Page 78 of The Reluctant Billionaire

‘Get in here,’ I tell her with another eye roll, and I tuck her under my arm while pulling Lotta out of Gaz’s clutches. Lotta rests her head against Sylvie’s, and the older woman lets out a contented sigh.

‘I’m not missing this,’ Judy says, bustling over so she can get in on the action. She presses herself against Lotta. She only comes up to her shoulder.

‘Quite right,’ Gaz says. ‘We need to hug this out. The two most gorgeous human beings I’ve laid eyes on are humping. This is cause for a lager shandy later, Judith, my friend.’

‘Have some self respect,’ Judy tells him. ‘Lager shandy, my arse. We’ll have some of that expensive whisky Aide’s got stashed next door.’

I stand there and I fucking suck it up as my friends insist on hugging me and Lotta half to death.

I’d rather die than admit it, but I’m really going to miss this lot.

CHAPTER 30

Lotta

Acasual supper in the Montefiore-Charlton household is never casual. Not with my mother at the helm.

When I let myself into their massive townhouse in Knightsbridge, I’m immediately hit by a gorgeous wall of music courtesy of the sound system. Someone is belting outUna Furtiva Lagrimaat full force. I’d put money on it being Santi’s dad, Dominic Vale.

In the centre of the high-shine, monochrome tiled floor sits an elegant antique table bearing a complex, multi-vase arrangement of flowers that would put the Mandarin Oriental’s lobbies to shame. One of Mamma’s many extravagances is having fresh flowers around the house at all times. It looks and smells like paradise, so I can’t complain.

Often, Mamma and Dad’s chef cooks Mediterranean, but tonight she’s cooking Asian. The table in the huge kitchen where they prefer to eat unless they’re entertaining formally is set with one of Mamma’s favourite Hermes dinnerware sets, their geometric Balcon du Guadalquivir design in iconic tomato and white.

Delicate bud vases bearing perfect sprigs of white flowers and greenery line the entire length of the table. Blue-stripedMurano wine glasses and tumblers adorn our place-settings. Murano glassware is another of Mamma’s weaknesses. The effect is stunning, if a little OTT for a quiet family supper.

‘Hey,’ the chef, Sabrina, calls out from the far end of the kitchen where she’s plating up food on the island. She’s technically not their chef—more a wellness consultant who Mamma hired a few months ago to overhaul her and Dad’s health.

Mamma’s a lot more into the idea than Dad is.

‘Hi!’ I reply, making for her end of the kitchen. ‘Why does it smell like Nobu in here?’ I round the island and give her a hug.

She laughs. ‘Must be the miso black cod. It’s in the oven.’

‘I think it’s everything,’ I say, eyeing up the spread appreciatively. This looks incredible. Sabrina’s cooking is an excellent reason to visit my parents more often. ‘What’s that?’ I point to the sauce she’s spooning over what looks like yellowtail sashimi with infinite care.

‘Just yuzu and soy sauce.’

‘I hope my Dad appreciates this.’

‘You know he won’t.’

‘He still giving you grief?’

She cocks her head, and her long, sleek ponytail swings. She’s a gorgeous Californian blonde who exudes good health and outdoor living every time I see her. She’s definitely a great advertisement for her own services. ‘More like puppy eyes?’ she says. ‘He looks super sad whenever I put his food down in front of him. Like he’s askingreally? That’s the best you can do?’

I snort. ‘Oh God. The guilt trip. That’s tough—I’m so sorry.’

‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘It’s brutal. He’s started counting down the days till they go to Mustique.In front of me.’

‘Well that’s just rude,’ I say. ‘Will you not go with them?’

‘Nah. Your mom said they have someone out there who looks after their place and does all the cooking, so they don’t really need me.’

‘That’s true. When do they go?’

‘Mid October.’ She takes a tiny pair of tongs and painstakingly places a ring of jalapeño on each piece of sashimi. My mouth waters.

‘What will you do?’