Page 41 of The Reluctant Billionaire (Love in London #5)

Aide

‘ B aby’s here!’ Judy shouts, bustling into the kitchen and brandishing her ancient iPhone. It’s probably, like, an iPhone Three, if that ever existed.

I stand up and shut the fridge with a grimace. I’ve been bent over, trying to fit in every last item of food from the massive delivery we’ve received.

‘Thank fuck,’ I say. ‘What is it?’

‘A little girl.’ She beams. ‘No photos yet. Or a name.’

I close my eyes. A little girl. A tiny granddaughter for Sylv. That is just fucking amazing. It makes me want to well up. ‘Everyone doing okay?’ I ask huskily. ‘Mum and baby?’

‘Sounds like it.’ She looks at her phone again. ‘The baby’s going into the neo-natal ward, but Sylv says the docs are happy.’

‘Well, I think that calls for a coffee break,’ I say. ‘What do you reckon?’

‘Abso-fucking-lutely.’ She puts her phone down on the work surface and heads for the Nespresso machine. Sylv wasn’t the only one Lotta got hooked on this stuff.

The mere sight of it makes my chest ache.

I’ve felt torn in two since I spoke to her. I know what I did to her was seriously shitty, and I one hundred percent deserved for her to call me out and, to be honest, for her to put some distance between us. But it didn’t make it any easier.

I hated being apart from her last night, I hated hearing that hurt and disappointment in her voice, and I hate even more knowing she’s en route to France with her friends and I’m not there by her side.

I can’t even imagine how pissed off I’ll feel tomorrow night, knowing she’s ripping up that dance floor with proper movie stars. Davide de Luca’s going to be there, apparently. So’s Brad Burton. It’ll be like the Cannes fucking Film Festival over there.

And something tells me my girl won’t be short of attention.

I grit my teeth and set to work with the Nespresso machine.

‘Everything okay?’ Judy asks as I wearily usher her out the kitchen door and into the yard area in front of me.

‘Fine.’ I rub my eyes as I put my cup down on the shitty uneven table. ‘I’m just tired.’ I’m exhausted, actually, because doing what I thought was the right thing did not sit easily with me last night and upsetting Lotts sat even less easily. Ergo, sleep was not my friend.

‘I see.’ She sits down heavily and I observe, not for the first time, that she’s getting frail. Stiff. ‘And how’s Lotta?’

‘She’s fine.’

She purses her lips. ‘How excellent that everyone is fine . What’s going on?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Nothing. Jesus Christ, you dimwit. You realise you two getting together is one of the most exciting and happy things that has ever happened in my life?’ She glares at me.

‘You’re the son I never had, and she’d damn well better be my daughter-in-law at some point, so don’t fuck this up.

What. Is. Going. On? Where is she this weekend? ’

I sigh but stop short of an eye roll because I value my safety. ‘She’s in France,’ I concede.

‘How nice. And what’s she doing there?’

‘She’s at a wedding.’

‘Delightful.’

This fucking woman.

‘Did you not get invited to the wedding?’ she asks with an innocent sip of her espresso. She’s even holding her pinky out. Honestly.

‘I did,’ I tell her, ‘but this is more important.’

‘I see. Is that the thing you said you had on when I texted you yesterday?’

I hesitate. ‘Yeah.’

She sets down her cup.

Uh-oh.

‘Let me get this straight,’ she says in a faux-pleasant voice that doesn’t fool me for a second. ‘You are supposed to be at some, presumably glamorous, wedding in France, but you pulled out to help me?’

‘To help everyone,’ I clarify. ‘I didn’t want it being a nightmare for you or a washout for the kids.’

‘And what does Lotta think about this?’

‘She’s really fucked off,’ I admit.

‘Shocker.’

‘Judy.’

‘Don’t you Judy me, young man.’

I try again. ‘I understand why she’s upset with me, and I feel awful. But I know she’ll be fine. It’s some huge, ridiculous celebrity wedding, and they’re her friends, and?—’

Her gasp stops me. ‘Do not tell me it’s Josh Lander and Elle Hart’s wedding.’

I wince. ‘Yeah.’

‘Oh my God. ’ She whacks me hard on the bicep, and it fucking hurts.

‘Ow!’

‘You stupid fucking dipshit,’ she howls. ‘God, I want to physically hurt you. What is wrong with you?’

‘What’s wrong with me? I pulled out because I couldn’t leave you in the lurch! You told me it’d be a shitshow without me.’

She tuts. ‘Fuck’s sake . You know me. Of course I’m always going to give you a sob story, but Jesus, Aide, I would have worked something out.

And you should be in France with your beautiful, probably soon-to-be-ex girlfriend.

’ For good measure, she jabs me with an evil forefinger right in the spot she just walloped.

‘It’s too late,’ I say. ‘She’s probably almost there already, and you were in a tough spot. It was the right call. Honestly, I don’t mind.’

That makes her slump. She buries her head in her hands and groans before looking up at me and laying a gnarled hand gently on my forearm. For some reason, it’s more ominous than the physical pain she just inflicted on me with seeming pleasure.

‘Aide,’ she says. ‘You are a good boy. You’ve always been such a good boy. You’re also the cleverest kid I’ve ever seen. But sometimes you are thick as pig shit.’ She shakes her head sadly.

‘Hey,’ I protest.

‘No. You need to hear this. Aide, sweetheart, the more you give, the more people will take. Even me. I gave you a sob story and now I feel horrible, but I would have thought you’d have the common fucking sense’—she taps her temple pointedly with her other hand—‘to know when to say no. You should have said no. You should have told me it wasn’t your problem.

You had somewhere to be with your lovely girlfriend, and it wasn’t fucking here. Got it?’

It’s incredibly frustrating when you try to do the right thing and everyone gives you a hard time over it. ‘But you needed me,’ I say, trying to be patient.

‘Nope.’ She shakes her head. ‘Wrong answer. Because it was not your problem. You’ve already funded the whole bloody party.

You need to learn to say no, boyo. Otherwise everyone in this godforsaken world will keep on asking you to jump, and you’ll keep on asking how high like a total fucking idiot.

You need to learn. To say no . Because everyone will always want a piece of you, and that includes us lot and your fancy business friends.

’ She pauses. ‘And most definitely your family.’

I go rigid.

‘Yep,’ she insists. ‘While I’m telling you things you don’t want to hear, I’ll tell you this. That brother of yours is a useless, freeloading piece of shit, and Veronica, God bless her, has had a shitty time of it and still leans on you far too much.’

I go to protest, but she holds up a hand. ‘As do I. We’ve all got so used to being taken care of by you, Aide dearest, because you’re very good at it. But we forget, because you’re so loyal and hardworking and never complain, that we’re taking the piss, basically.’

‘You’re not,’ I say hoarsely. ‘None of you are. I’m glad to do it. It’s important to me.’

‘I know it is.’ She nods. ‘But, for once, you should go and look after number one and that lovely girlfriend of yours.’

‘Thank you,’ I say, and I mean it, because even if it doesn’t change anything, hearing the words, knowing my efforts are seen and appreciated, that I’ve helped someone, makes a massive difference.

‘But I’m here now, so let’s forget it, okay?

I’ll make it up to Lotts. She’ll have the time of her life, so don’t worry about her. ’

‘Oh, but I do worry,’ Judy says, ‘because her boyfriend is too fucking stupid to worry. You know Davide de Luca’s going to be there?

You think these Hollywood sleazeballs won’t be all over her like a rash?

And she’ll be feeling rejected, and lonely, and maybe in need of some comfort from a nice-looking film star who has enough of a brain to know a good thing when he sees one… ’

She tails off and purses her lips at me with her signature unimpressed look.

I have to say, it’d wither a lesser man.

‘Come on, mate,’ she says, when I remain outwardly impassive. ‘Lotta won’t cheat on you, more’s the pity, because you don’t deserve her. But she will miss you, and if you want any future with her, that has got to be more important than always being here whenever anyone wants a bit of you.

‘So I’m going to make it crystal clear, because you’re obviously more of a thicko than I thought. The only person you have an obligation to this weekend is Carlotta. So go and get her. ’

‘But what would you do?’ I ask, my mind starting to whirr with possibilities.

‘I will get on the volunteers WhatsApp group and give them an even bigger sob story than I gave you,’ she says. ‘And I’ll pin someone down. One of the cooks at the school will probably do it—they’re always happy to make a few bob on the side.’ She gives me a pointed look. ‘You’re paying.’

‘Obviously,’ I say. I spread my palms on the table, looking at her with dawning hope, and astonishment, and not a little emotion, because I feel like I’ve been set free.

Absolved.

It’s the strangest sensation.

And suddenly I cannot wait to see Lotta.

‘How am I supposed to get there?’ I ask.

She looks up from her phone. ‘Jesus Christ. I’m trying to organise this fucking party. Don’t you have a jet on speed dial or something?’

‘No,’ I say. ‘They’re awful for the environment.’

She rolls her eyes and returns to her texting. ‘You are by far the most disappointing billionaire I’ve ever met. Make some calls. Go on. Shoo.’