Undone By Her Ultra-Rich Boss
EPILOGUE
The South of France,
three months later
THELATE SEPTEMBERevening sunshine bathed the privately-owned chateau on the outskirts of Nice in warm golden sunshine. The air was heady with the scent of the lavender that was planted all around, and in the vast, lavishly appointed ballroom five hundred guests had dined on lobster and lamb before parting with millions in the wildly extravagant auction. Ten minutes ago, a band had taken to the stage and the dance floor was filling with men in tuxedos and women in silk.
Out on the terrace that overlooked the city and the sparkling azure Mediterranean beyond, Orla was wrapped in Duarte’s arms, eyes closed, smiling softly and swaying to the sultry beat that was drifting out through half a dozen pairs of French doors.
Champagne had been flowing for hours, but she hadn’t needed any of it. She was bubbling with happiness and overflowing with love enough as it was.
The last three months had been unbelievably brilliant. Four weeks after Duarte had made all her dreams come true that horrible then fabulous morning in her office, she’d packed up her flat and moved to Porto. She could do her job from anywhere and his apartment needed a cushion or two. When not travelling for work, they spent the weeks in the city and the weekends at the Casa do São Romão.
Today, at lunchtime, they’d flown to Nice for Isabelle Baudelaire’s charity ball and checked in to the finest hotel in the city, where they’d idled away most of the afternoon in bed before getting ready.
‘One evening of your time,’ she murmured against the warm skin of his neck. ‘Worth the sacrifice, do you think?’
‘Most definitely.’
‘Isabelle told me that because of you she sold double the number of tickets she’d expected to and increased the auction donations by half.’
‘I’m not sure that was anything to do with me,’ he said, the vibrations of his voice sending shivers rippling through her. ‘She rivals you for tenacity and skill.’
It was all to do with him, she thought dreamily. When he smiled, which he did frequently these days, he was irresistible. ‘I wonder who won the trip to the Arctic.’
‘I did.’
She leaned back and stared up at him in shock. ‘Heavens, why?’
‘For the icebergs.’
At the look in his eye, the expression on his face, she went very still and her breath caught. ‘What?’
‘The Arctic has icebergs,’ he said, then frowned. ‘But now I think about it, I seem to recall you saying you didn’t care much for style-over-substance grand gestures, so that might have been a bad idea. And in any case the trip’s in December, and I don’t think I can wait that long.’
Her heart thundered and the ground beneath her feet tilted. ‘Wait that long to do what?’
‘To give you this. I’ve been carrying it around for days. You should have it before it gets lost.’
‘This’ was a diamond the shape and size of an almond in a ring of platinum. It sparkled in the setting sun, and when he slid it onto the third finger of her left hand her vision blurred and her throat tightened.
‘I love you, Orla,’ he said, softly, tenderly. ‘More and more each day. Will you marry me?’
She swallowed back the lump in her throat and threw her arms round his neck. ‘Yes, of course I will,’ she said in between kisses. ‘I love you, too. So much.’
‘Sorry about the Arctic,’ he murmured when they finally broke for air.
‘Don’t be,’ she said, her heart swelling with joy and love. ‘It’s perfect.’
*****