: Chapter 21

My eyes search his.

Time seemingly stands still . . . I don’t understand. I look back at the pristine limousine and then back to him.

What do you mean . . . that’s our car?

“Babe, we have to go. We have a plane to catch. Let’s just . . .” He gestures to the limousine and the driver waiting by the open trunk. “We can talk about it on the way.”

I stare at him, shocked to my core.

“Grumps.” He kisses my lips quickly. “It changes nothing. Relax.” He carries my backpack down to the car. “Hello,” he says to the driver before passing the backpack and coming back for his. “Get into the car, sweetheart.”

How can he say this changes nothing? This changes every single thing.

“Babe.” He points to the car as if reminding me. “Get in.”

It’s then that I realize what’s going on here. I’m being railroaded. He’s purposely withheld this information until two minutes before the car turned up so that I wouldn’t have time to get upset.

He opens the car door and smiles warmly. “Come on,” he mouths.

My eyes flick to the driver, and he smiles warmly. Feeling stupid and not wanting to cause a scene, I get into the back of the limousine.

Christopher slides in beside me and pulls my face to his and kisses me softly. “Off we go.” He smiles happily as he takes my hand in his lap.

The car pulls out from the curb and drives down the street, and I stare out the window as people watch us drive by.

I have no words.

To break the awkward silence between us, Christopher chats away to the driver, like, he’s overly chatty, and I know what he’s doing. He doesn’t want to talk about this with me until we’re safely on the plane.

He picks up my hand and kisses the back of it. “I love you,” he mouths. “What a great trip. That was the best time of my life. I’m going to miss those guys.” He happily chats away. “We should try and catch up with everyone at least once a year.”

Distracted, I nod and fake a smile as my attention turns back out the window.

Why would he lie to me?

An hour later we drive through a boom gate and out onto the tarmac, and I frown. Where are we going?

If I was talking to Christopher, I would ask. However, I’m choosing to remain silent.

Because if I open my mouth, I’m not quite sure what’s going to come out. I need to process this before I blurt out something nasty that I’ll regret.

Because believe me, there’s a whole lot of fucking nasty going on in my mind right now.

The car pulls up beside a plane, and I peer out. It looks all swanky, like a Learjet or something. The driver gets out and opens the trunk, and I glance over to Christopher. “What’s this?” I ask.

“Our plane.”

“You have a plane?”

“Yes.” He nods. His brow furrows as if he’s stopping himself from saying something.

He has a fucking plane?

I blink in surprise as I look out at it. “Is it safe?”

“Yes, of course.” He smiles and puts his arm around me and kisses my temple. “I would never risk you.”

But you would lie to me.

The driver opens my car door, and I smile up at him. He’s kind looking. “Thank you.”

Christopher gets out and smiles. “Thank you.” He holds out his hand and discreetly passes him some notes as a tip.

I blink again. This is like The Twilight Zone.

Christopher takes my hand and leads me up the stairs. Two stewardesses and a captain in full uniform stand inside the door. “Good evening, Mr. Miles.” The captain nods.

“Thomas.” Christopher laughs. “Good to see you, my old friend.” He shakes his hand excitedly.

“It’s been a long time, sir.”

“It has, it has.” Christopher looks around. “Where are the normal crew?”

“This is Angela and Michelle. Our other girls are both on maternity leave.”

“Babies, ha! Great.” Christopher smiles. He shakes the two women’s hands. “Nice to meet you. This is Hayden.” He presents me proudly.

“Hello.” I smile as I shake their hands.

“Lovely to meet you, Hayden.”

They seem nice.

“This way, babe.” Christopher holds his arm up, and I look around. White leather seats, plush carpet, and the most exotic-looking cabin of a plane that I’ve ever seen. It looks like something out of a movie, only I haven’t seen it in a movie because it’s too swanky. He takes my hand and leads me up the cabin. “Where do you want to sit?” he asks.

Don’t insult my intelligence and pretend that I have any control of this situation . . . it’s quite obvious I don’t.

I shrug. “Anywhere will do.”

He gestures to a double seat at the back, and I fall in beside the window. The engine starts, and I stare out at the limo as it drives off across the tarmac.

I glance down at myself in embarrassment. I’m wearing shorts and a T-shirt, feeling completely underdressed and inappropriate. I drag my hand through my messy ponytail. God . . . what must I look like? I did wonder why he was dressed up today in jeans and a button-up shirt.

Now I know.

Christopher fusses around and then sits down beside me. He leans over and does up my seat belt. “You okay, sweetheart?” He smiles as he kisses me.

The stewardesses are hovering around.

I nod with another fake smile. I don’t want a scene with anyone in earshot, and I’m still trying to calm myself down enough to think straight.

This is a lot.

The plane pulls out and drives around for a while. Christopher chatters on and makes small talk, overcompensating for my silence.

He knows.

We take off into the air, and he slides his hand onto my thigh. “You all right, babe? You’re very quiet,” he whispers.

I smile and nod. I’m not. It’s a lie.

“Can I get you anything?” the hostess asks me.

“Um . . .” I think for a moment. “Can I have a lemonade, please?”

“Of course.” She smiles and then turns to Christopher. “What would you like, Mr. Miles?”

He rolls his lips as he thinks for a moment. “I’ll have a Blue Label scotch and beluga caviar, please.” His eyes flick over to me. “Do you want something to eat, darling?”

I stare at him for a moment as I process his order.

Blue Label scotch and beluga caviar.

Since when has he liked those things? I shake my head. “No, thank you.”

The stewardess smiles warmly. “Yes, sir.”

She disappears out to the kitchen, and I watch as Christopher puts his head back against the seat as if starting to relax.

I don’t know him at all.

Nine hours later

The plane pulls to a stop on the tarmac, and I read the sign out the window.

WELCOME TO NEW YORK

Christopher bounces his leg as he sits beside me, impatient to get off the plane. He knows I’m off. I pretended to sleep the entire nine-hour trip so that I wouldn’t have to talk to him. Mainly . . . because I don’t know what the fuck to say.

He had a few glasses of scotch, ate caviar, and then watched a few movies, all with his hand protectively on my leg.

“You may disembark, Mr. Miles,” the captain says over the speaker.

Christopher stands and gets my handbag out from the overhead and fusses around. He takes my hand and leads me out.

“Thank you.” He shakes everyone’s hands as they line up by the door.

“Have a nice night.” The captain smiles. “Goodbye, Hayden. Lovely to meet you.”

“See you next time.”

I smile, detached from the situation. I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience right now. Like I’m physically here . . . but I’m so shocked that I’m not.

He lied to me. For twelve months I have been falling in love with a man who doesn’t even exist.

I don’t know if I’ve ever felt so betrayed.

We walk out to the stairs, and I look down to see another limousine waiting on the tarmac. The driver is in a black suit and standing beside the car. He looks up and waves, and Christopher laughs and waves excitedly back. He nearly runs us down the stairs to get to him. “Hello, Hans.” He laughs as he pulls the driver in for a hug.

“Hello, Mr. Miles.” The man laughs, seemingly just as excited to see him too.

Christopher puts his arm around me. “This is my Hayden.” He smiles proudly.

“Hello,” Hans says as he shakes my hand.

“Hello.” I smile. Oh, he’s a nice old man, I can tell.

They throw our things in the trunk, and we get into the back seat. Christopher leans over and kisses my temple as he puts his arm around me. “Do you know how much I love you?” he asks.

I stare straight ahead as I hold my tongue.

Not really.

CHRISTOPHER

Hans gets behind the wheel, and we pull out of the airport and onto the main road. “There’s a bit of traffic tonight, I’m afraid, sir,” Hans says. “Bumper to bumper when I was driving in.”

“That’s okay.” I smile as I hold Hayden’s hand firmly in my lap. “Can’t be helped.”

Hayden’s gaze is fixed firmly out the window. This is the quietest I’ve ever seen her, and I have no idea what’s going through her head.

I’m unsure if she’s shocked or furious . . . I’m hoping for shocked but beginning to expect furious.

I should have told her earlier, but I just . . . didn’t know how.

Hans sighs as the traffic comes to a complete standstill. “Looks like there has been an accident now to top it off.” I look up to see lights flashing from a traffic-control van.

I exhale heavily. Great. This is just what I need.

My phone lights up.

Eddie

Shit, now is not the time. I can’t even pretend to be in a good mood. He’s calling to check we landed okay. I’ll call him back tomorrow.

I turn my phone on silent.

“Would you like a glass of wine or champagne?” I ask Hayden as I open the minibar fridge.

Her eyes flick over to me, and I feel the venom behind them.

Hmm . . . I’ve never seen that look before . . . which is a good thing, because I don’t fucking like it.

“No, thank you,” she replies curtly.

I roll my lips. Well, I would. I pour myself a glass of champagne, and unable to help myself, I hold my glass up in a sarcastic cheers sign. “I’ll drink alone, then.”

Her eyes hold mine, and silent animosity swims between us.

Would she rather I be fucking broke?

I take a large gulp of my champagne. It’s smooth, cold, and delicious.

Unlike her in this moment.

The longer we sit in the back of the limo, the more I feel Hayden’s anger festering like a volcano that’s ready to blow.

The more I feel it, the more pissed I get.

Seriously?

She would actually rather I clean fucking toilets for a living?

That’s not loving someone . . . that’s enabling . . . to what, I don’t know, but I’m sure there’s some form of emotional abuse in there somewhere.

The more I think about this, the more I know I’m right. If I was broke and I told her I had money, then I would understand.

But this?

I will not be judged for having money . . . my parents have worked fucking hard to build the Miles empire. What . . . does she think she’s above it? I clench my jaw as I watch her and swish the champagne around my mouth as I silently fume.

How dare she?

I don’t judge her for fist-fucking cows for a living. And I could. Trust me, I could.

I drain my glass and then immediately pour myself another one without even asking her if she wants one. I put the bottle back into the fridge.

That’s enough.

The night is already spiraling out of control. Alcohol is only going to pour kerosene on the fire.

The car has been at a standstill for over forty minutes now. What the hell is going on up there?

I glance at my watch. Fuck it. This night is a disaster. I made a booking at my favorite restaurant, thinking tonight was going to be epically romantic.

Guess not.

I sip my wine as I stare at her staring out the window . . . my anger gently simmering on the stove.

“Are you cold?” I ask her.

“Nope.”

“What’s with the attitude?” I mutter under my breath.

She throws me a dirty look. Her eyes dart to Hans as if to remind me that he’s here.

Really?

I stare at her as I hear my heartbeat in my ears.

I’ve done nothing wrong. If she didn’t care that I had no money . . . why would she care that I do? Why has she gotten pissed off without so much as a discussion?

I treat her like a queen, and for her to sit beside me for ten fucking hours without one word is infuriating.

Hans’s eyes meet with mine in the rearview mirror. “I’m sorry for the delay, Mr. Miles. I should have checked the radar before I came this route.”

I exhale, annoyed. Yes, you should have. “That’s fine, Hans.”

Hayden tsks beside me, and my eyes sweep across to her. I raise my eyebrow in question.

She raises her eyebrow right back.

Don’t fucking piss me off.

I snap my eyes away. Don’t tell me our first-ever fight is going to be in the back of my limo while stuck in traffic.

I. Am. Not. In. The. Mood.

One and a half silent hours later

The car pulls into my building, and Hans fusses around nervously. Even he can tell she’s pissed. Who am I kidding? The space station on Mars can tell she’s pissed.

“I’m so sorry about the delay, Hayden,” Hans stammers.

Hayden smiles calmly. “Please, don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault.”

“Thank you for understanding.”

She gives him a huge smile as she opens her door before the doormen get a chance to. They all come running to help her out of the car.

Her being nice to Hans infuriates me even more. So she’s not pissed in general.

Just with me.

I climb out of the car behind her. “Mr. Miles,” they all say excitedly. “Welcome home, sir.”

“It’s good to be here,” I reply. They go to take our bags, and I stop them. “I’ve got it. Thank you.”

We walk into the foyer. “Good evening, Mr. Miles.” The staff all smile. “Welcome home, sir.”

“It’s great to be here.” I smile back. It is genuinely good to be back.

“This way.” I gesture to the elevator, and we get in and turn to face the front. I push the button to the penthouse.

Hayden’s eyes flick over to me. “You live here?” she says, unimpressed.

“We live here.” I glare at her.

She fakes a smile, and I see red.

Game on.

The doors open to my foyer, and I step out and scan my fingerprint. The double doors unlock, and we are met with a floor-to-ceiling magical view over New York, the city lights twinkling as far as the eye can see.

Hayden stops on the spot, shocked to silence.

How you hating that money thing now?

I walk in and put the bags down, and she tentatively follows as she looks around.

I try to imagine what it must be like to see it for the first time. It’s industrial trendy, with the best of everything over two floors.

She walks over to the window and peers down at the road way below. “How high are we?”

“Sixty floors.”

She frowns and steps back from the window as if frightened.

“I’ll give you the tour,” I say. “Living area.” I gesture to the room we’re standing in. I walk down to the other end of the penthouse. “This is the kitchen.” I open the invisible door. “Wine cellar downstairs.”

Her eyes are wide as she looks around.

“Down this end are four bedrooms, each with their own bathroom, and the laundry room. Gymnasium.” I walk her down the large hallway, and she peers in at all the rooms. I gesture up the stairs. “This way.” I take the stairs, and she follows me in silence as she looks around.

“Up here we have another living area, bedrooms, and another living area or theater room.” She looks around, still choosing to remain silent.

“The master bedroom is down here.” I open the double doors to my bedroom. The floor-to-ceiling glass walls have 180-degree views over New York.

Hayden’s mouth falls open, and she makes an audible gasp.

I smile proudly.

This is the most impressive bedroom of all time, if I do say so myself.

Hope fills me.

“Look.” I open the walk-in wardrobe doors in a rush. “This will be your wardrobe here.” She peers in at the huge empty room. “We can fit it out however you like.”

“And look at this, babe.” I lead her into the bathroom. “Look at the bathtub.” I smile. “It’s a spa. We can spend hours in there. You love baths,” I remind her.

She nods and steps back, still processing.

I open my wardrobe door. “This is my wardrobe.”

She peers in, and then a frown crosses her face, and she walks past me into the wardrobe. I hold my breath as I watch her look over my three bays of expensive suits. Her hand runs over the shoes neatly lined up. Her eyes rise to the floor-to-ceiling tie rack I have for my ties. She goes to the set of drawers that is freestanding in the middle.

Don’t open the . . .

Too late. She opens the top drawer and peers in at my designer watch collection, displayed in a glass cabinet.

She swiftly closes the drawer and walks past me out of the wardrobe.

Huh?

What the hell does that mean?

I wait for a moment and walk out to find her staring out the window over the city.

“Are you going to say something?” I ask.

“It’s beautiful.” She forces a smile.

She has more to say.

“And?”

“What . . .” She pauses as if searching for the right words.

I wait.

“What do you do at Miles Media?”

“I’m the head of marketing.”

She frowns as she stares at me. I can see her mind running a million miles per minute. “Where is your office?”

I roll my lips. Here we go . . . “London.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “You live in London?”

“Yes.”

“London.” She gasps. “You live in fucking London?”

“I do.”

“And when were you going to tell me this?” She gasps, affronted.

“I’m telling you now.”

She stares at me, horrified.

“You’re going to love it there, Hays.”

“I am not moving to London, Christopher.”

“What does that mean?” I snap.

“Exactly what I said. I’m not moving there.”

“You said you would live anywhere as long as we’re together,” I splutter.

“When did I ever say that?”

“Oh, you said it, all right; I clear-as-day remember. But what you really meant was that you would move anywhere for a pauper, but you won’t fucking move for me?” I bark.

“Would you move for me?” she fires back.

“If it meant we were together, then yes.”

“Okay, great. That settles it.” She dusts her hands together. “We’ll live in the country.”

I see red.

“Don’t give me your smart-ass fucking attitude, Hayden,” I yell. “I have responsibilities with Miles Media.”

“And what about your responsibilities to me?” she yells. “My work is in the country.”

“I run a multibillion-dollar company, Hayden. I need to live between London and New York. I can’t live in Bumfuck, Nowhere, while you play with cows.”

“Play with cows!” Her eyes bulge from their sockets.

“My job is important.”

“Obviously.” She throws her hands up in the air and then marches from the room.

“Get back here!” I yell.

“Go fuck yourself.”