“To a great trip,” Konstantin toasts tilting his glass up to me.
Sunlight slants in through the window and falls on his eyes, making the green appear like translucent glass and the flecks trapped inside them like bits of gold. I take a deep breath. Something about him affects me like no other man ever has.
“To a great trip,” I echo softly, and take a sip of the chilled bubbles. They explode on my tongue and fizz down my throat. I have to be careful or I will get very drunk very quickly and make a fool of myself. I am in a strange environment with a man I am deeply attracted to, but cannot fathom. I put the glass back on the table.
“Have you been to London before?” he asks leaning back, looking as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.
“No. I’ve never left the States.”
He smiles. “Then you will love London.”
“Yes, I know I will. I spent all night learning about it.”
“Any place you want to visit?”
“I have a whole list, but I do realize one weekend won’t be enough so I’m prepared to cut my whole list down to just the Dungeon at the Tower of London and a trip around London on one of those open-top red busses.”
“Don’t you want to shop?”
“Er… no.”
He frowns, his eyes full of curiosity. “Why not?”
I shift uncomfortably. “I kinda already have everything I want.”
He stares at me as if I have suddenly grown a horn or never met a woman who has told him she already has everything she wants.
“What do you mean?”
I decide to be brutally honest. Especially, since I intend to ask him for a loan. “To be perfectly honest, I am saving up for something important to me so I’ll skip the shopping trip, thanks.”
His eyes never leave me. “I’m going to pay for your shopping trip.”
“Oh!” I exclaim in surprise. I never expected that of him, but I won’t take up his offer since I would much rather have the loan instead. “Uh, that’s very, very kind of you. Thank you, Konstantin, but there won’t be enough time anyway.”
His eyelids come down over his eyes as if he is deliberately veiling them so I can’t tell what he is thinking. Then he raises them again. “I will arrange for you to shop with one of my assistants. She will take you to Knightsbridge and Bond Street for a few hours tomorrow afternoon.”
“It’s not necessary—” I begin to say, but he cuts me off.
A glimmer of mischief comes into his eyes. “You only say that because you’ve never been to London. It is absolutely necessary to shop when you are there.”
It would break my heart to spend money on shopping when I can put it aside for Maddy instead, but I realize it would be churlish to keep arguing. I will make him understand later so I smile graciously and say, “All right. I will look forward to it. Thank you. It is very kind of you.”
“It will be my pleasure,” he murmurs.
I take a sip of champagne. “Will we go directly to your house?”
“We’ll spend tonight at the Claridges, and leave for my house in the country in Berkshire tomorrow afternoon after you’re done with your shopping and sightseeing.”
“Is that where your horses are stabled?”
“Yes.”
I look out of the window. The sky is blue and full of fluffy clouds. I feel as if I am in a dream. A couple of hours ago, I was sitting in our tiny apartment eating cereal with Maddy while my mother got ready to go to her dead-end job where she works her fingers to the bone for slave wages. And now here I am drinking champagne on a private plane on my way to London! I turn to look at Konstantin. He seems as relaxed as a cat in a spot of sunshine as he sits there watching me.
His life seems impossibly glamorous. He flies to London for the weekend, pays for women to shop in Knightsbridge and Bond Street, stays in expensive hotels even though he owns a mansion in Ascot, which is less than an hour away. I know because I researched him and his home online.
The air-hostess comes back, her pretty face lit up with a broad smile and carrying a tray artistically arranged with brightly colored morsels of food. The food looks fresh and appetizing, nothing like the overcooked, limp fare in a compartmentalized plastic tray I was given the other time I was on a plane. Square plates are placed in front of us. Together with real silver cutlery and crisp linen napkins.
Our glasses are refilled, then the girls withdraw.
“Go for it,” Konstantin offers.
I choose a glistening cherry tomato tartlet and slip it into my mouth. The pastry is buttery and the filling is deliciously sweet-sour.