Inherited by Ferranti

Considering her lack of experience, she didn’t even know if she could handle a fling. Would she be able to walk away after a couple of days, heart intact? The truth was, she had no idea.

Marco’s phone rang before they’d finished their meal and he excused himself to take the call. Sierra ate the rest of her burger and then tidied up, leaving the tray of dirty dishes by the lift. She wandered around the living area for a bit, staring out at the glittering cityscape, before jet lag finally overcame her and she headed upstairs to bed. Marco was still closeted in his own bedroom and so, with a sigh of disappointment, Sierra went into hers. Despite her restlessness, sleep claimed her almost instantly.

When she woke the sun was bathing the city in gold and she could hear Marco moving around across the hall.

The ribbon-cutting ceremony was that afternoon, and it occurred to Sierra as she showered and dressed that she really didn’t have the right clothes.

Back in London, her one smart day dress and second-hand ball gown had seemed sufficient but now that she’d been to the hotel, now that she cared about it—and Marco’s success—she realised she didn’t want to stand in front of the crowd looking dowdy or underdressed. She wanted to look her best, not just for Marco and the public but for herself.

She dressed in jeans and a simple summery top and headed downstairs in search of Marco. He was standing by the window, scrolling through messages on his phone and drinking coffee, but he looked up as she came down the stairs, a smile breaking across his face.

‘Good morning.’

‘Good morning.’ Suddenly Sierra felt shy. Marco looked amazing, freshly showered, his crisp blue shirt set off by a darker blue suit and silver tie. His hair was slightly damp, curling around his ears, and his smoothly shaven jaw looked eminently touchable. Kissable.

‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Yes, amazingly. But I wondered if there was time to go out this morning, before the opening.’

‘Go out? Where?’

‘Shopping.’ Sierra flushed. ‘I don’t think the clothes I brought are...well, nice enough, if I’m honest.’ She let out an uncertain laugh. ‘A second-hand ball gown from a charity shop doesn’t seem appropriate, now that I’m here.’

Surprise flashed across Marco’s face before it was replaced by composed determination. ‘Of course. I’ll arrange a car immediately.’

‘I can walk...’

‘Nonsense. It will be my great pleasure to buy clothes for you, Sierra.’ His gaze rested on her, his silvery-grey eyes seeming to burn right through her.

‘You don’t have to buy them, Marco—’

‘You would deny me such a pleasure?’ He slid his phone into his pocket and strode towards her. ‘The car will be waiting. You can have breakfast on the way.’

Within minutes Sierra was whisked from the penthouse suite to the limo waiting outside the hotel; a carafe of coffee, another of freshly squeezed orange juice and a basket of warm croissants were already set out for her.

‘Good grief.’ She shook her head, laughing, as Marco slid into the seat next to her. ‘This is kind of crazy, you know.’

‘Crazy? Why?’

‘The luxury. I’m not used to it.’

‘You should get used to it, then. This is the life you would have had, Sierra. The life you deserve.’

She paused, a croissant halfway to her mouth, and met his gaze. ‘The life I would have had? You mean if I’d married you?’ She spoke softly, hesitant to dredge up the past once again and yet needing to know. Did Marco wish things had been different? Did she?

‘If you’d married anyone,’ Marco said after a pause. ‘Someone of your father’s choosing, of your family’s station.’

‘You think I should have married someone of my father’s choosing?’

‘I think you should have married me.’

Her insides jolted so hard she felt as if she’d missed the last step in a staircase. ‘Even now?’ she whispered.

Marco glanced away. ‘Who can say what would have happened, how things would have been? The reality is you chose not to, and we’ve both become different people as a result.’

But people who could find their way back to each other. The words hovered on her lips but Sierra didn’t say them. What were they really talking about here? A fling, a relationship, or just what might have been? She didn’t know what she felt or wanted

‘Ah, here we are,’ Marco said, and Sierra turned to see the limo pull up to an exclusive-looking boutique on Fifth Avenue. She stuffed the rest of her croissant into her mouth as he jumped out of the limo. She swallowed quickly and then took his hand as he led her out of the car and into the boutique.