“A week on Sunday. Then I’ll be back in New York for a couple of weeks before Christmas.”
The croissant was too rich for her stomach so she left the rest and picked at a few berries.
Alec, she noticed, drank lots of coffee.
It felt strange having breakfast with him in his hotel suite, wearing his shirt under a hotel robe. It felt—intimate. If housekeeping had walked in, they would have assumed they were lovers.
“How are we getting to your parents’ house? You have a car here?”
“I hire a car when I’m in London.”
“How long will it take us to get to your home?”
“Around two hours, depending on the weather.”
“You British are obsessed with your weather.”
“When you’ve seen the roads around Honeysuckle Cottage, you’ll understand why.”
He packed up his laptop while she dressed, then picked up the bags of gifts and the rest of his luggage and opened the door to their room.
“Honeysuckle Cottage? Such a cute name.” She walked past him, careful not to brush against him. “By the way, I’m not a drama queen.”
His eyes gleamed. “Fairy princess crossed with drama queen.”
“So what does that make me? A fairy queen or a drama princess?”
“I don’t know. I’ll let you know after we’ve spent a few days together.”
A few days.
Yesterday she’d been getting ready for her exhibition and now here she was with a bruised head and a bruised heart, going home with a man with whom she’d always had a difficult relationship.
Which all went to prove that whenever you were anticipating a happy ending, life was guaranteed to mess it up.
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