Page 121 of Modern Romance December 2025 5-8

Carefully, she pushed off the covers and tentatively swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Her head was pounding like a metronome. The events of yesterday, especially the last part, flickered through her head in slow motion. The way her body had become so quickly attuned to his again, the realisation that she had wanted him so badly, frightened her.

Even though she still wanted him.

She opened one eye. Had she packed her migraine medication? She already knew the answer was no, but screaming would have hurt and escalated the issue, so instead she walked across to the window and searched for the mechanism that closed the blinds.

The relief when the sun was blotted out drew a deep sigh from her. Locating her handbag, she found the strip of generic painkillers which would be a lot better than nothing, especially if they kicked in before the migraine developed claws and took hold.

She lay back down on the bed and waited for the meds to kick in; she knew how this worked. Half an hour later, she tested the water by sitting up. The fact that she could, without feeling dizzy or wanting to throw up, suggested the painkillers had done their job, which was a massive relief. Whatever else Leo had in store for her today, meeting his grandfather, who did not sound warm and cuddly, would require her to be on her A game.

A fuzziness persisted but she was able to open a selection of doors revealing generous storage without wincing when they closed. She finally located the door that led to the bathroom, which turned out to be enormous, bigger than her entire flat in London. So big she could have lived in it. Even in her downbeat mood she paused to lust a little over the incredible copper bath.

This was her fantasy and Leo’s real life.

They had no future together. He had everything he wanted at his fingertips…including her. And when he didn’t, when the spark fizzled out, she thought of all those years of crushing loneliness she had fought her way free of. What had she been thinking, opening the door to it happening all over again?

That it had been a mistake hardly covered it, and yet she knew that if she could live last night again, she’d do exactly the same thing.

Eyes closed, she walked into the shower. The water wasn’t cold but it did drown out the condemnatory voice in her head.

She spent an age standing under the steamy jets of the walk-in shower with the space-age controls, being pounded from all sides. It was hedonistic. How long was it since she had lingered like this in a shower? A smile curved her lips as she enjoyed the self-indulgent luxury of it. She enjoyed the luxury too of wrapping herself in one of the stack of fluffy bath sheets, until she realised she didn’t have a clue what time it was.

Amy was stunned; shealwaysknew what time it was. Her life revolved around being at work on time and working systematically through the long list of tasks she needed to complete. That was how she made it through each day. She could never let up because if she did her life would immediately spin out of control.

And her real fear, the one she didn’t acknowledge, was thatshewould also spin out of control.

She shook her head and immediately regretted the action. Too many people had expected—still expected—too much from her for that to happen. Even when she’d lost Leo, she hadn’t allowed herself the opportunity to break down, to let go. She’d hassled the hurt away.

In search of her phone, she squatted down and went through the pockets of the clothes she had just dropped in a messy pile on the floor when she had stripped off last night.

It had fallen out of a pocket and it was low on charge but intact. When she saw the time, she gave a worried frown.

What if Leo appeared?

And how was she going to play the morning after the night before?

Or maybe after last night he wouldn’t want to see her, she speculated, worrying when she recognised the thought was not as cheering as it might be—shouldbe.

She took one of the robes that were hanging on a rack, then wrapped a towel turban-wise around her dripping hair. Tying the belt on the robe, she hurried through into the adjoining room as she worked out her coping strategy for dealing with him. For starters, she was going to turn it into a drama.

There was no sign of her suitcase.

After a lot of searching, she discovered her case and her clothes behind the last door she opened. Her clothes were all neatly hung up and folded.

Half an hour later, fully dressed and her hair almost dry, the damp braid hanging down between her shoulder blades, she had returned to the bathroom to retrieve her clothes when there was a knock that appeared to be coming from the direction of the outer door. She froze, listening, then heard a female voice call something she could not make out and a moment later she heard the door quietly close again.

Some of the tension left her shoulders; at least it wasn’t Leo. Ignoring the anticlimactic feeling this realisation brought with it, she checked herself out in the mirror. She was now as pink as she had just been pale. Scowling at the reflected face of the person who stared back at her, she thrust her clothes into a linen hamper and, taking a deep breath, opened the door.

The bedroom was empty, and so was the pretty sunlit sitting room. She blinked in the sunlight and squinted, shading her eyes with a hand. The person who had entered before had opened a window and delivered the tray responsible for the gorgeous aroma of coffee.

In deference to her fragile head, she half-lowered the blinds and eagerly followed the scent to the table where the tray and coffee pot sat.

Did staff get coffee delivered to their rooms?

Did they have rooms like this?

Or only the ones who slept with the boss?

The attention, while very nice, made it hard to gauge her position on the upstairs-downstairs gradient. It was going to be hard to establish a working relationship with the other kitchen staff if they thought she was getting preferential treatment.