Page 100 of The Reluctant Billionaire

So I throw myself into it. I mingle. I drink. I enjoy the delicious canapés that are being handed around. I allow myself to soak up the unmistakable scent of the sea, and of the nearby pines, and of the incredible food being cooked up for us.

I revel in the atmosphere of this once-in-a-lifetime event at a place that has so much history. God, some of the guests here tonight probably decorate the walls along with Bardot.

I admire the understated perfection of the view, not only of the sparkling sea in the early evening sun, but of the restaurant itself, with its ancient, white-cushioned benches, its uneven wooden tables, and the faded white sheets that, when strung over the beams overhead, offer much-needed shade during theday. Tonight, those sheets are pulled to one side so we can feast under the stars as night falls.

Davide ushers me over to the edge of the crowd, off the boards and down onto the sand, so we can admire the view. I let my eyes drift closed and absorb the sounds, the smells. I’ve already referenced Aide several times in our conversation, but either he doesn’t think an absentee boyfriend is a problem for him or he’s genuinely happy to chat to someone who’s not available. Who knows?

‘Do you come here when you do Cannes?’ I ask him.

‘Yeah, if I can,’ he answers. ‘I usually have someone take me on their boat.’

‘Makes sense,’ I say. Getting here by boat from Cannes takes under an hour, so it’s easily do-able. ‘It’s probably still a circus, though?’

‘The whole of the Cote d’Azur’s a circus in May,’ he says. ‘I’ve been here in September before, when all the Parisians have gone home but the beach clubs are still open and the heat is a little less intense—it’s beautiful then. I think it’s one of the most beautiful parts of the world.’

‘Not as beautiful as Italy,’ I say automatically, and he laughs.

‘Totally. Mynonnawould kill me if she heard me say I preferred France.’

‘Nothing scarier than anonna.Whereabouts is your family from?’

He’s just getting started telling me about his Neapolitan origins when I hear my name called behind me.

Lotta.

The voice is achingly familiar.

Achinglydesperate.

I turn.

Oh my God.

I don’t know how I thought I could function without him, because now he’s here, every part of my starving soul eats the sight of him up.

The man is a sight for sore eyes. He’s dressed like he just stepped off a yacht, in off-white trousers and a sky-blue, open-necked linen shirt that not only enhances his tan but makes those blue eyes of his look even more piercing.

Actually, I think they’d be pretty piercing without the shirt, because right now they’re boring into my very soul.

It’s the expression in them that makes my heart hurt. They are… God, so many things. Beseeching. Hungry. Fearful.

Lost.

And… I think… loving?

‘Sweetheart,’ he says hoarsely, holding out his arms and taking a stride towards me.

I don’t think about the A-list movie star standing next to me, or how pissed off I’ve been with Aide, or anything else, except how staggeringly relieved I am to see him. How miraculous it feels to have him standing here, right in front of me, like this magical place has conjured him up for me.

His arms are there, waiting for me. I fall straight into them, because there’s nowhere else I belong. And oh my God, when he wraps them around me, and tugs me right into the heat of his huge body, the cradle of it, kissing the crown of my head, I know I never, ever want to be anywhere else.

It’s such a cliché, but I’ve been standing here, in an iconic restaurant in a heavenly part of the world, surrounded by therich and famous and being gently flirted with by a movie star, for fuck’s sake, and all of it is totally pointless without him, a fact that’s been really irritating me all evening and is now making me so, so happy I could burst.

Because he is here.

He came.

We do this unsteady little dance together as he rocks me in his arms. ‘I’m sosorry, sweetheart,’ he says brokenly into my hair. ‘God, baby, I’m sofuckingsorry.’