could be a lot worse. Most people know the press exaggerate, so don’t worry about it. Just wait for people to start contacting you with commissions—and then you’ll be so busy you won’t have time to worry about it anymore.’
It was another week until the magazine was in the shops. Although Dylan had told her not to worry about it, Emmy still couldn’t help fretting. If anyone who knew him read the piece, they’d get completely the wrong idea.
The day before the magazine came out Dylan distracted her when he called her from work.
‘Don’t tell me—an emergency project meeting and you’re going to be late?’ she asked.
‘No—and I’m bringing champagne home. I got some good news this afternoon.’
‘You got the Burroughs contract?’
‘I certainly did.’
‘Fantastic.’ Emmy was genuinely pleased for him. ‘Well done.’
‘It was partly thanks to you,’ Dylan pointed out.
‘No, it’s because he recognises your skill. Actually, I have some news for you. Elaine Burroughs rang. She’s bringing her daughter over to see me next week.’
‘For a commission? That’s great. Well done. Got to go but I’ll see you later. Oh—and please don’t cook monkfish.’
She just laughed. ‘For that, I’m ordering a takeaway. See you later.’ She replaced the phone and cuddled Tyler. ‘You know what? This is all starting to work out. It’s not quite how Dylan and I wanted things—we’d both do anything to have your mum and dad back with us. But, as second-best goes, this is pretty good.’
Over champagne, that evening, Dylan said, ‘I want to take you out to dinner to say thanks—being here with us really made a difference to Ted’s decision to give us the project. Do you think your mum would babysit Ty for us?’
‘Probably. I’ll ask her,’ Emmy said.
‘Do you mind if I ask her?’ Dylan asked.
She smiled. ‘You know her number.’ Dylan might not be that close to his own mother, she thought, but he definitely got on well with hers.
The following evening was Dylan’s turn to cook. Over pasta, he told her, ‘I spoke to your mum this morning. It’s all arranged; we’re going tomorrow.’
‘Going where?’ she asked.
‘Out to lunch,’ he said. ‘Except we need to leave really early tomorrow morning, and you’ll need your passport.’
She frowned. ‘Why do I need my passport?’
‘Don’t be difficult,’ he said. ‘I was going to take you out to dinner, but I thought lunch might be more fun.’
‘Lunch is fine, but what does that have to do with my passport?’
‘Surprise.’
She sighed. ‘You do know I hate surprises, don’t you?’
‘I think you’ll like this one.’ Annoyingly, he refused to be drawn on any further details.
‘Are you at least going to tell me the dress code?’ she asked in exasperation.
He thought about it for a moment. ‘Smart casual—probably a little bit more on the smart side. You definitely need shoes you can walk in.’
‘So we’re walking somewhere?’
‘End of information bulletin. No more answers,’ he said, and gave her the most infuriating grin. Worse still, he refused to be drawn for the rest of the evening.
‘I swear I’m never playing poker with you,’ she said. ‘You’re inscrutable.’
He just laughed. ‘I’ve been called worse.’
The next morning, Dylan knocked on Emmy’s bedroom door at what felt like just before the crack of dawn. ‘We’re leaving in half an hour.’
Which gave her just enough time to shower, wash her hair, dress, and check in on Tyler. Her mother was already in the kitchen when Emmy came downstairs, and the kettle was on. ‘Hi, Mum. Thanks for babysitting. Tyler’s still asleep, given it’s the crack of dawn.’ She greeted her mother with a hug and kiss. ‘Coffee and toast?’
‘We don’t have time,’ Dylan said.
She gave him a sceptical look. ‘You know I’m horrible if I haven’t eaten. And why do we have to leave so early if we’re going out to lunch, which won’t be for hours?’
He answered her question with one of his own. ‘You’ve definitely got your passport in your bag?’
She gave him a withering look. ‘I’m not that flaky, Dylan.’
‘Sorry. Old habits die hard.’ He ruffled her hair. ‘Let’s go. We have a train to catch.’
So wherever they were going, it was by Tube. She still had no idea why he wanted her to bring her passport; though, knowing Dylan, that could be a red herring. She kissed her mum goodbye; to her surprise, so did he. Together, they headed for the Tube station, a ten-minute walk away.
Emmy noticed that although Dylan was wearing one of his work suits, teamed with a white shirt and highly polished shoes, at least for once he wasn’t wearing a tie. She’d opted for a simple black shift dress teamed with black tights and flat shoes; a silver and turquoise choker; and a turquoise pashmina.
‘You look lovely,’ he said.
She inclined her head. ‘Thank you, kind sir. Actually, you don’t look so bad yourself.’
He smiled back at her. ‘Why, thank you.’
Ten minutes later, they arrived at King’s Cross. The second he directed her through the exit to St Pancras, she realised where they were going. ‘We’re going to Paris for lunch, Dylan? That’s incredibly decadent!’
‘Not really. It’s as quick to take the train from London to Paris as it is to drive from London to Brighton,’ he pointed out. ‘Anyway, I love Paris. It’s a beautiful city.’
To her delight, he’d booked them in business class so they could have breakfast on the train.
‘So this is why you wouldn’t let me have even a piece of toast at home,’ she said, surveying the feast in front of her. Champagne with fresh orange juice, smoked salmon and scrambled egg, fresh strawberries, and good coffee. ‘This has to be the most perfect breakfast ever. I feel totally spoiled.’
He smiled. ‘Good.’
‘I’ve never been in business class before.’ Because she could only really afford standard class. And only then if she booked the seat early enough to get the supercheap rate.
He shrugged. ‘The seats are more comfortable.’
‘Thank
