bit of time with them, once I was a teenager. I used to go down there most summers. It was nice to get away from my parents, from Hollywood.’ She lifts her shoulders. ‘It was Meemaw who gave me the idea for Chance. She used to say to me, “There’s a lot of bridges need building in this world—someone’s always gotta place the first stone.”’
I smile. ‘Meemaw sounds pretty smart.’
Imogen nods. ‘The smartest. And you? Do you have grandparents?’
‘No. My parents were in their forties when they had me. My father’s parents were both gone, and my mother’s only lived until I was maybe four or five. I never really knew them.’
‘Was it a second marriage?’
I frown, not following.
‘It seems kind of late in life to start a family?’
‘Right. Actually, on the contrary, they were married quite young.’ I reach over and brush some of her hair back, as if I can’t help myself. ‘They had fertility problems. A lot of miscarriages. A stillbirth. Then years of not being able to conceive. I think that’s got a lot to do with why they’re so damned keen for me to settle down and start a family of my own.’ I wiggle my brows to downplay my frustrations. I do understand why my parents feel the way they do but that doesn’t mean they don’t drive me crazy.
‘God, they must have doted on you,’ she murmurs, watching me from narrowed eyes.
It’s such an amusing observation that I laugh. ‘Not at all. I mean, yes, my mother often describes my birth as some kind of miracle, but they’re both by-products of their environment. They were glad to have me, grateful to have been able to produce an heir at last, but doting wasn’t really in their vocabulary. I went to boarding school when I was seven years old. I only saw my mother and father on holidays, and, even then, they were frequently abroad.’ I frown, because I don’t often think back on that time. ‘I liked school, though.’
Imogen’s eyes crease with the sympathy that comes so quickly to her. She puts the book down and crosses the room, her eyes huge in her delicate face.
‘You were too young to be sent away.’
I stare down at her, something moving in my gut. ‘Was I?’
‘Yes.’
I don’t say anything; she’s probably right.
‘Promise me something.’
I nod slowly. I know that I would promise her just about anything.
‘When you get married and have your little lords and ladies, don’t send them away.’
I wonder why that thought fills me with a strange sense of acidity.
‘I see it again and again in the kids I work with at Chance—all they really want is parents who are there, who love them.’
I imagine she’s right about that. It seems to me that children have a universal set of needs and yet a lot of parents probably fail to meet them.
‘Promise me,’ she insists.
And I nod, because Imogen is asking something of me and it’s within my power to give it to her. ‘I promise.’
She smiles, and it’s as though the world is catching fire. My lungs snatch air deep inside them. Everything is frozen still inside me. She’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever known, inside and out.
And in a matter of days I’ll leave her for ever.
December 21st, the Christmas Gala,
Billionaires’ Clubrooms, Manhattan
IT’S FINALLY TIME.
I stand in the middle of the ballroom and look around, taking it all in. The formalities are over, the auction concluded—we’ve raised twice what I’d hoped. The millions of dollars from ticket sales added to the auction revenue means I’ll be able to fast-track the shelter I’ve had designed in Phoenix.
A lump forms in my throat, pride in what I’ve done, hope for the future of children making me feel, understandably, a little emotional. But it’s more than that. It’s the knowledge that this is my last night with Nicholas. That come what may, at the end of this evening, it will be the end for us.
A month ago, that made sense, but now, it feels a thousand shades of wrong. Everything inside me rails against the idea. I don’t want tonight to be the last time I see him, but what other option is there? He has to go back to England. And if it were just a matter of work, maybe we could try a long-distance thing. I’ve been wanting to expand Chance to Europe—a London base would be a good start. Maybe I could get over my worries about what the membership will think if news breaks that I’m dating someone from within its ranks. Maybe I could make it work. But Nicholas is going home to find some aristocratic heiress and make a suitable match. There were a dozen reasons we gave our dating deal a time limit of one month, and none of those reasons has gone away.
Except I don’t want it to end.
‘Hey.’ His voice behind me is the cherry on top.
I try my hardest to school my face into a mask of professional inquiry, but the second I turn around and see Nicholas Rothsmore in a tuxedo, my pulse shoots into overdrive and I feel as though I’m being driven at high speed around a hairpin bend.
I don’t want this to end.
I want…what? What do I want?
‘Nic…’ I breathe his name into the room, needing nothing more than to crush my body to his and kiss him, hard, kiss him slow, kiss him all over.
‘Quite the shindig.’ His eyes probe mine and I have a feeling he’s fighting a similar urge to mine; that he wants to pull me to him and kiss me.
My eyes drift to his watch. It will be at least an hour before I can leave. Emily, my assistant, will take care of everything after that; she is amazing.
‘You having fun?’ I murmur.
‘I’ll have more fun if you dance with me.’
I shake my head a little. ‘I feel like that could be a giveaway.’
‘I’ve seen you dance with at least five guys tonight.’
My heart turns over in my chest. ‘Jealous, my lord?’ I’m teasing him, a light-hearted joke, but his eyes narrow and he nods.
‘Beyond belief.’
Blood fills my heart too fast; my chest hurts. What do I want from him? How can this night be the last one we spend together? ‘That’s work.’
‘So? I’m work too. I’m your new internship partner, remember?’
Remember? I’ve thought of very little else since our lawyers rushed through the paperwork so this year’s ballot of kids wouldn’t miss their selections.
‘You raise an excellent point.’ And temptation makes me foolish. ‘One dance.’
He holds his hands out, and I step into them, taking a position that would pass, if anyone cared to look carefully, as purely businesslike.
‘I have been watching you,’ he says slowly, the words brushing low against my ear, so no one else can hear. ‘And trying to work out if this dress has a zip hidden somewhere.’
‘Pre-emptive planning?’ I prompt, my eyes running over his face.
‘Yes. I intend to remove it from you just as soon as we get back to my apartment.’
My pulse races faster; my chest still hurts, as if it’s being cracked wide apart. I don’t want this to end.
Ever.