Holiday with the Best Man

She realised that he was waiting for her to say something, but right now she was so overwhelmed that she couldn’t think straight, let alone string a proper sentence together. ‘Roland, I don’t know what to say.’

‘“Thank you, Roland, it’s nice to tick something off my bucket list” would do,’ he teased.

‘It is, and it’s fabulous, and I’m stunned because I never expected you to do anything like this, but—’

As if he guessed she was about to protest about the cost, he cut off her words by kissing her.

‘Grace, I wouldn’t have booked this if I couldn’t afford it,’ he said, ‘and I’m actually quite enjoying sweeping you off your feet. Do you have any idea how good it makes me feel, knowing that I’m able to make one of your dreams come true?’

It was something she knew she’d like to do for him, too. Except Roland hadn’t really shared his dreams with her, so she had no idea what she could do to make him feel this same surge of delight. She took a deep breath. ‘OK. Brattish protesting about the cost all swept to one side. This is really fantastic and I’m utterly thrilled. I can’t believe you’ve done something so amazing and lovely for me, but I’m really glad you have.’ And she meant that, from the bottom of her heart. ‘Thank you so much. This is the best treat ever.’

‘I’m glad you’re enjoying it.’ He took her hand. ‘Let me escort you to our seat, mademoiselle.’

Roland had said that there was a French branch of his family, and given that his surname sounded French she could entirely believe it; but this was the first time she’d ever heard him speak the language. Admittedly, it was only one word, but it was amazing how much sexier he sounded in French.

And then she made the mistake of telling him that.

He grinned and launched into a rapid stream of French.

She coughed. ‘My French is limited to schoolgirl stuff, and that’s pretty rusty. I understood maybe one word in ten out of that. Even if you said it all again at half the speed, I still wouldn’t understand much more.’

‘Maybe,’ he said, ‘I’ll show you later instead.’

And, oh, the pictures that put in her head. Heat rushed through her and her face felt as if it had turned a vivid shade of beetroot.

He simply gave her the most wicked and sultry smile.

Not only was Grace feeling swept off her feet, she was in severe danger of losing her head as well. And, even though she was loving every second of this, part of her felt way out of her depth. So she’d just have to remind herself that she was sensible and this was two weeks of sheer fun—he didn’t expect her to fit into this environment permanently.

When they got to their carriage, it was nothing like the trains she normally used outside London. There was plenty of space, and the plush, comfortable seats were placed opposite each other in pairs, with the small table in between covered by a white damask cloth.

‘I forgot to ask if you get travel sick,’ Roland said, suddenly looking horrified. ‘Sorry. Would you prefer to face the direction we’re travelling?’

‘I don’t get sick, exactly,’ she said, ‘but yes, please—if that’s OK with you?’

‘Of course it is.’

But the luxury didn’t stop at their seats. The waiter came to serve them their drinks—freshly squeezed orange juice for Roland, and a Bellini for Grace.

‘This is so decadent,’ Grace said with delight, giving herself up to the pleasure of being pampered.

Brunch was even nicer—fresh fruit salad, followed by crumpets with smoked salmon, caviar and scrambled eggs, then pastries and coffee. And everything was slow and unhurried, as if they had all the time in the world. So very different from the usual rush of a working life in London.

At Folkestone, they were met by a band serenading them, and then took the bus through the Eurotunnel to Calais. At the station, they were met by another band playing; and on the platform where the vintage blue and gold train was waiting, the staff were lined up in their smart blue uniforms and peaked hats. The restaurant staff were clad in white jackets with gold braid, black trousers and white gloves.

‘I feel like a princess,’ Grace whispered.

‘Good. That’s the idea.’ Roland squeezed her hand. ‘Now for the real thing,’ he said with a smile. ‘The Orient Express over mainland Europe.’

One of the uniformed staff took them to their cabin; it was cosy yet beautifully presented, and Grace had never seen anything so luxurious in her life.