his look sparks with something like muted anger. ‘Yes.’
I stop walking. ‘You can’t be serious.’
He lifts his shoulders, staring down at me with eyes that seem to hold an entire universe in their depths.
‘“You have been born to privilege, Nicholas. It is not for you to abandon this family’s legacy on a whim.”’
He is impersonating someone, putting on an even toffier accent.
‘But surely you can carry on a family legacy while marrying who you choose…?’
‘I would choose to stay single,’ he corrects, turning again so we’re shoulder to shoulder, taking a step forward. I move with him.
‘Why?’
‘Because I like being single. I like working hard. Playing harder. I don’t want to get married. I don’t want to have children. These are things my parents expect of me, but they don’t reflect my wishes.’
My heart shifts a little inside my chest. ‘Have you explained that to them?’
‘My parents?’
‘No, your secretary.’
He laughs. ‘Has anyone ever told you that you have a smart mouth?’
I gape, because I don’t. I really, actually don’t. I’m very careful with what I say, moderating my language, aware that I am the representative of Chance and The Billionaires’ Club everywhere I go. But there’s something about Nicholas that makes me feel completely at ease, as if I can relax completely.
‘Did I offend you?’
His laugh is uproarious. ‘Do I look like I’m made of glass?’
I smile, relieved. ‘I don’t know why, but I feel like I can say anything to you,’ I explain, simply.
His gaze hooks to mine again, probing. ‘It’s because of the stop point. We both know this is an aberration. Not real. Out of step with the lives we’re both going to lead. So we can let go and have fun without worrying about any kind of consequences or future.’
That makes sense.
‘I have told my parents, on several occasions, what I think of their expectations and their title, and even their fortunes.’
‘Really?’
He’s quiet, deep in thought. ‘Except I do care,’ he says, after a moment. To our right, a ferry boat passes under the bridge, bleating its low, thundering horn as it goes. The snow falls a little thicker now, landing on the bridge of my nose. I dash it away. ‘Not about the money—I have made more than enough on my own. But the title is something that matters.’
We’ve slowed right down without meaning to. We put one foot in front of the other, but slowly. ‘I was raised to care about it, and I do. There’s so much history wrapped up in it, so much of my family’s past. And there’s a responsibility there to shepherd the title, the estate, the fortune on to a new recipient.’
It rankles my American sensibilities. I can’t understand any of that old British aristocracy stuff. ‘That’s the way these things work, I guess.’
‘Yes. I didn’t much care for it when I was younger but now, at nearly thirty, I feel the weight of it in a new way. I don’t want to be where my family’s claim on the title ends.’
‘Naturally.’
‘You really think so? Sometimes I can’t believe I actually give a shit.’
I laugh. ‘I can. I can see that. Legacies are important. They should be protected.’
‘And you? Is there some family tradition your parents are desperate for you to carry on?’
I bite down on my lip, thinking about that for a second before shaking my head. ‘Not really.’
‘They must be proud of you?’
‘You think?’
‘Sure. Why not?’
I wrinkle my nose. ‘They’re not easy to please.’ I don’t feel like talking about them. As much as I’ve come to a place in my life where I accept the limitations of my relationship with Mom and Dad, it still hurts. It hurts in a way I’ll probably never get over.
After Abbey died, I needed them in a different way. I needed them to be there for me, to make things better, and they weren’t. They just couldn’t.
They’ve never really been there for me since—they just don’t get me.
‘Even when you’re running a global empire, trading in luxury and world-class networking events?’
‘Even then,’ I quip, shutting down his line of questioning with a tight-lipped smile. ‘Where, exactly, are we going?’
‘We’re nearly there.’
‘Nearly where?’
‘Don’t like surprises?’
‘I like some surprises.’
‘Speaking of which,’ he murmurs, surprising me by bundling me into his arms and pushing me against a wall. My breath catches in my throat, my face tilting towards him. ‘Did you get the box I sent you?’
A smile lifts the corners of my lips. ‘Which box would that be?’ I feign ignorance.
‘A little box of silk and lace, and a rather delightfully placed ribbon, if memory serves…’
‘Ah.’ I can’t stop the smile that spreads over my face. ‘You’re just going to have to wait and see.’
‘Haven’t I been waiting a decade already?’ he groans, dropping his head forward and brushing his lips over mine. Desire sets up camp in my belly.
‘Did you choose the lingerie yourself?’ I can’t help asking.
His face is serious. ‘Of course. Did you think I had my assistant do it?’
‘Or your driver,’ I tease.
‘Edward can cross town in fifteen minutes flat but I don’t think he and I share the same taste in women’s apparel.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’
‘You don’t like Edward’s taste either?’
I laugh. ‘I don’t think I’ve even clapped eyes on the man. I just meant I like the idea of you going into a boutique and picking something out. For me.’
‘Ah.’ He nods, sagely, his own mouth quirking into a delicious smile. ‘I did.’ He drops his head a little closer, so his breath teases my cheek. ‘You know what else I did?’
My
