Hired Girlfriend, Pregnant Fiancée?

Pausing in the pharmacy aisle, she picked out a pregnancy-testing kit.

* * *

Zander stood outside the Roman Baths, one of the city’s most enduring historical spots, where Gemma and Alessio’s wedding ceremony and reception were to take place, and reminded himself that today was a happy day. A day when his sister would wed his best friend.

But it was also the day that marked the end of his fling with Gabby. They’d decided to enjoy it and then stay at her place for their final night together.

Although... A stray thought entered his head—a thought that kept wriggling its insidious way past logic and common sense. Did it have to end today? Yes, the job had ended...but could they extend the fling? Prolong their time together for real?

Bad idea.

Gabby wanted love, marriage, Mr Right, a family—and God knew she deserved that chance. He couldn’t offer her any of that.

The limousine pulled up and he stepped forward to open the door. Gabby climbed out—literally stopping him in his tracks.

‘Wow. Wow. Just...wow.’ The dress—a miasma of silver and white, a tapestry of lines that accentuated her slender shape—fell to the pavement in a swirl of elegance. Her chestnut hair was swept up in what he suspected was a deceptively simple chignon, her hazel eyes enormous in a delicately made-up face. ‘And wow again.’

Her generous lips, enhanced by a deep red-brown colour, turned up in a smile. ‘Right back at you,’ she said. ‘James Bond, eat your heart out.’

Her tone was light, but he frowned, suddenly sure that something was off. Was she a little pale? ‘Are you nervous?’

Another smile, and yet it didn’t reach her eyes, and it was accompanied by a small, almost hard laugh.

‘Nope. The attention will be on Gemma and Alessio. Plus half the guest list are super famous, so I’ll be able to fly under the radar.’

He studied her expression, saw that the words were sincere, but sensed that the idea of a celebrity bash wasn’t the issue here. Which was odd in itself. What was bothering her? The fact that this day marked the end of their interlude? Did Gabby want to prolong their time together, too? If so, was that good or bad?

The questions tumbled around his brain.

‘We’d better go in,’ she said. ‘You’ve got your best-man duties to attend to. I’ll be fine with your family.’ As they entered, she looked around. ‘This is beautiful.’

Now he knew something was wrong—because this was way more than ‘beautiful’. The Roman Baths were exquisite, magical with ambience, the stone walls and arches imbued with history. Guests milled around the edges of the deep blue rectangle of water that twinkled in the torchlight that cast a golden mist on the ancient surroundings. Yet Gabby’s words sounded mechanical, flat—utterly unlike her usual self. And where were the facts, the research, the historical information?

But before he could respond, his family surged forward and the moment was lost. He and Gabby hugged everyone, and then he needed to go and help usher in guests with Alessio, who radiated happiness and joy.

‘This beats anything! It’s better than racing, better than winning, better than being on the podium spraying champagne.’

‘I’m glad for you—but you make damn sure you look after my sister, OK?’

‘I will.’ Alessio’s tone was überserious now. ‘I mean it, Zander. I promise. I’ll be there for Gemma for the rest of our lives.’

The words twisted something in him, reminding him that once he’d believed that and been wrong. He hadn’t been able to sustain love, hadn’t been strong enough to figure out a way forward.

Then music struck up. The orchestra’s notes hung in the air with a haunting beauty as Gemma walked forward on Frank Grosvenor’s arm and all the guests fell silent. As he listened to Alessio and Gemma enunciate their vows, Zander hoped with all his heart that it would work out, that they could achieve what he hadn’t been able to.

Once they had been declared husband and wife, and with the help of the ushers, Zander encouraged the guests up to the terrace, where waiters circled with drinks prior to the sit-down meal to be held in the Georgian grandeur of the Pump Room.

Then he moved across to where Gabby stood in the shadows, a glass of orange juice in her hand, staring into space.

‘Hey. Are you OK?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘Well, you don’t look it.’ A slight sheen of moisture beaded her brow, and her skin seemed to have taken on a greenish tinge. ‘You look like you need to sit down.’

‘I said I’m fine.’

But she swayed, and he reached out to steady her, taking the glass from her hand and stepping forward to shield her from prying eyes. ‘Are you going to be sick?’