Mr. Knightsbridge (The Mister 1) - Page 37

“I’m going,” I said through my giggle. “You’re ridiculous and Beck just replied. I need to pepper him with questions.”

“I hate to say I told you so, but I knew he’d reply,” Florence said. “I’ll be saying the same thing when you two end up hooking up in Scotland.”

“I’m hanging up,” I said.

Beck and I weren’t going to hook up. We were going to nail this fake boyfriend and girlfriend thing. Beck was going to get his Mayfair building, and I was going to get my life back.

Fourteen

Stella

“You think we’re ready?” I asked, unzipping my case in our hotel room. Between Beck’s meetings, the time difference, and my dragon of a boss, Beck and I had texted every day, spoken a handful of times, and even squeezed in a video call over the past ten days, but I was still nervous. I’d been trying to dampen down the rising panic all morning, but now that we were here, an hour away from beginning the celebration of a marriage of the two people who’d betrayed me, being here seemed ridiculous. Being here with Beck made it worse as if he emphasized that I was alone. I had no one. “I’d not considered the logistics of sharing a room. I need a drink.”

“The logistics?”

“You know. Two people. One bed.”

“I think it would raise suspicions if we had separate rooms,” he said.

He obviously thought I was too stupid to live. Of course I understood we had to share a room in the hotel, but I’d not mentally prepared myself. All my energy had gone to focusing on getting through the weekend. The day of the ceremony, my plan was to take a seat on one of the pews at the back, on the side away from the aisle so I could see and hear as little as possible. Then, rather than wait around for photographs, I’d disappear back to the hotel. But we had days to get through before that final obstacle.

And here we were at the first obstacle—I’d not given sharing a bedroom with a perfect stranger much thought, and as if my suitcase wanted to provide me with proof, I pulled out my pajamas. If Beck and I were really dating, my pink nightwear with daisies speckled all over them would not be the way to go. No doubt he was used to seeing women in something sheer, sexy, and impossible to sleep in. Well, tonight he’d get to see what women wore to bed when they weren’t sharing it with an attractive man. “I know,” I replied. “But, it’s weird. We hardly know each other.”

“That’s not even remotely true. I know more about you than anyone, barring my immediate family and my five closest friends.”

The more time I spent with Beck, the more questions kept popping into my head. “What about your mum’s middle name?” I asked.

“Bridget.”

“I should have probably met her.”

He chuckled, like he did most times when I began to sidestep into meltdown territory. He’d had to talk me down from a cliff at least three times since we’d made our pact. He was good at it. Knew what to say and which buttons to press. It was weird—I knew he was doing it to make sure he got what he wanted, but it always came across as if he had my best interests at heart. He was dangerous like that because he was just protecting what he wanted. I needed to remember that. He wasn’t just being nice. He had an agenda, however convincing he might be. Everything he did was pretend.

“You know we’re not really dating, right?” he asked. “And we’re only pretending that we’ve been dating for just less than three months.” He’d unpacked at lightning speed, zipped up his suitcase, and stowed it behind the door.

I sighed dramatically. “Beck, when you know, you know. Three months is a long time. It’s time we thought about taking things to the next level. We’re in love. It’s serious. What are we waiting for?”

He paused for a second. “Three months is a long time? Would you be expecting to talk to someone you’re dating about the future, about marriage, after three months?”

I thought about it for a second. I couldn’t remember when Matt and I had started talking about marriage and the future, even names for our kids, but we’d been so young when we’d met it hadn’t seemed imminent. Just something we’d do in the future. Except the future had never arrived. “I think it would depend on the relationship, but if it was the good kind, then sure. Why not?”

“Three months in I’m not even making dinner reservations a week in advance—I’m certainly not thinking about honeymoon destinations.”

“So, are you just waiting for the right girl to come in and bowl you over or are you refusing to settle down before a certain birthday or . . . What’s your deal?”

He scooted back on the be

d and watched as I continued to unpack, unzip, and tidy. “You think I’ve scheduled in getting serious with someone on the day after my thirty-fifth birthday?”

“Some men do.” Matt had been a planner. Whenever I’d mentioned marriage, he’d always tell me how he wanted to get to a certain point in his career or be living in a different house. There had always been some practical reason why it wasn’t the right time. Although seeing how quickly he’d married Karen had changed all those reasons into excuses. “You’re saying you’re not one of them. Have you had your heart broken—is that the issue?”

“There’s no issue and no history of a broken heart. I’m just happy doing what I’m doing. What about you? You’re looking to find a man who’s going to march you down the aisle within three months?”

“God, no, but if I was going to marry someone, I think I’d know within three months.”

I couldn’t imagine marrying anyone now. Matt and I had grown up together. There was nothing we didn’t know about each other. I’d never have that kind of intimacy with someone again, but that was what I was looking for—someone who knew me inside out and back to front and vice versa. I wasn’t into hiding, pretending—presenting my best side as Karen would say.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready to commit to anything but a particular cocktail from now on. It’s difficult to find someone you want to spend time with and want to share every thought in your head with and hear exactly what they’re thinking. Imagine if the last few weeks with us had been real—squeezing in phone calls, texts. It’s hard and it has to be worth it.” It hadn’t been difficult with Beck because I was hell-bent on not being humiliated. And he was easy to talk to and valiantly put up with my crazy questions.

Tags: Louise Bay The Mister Romance
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