasn’t how life worked.
Eliza: Yeah, you’re probably right. You’re better off running maintenance on Rudy.
Me: Hilarious.
She did have a point, though. Liam was nothing like Rudy. You couldn’t even compare.
Eliza: Whatever, Andy. We accept the love we think we deserve.
Me: Are you quoting pop culture English teachers at me?
Eliza: Yes. Bill. Still true.
I stared at the phone.
I didn’t think I deserved nothing, but I just didn’t trust what wanting more could cost me.
The wedding vows from earlier surfaced again, irritatingly persistent.
The choice to stop carrying everything alone. To let ourselves be supported.
I thought of Liam catching my elbow on the walk, holding me in bed, in the rain.
I’ve got you.
No one had ever said that to me before. He made me feel … safe.
How had Miranda known that I was holding back? If he really was a good man, like she said, what was he hiding?
And if he wasn’t the man I’d decided he was, what did that say about the story I kept telling myself?
I inhaled deeply, the cool night air filling my lungs. Behind me, the area around the stables was coming to life. Music was starting up, the volume higher, carrying across the grounds.
I stood.
Well. There was only one way to find out.
*
The breeze from the lake lifted my hair as I walked back toward the party. Beyond the stables, the courtyard had transformed. A parquet floor had been laid over the cobbles, reflecting the light like water. Above it, thousands of tiny lights were strung low.
Where was Liam? I’d left him inside—maybe he was still there.
It felt less like a wedding now and more like a private festival—a world where everything was easy and smooth and all the cracks were filled with money. Where everyone belonged.
I squared my shoulders and stepped through the stable doors. I’d just ask him. It would be fine. He’d take my hand, we’d walk outside, and he’d explain. What had happened in the military. Why he’d invested in Novexia, what he needed Hugo for. How it was all connected.
Then I’d know, and it would all make sense. How he could be who he was and still a good man.
Oh, there he was—just inside the open doors on the other side of the riding hall, half turned toward the courtyard.
A woman stood close to him, chin raised to speak into his ear.
Her platinum-blond hair was pulled back tight, every perfect line of bone shining under the golden lighting, diamonds flashing at her neckline.
Her pale dress clung to every curve without wrinkling—the sort of woman who didn’t need a ring light and a filter to look Instagram-ready. Who the hell was she?
Across the room, I saw Dex glance at Ben and say something under his breath. They both looked like they knew exactly who she was.
I stood there, frozen.
Liam’s eyes were closed. She tipped onto her toes and moved her face toward his neck, her hand falling onto his arm. Her face was just under his jaw, lips grazing his skin.
Did she just … kiss him?
That didn’t look casual at all. That was intimate.
I couldn’t see Liam’s expression now, she was in the way, so I moved slightly to the left for a better view, just in time to see his head shift and her hand come to rest against his chest.
Liam didn’t move, and she stayed there, like she belonged. Like he wanted her there with him.
Of course. Exactly the type of woman who should be on his arm.
My head buzzed, my hands heavy against my sides. I turned and looked for a pathway between the other guests.
He hadn’t seen me—I was sure of it—but then again, maybe he wouldn’t care if he had.
Was that why Miranda and Hugo were so pleased to meet me? Why Liam’s friends had embraced me like it actually mattered?
Because he’d never got over someone else?
The right kind of woman.
The woman who fit.
Of course. It all made sense now. I was a filler.
No, worse, a Band-Aid.
Around long enough to help him heal, until he was ready to find an appropriate partner. One who belonged.
I slinked between the figures in the hall, barely hearing their laughter. On the other side of the gardens, they were serving cocktails, and I made my way over and pulled out a tall chair.
The bartender slid a peach-colored drink in front of me with something fashionable crusting the rim. I took a slug and looked out over the courtyard. My face felt slack, my insides quiet, like a room that had been emptied when no one was looking.
Dancers began to fill the floor, shouting and waving one another over.
Whatever I’d expected had been a mistake.
I took another sip of my drink, the warmth of the alcohol settling below my breastbone. It barely touched the edges.
Fuck this. Fuck the whole thing. Fuck the fake dating and the wedding and France. And fuck Liam, too. I’d made a total fool of myself.
I’d finish the drink and leave.
Someone pulled out a chair next to me.
“Careful,” he said, nodding at my glass. “Those go down easier than they should.”
I turned. It was Toby, the horrible man from yesterday. What did he want? To mock me, like he had Liam?
I took another sip.
He was already sitting by the time I looked away.