Page 44 of The Reluctant Billionaire (Love in London #5)

Aide

‘ S o delicious,’ Lotta’s friend Nora says, holding up a huge strawberry and taking a bite out of it.

She moans softly, causing her fiancé Theo to grunt out a strangled fuck’s sake, Belle and overtly reach under the table to adjust himself.

Nora looks outraged, drops what’s left of the strawberry like it’s a hot coal, and slaps his hand away from his crotch.

I’ve spent one evening and about half an hour of breakfast with these two, but that’s been plenty of time for me to work out their dynamic, and it’s fucking hilarious.

As far as I can tell, they’re ridiculously hot for each other, but she tries gamely to maintain an air of propriety that he insists on blowing up. He calls her Belle, and she calls him Romeo.

Not confusing at all.

Lotta and I glance at each other. She rolls her eyes and smirks, and I grin and tug her in more tightly against my side.

This is the life.

I don’t know why the fuck I don’t do this kind of thing more often, but it’s something I suspect the hedonistic love of my life can help me with.

Most of us are staying at this hotel in Ramatuelle, Villa Marie.

That includes Noah and Honor, as Josh and Elle’s families have taken over Noah’s parents’ chateau for the weekend.

We’re sitting on a shady terrace overlooking the pretty pool.

Just through the French doors are tables groaning with an excellent breakfast, and I’m slowly and methodically making my way through the spread.

Lotta and I worked up an appetite with morning sex that quickly ramped up from sleepy to athletic, and I’m fucking starving.

I didn’t eat much last night, even though the food was incredible.

I was too amped up from my mad dash to get here on time and too nervous about mustering up the courage to tell Lotts how I felt about her.

Now I’m making up for lost time. I’ve had a massive bowl of fruit and yoghurt, shitloads of charcuterie, and probably an entire wheel of Camembert on what feels like a whole baguette.

I’m now putting away an alarmingly large number of tiny pastries, but if I’m going to act like a self-indulgent bastard for a few nights, I may as well do it properly.

Last night was… unbelievable. Literally. I can’t believe how big her heart is. Can’t believe I bled myself dry and she accepted all of my shit.

Can’t believe she loves me.

I glance down at her, and she smiles up at me. Her sunglasses are dark, but I know that smile reaches her eyes. She strokes the hand I’ve got slung over her shoulder with her slender, ring-dotted fingers, and I silently vow to add two more rings to that collection in the not-too-distant future.

I fucking love seeing her like this. She’s drop-dead gorgeous, as usual, but her vibe is relaxed. Undone.

Just-fucked.

She’s in some kind of red halter-neck beach cover-up thingy over a tiny string bikini—also red—under which her fantastic tits sit freely. Her hair’s up in a messy bun, and she’s leaning into me like there’s nowhere she’d rather be.

I can deal with that.

‘Honor and I had an illicit lunch here,’ Noah says casually, draping an arm over the back of her chair. ‘Right after we—uh—got together.’

His wife raises a shapely eyebrow. ‘Got together? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?’

I chuckle along with everyone else, because I have clear memories of Noah recounting the whole sorry tale over whisky in the square one night.

Honor’s husband was publicly cheating on her with his then-co-star and now-partner when my mate decided to try out his gallic charm on her and persuade her to ‘level the playing field’ (his preferred turn of phrase for how things went down).

‘Ancient history now, though, right?’ I say, stretching.

As I do, I take the opportunity to drink more of the view in.

I swear, the South of France is good for the soul.

And not only is this place idyllic beyond belief, but I’m noticing that simply putting distance between me and London is helping me to put stuff into perspective.

I’ll never, ever abandon the community centre, or my friends, or my family.

But it doesn’t hurt to examine my motives for helping out in the centre more closely and see what a healthy relationship with it looks like going forward.

I allow myself a sigh of pleasure as I bury my nose in Lotta’s sweet-smelling, still-damp hair.

I’m roused from my happy little zone-out by Noah humming Here Comes the Bride , and I look up to see Elle and Josh approaching. They both look freshly showered and really fucking happy. They must have stayed here last night—maybe they’re keeping the chateau’s bridal suite for tonight.

‘You’re not supposed to see each other before this evening,’ Theo points out through a mouthful of croissant.

‘Fuck off, man,’ Josh says with a good-natured shove on his shoulder.

‘Ooh, I love it when you go all alpha on me,’ Theo says. ‘Is he like that in the bedroom, Elle?’

‘A lady doesn’t tell,’ Elle says with a smirk on her face so wide it leaves no one in any doubt as to the answer. I saw those two on that period drama, Grosvenor , a couple of years ago when Mum made me watch it.

They definitely have chemistry.

‘Lady,’ Theo scoffs. ‘Right. You planning on wearing white today? Because the jig is up.’

He nods at her baby bump, and everyone laughs.

‘Tosser,’ she says, and she smacks Theo on the arm. Lotta told me they’re cousins, and I can definitely see it in their easy banter.

‘The mother of my unborn child is wearing white,’ Josh confirms, ‘and she’ll be the most radiant bride to ever walk down the aisle. And I’ll be the proudest fucking guy on the planet.’

He bends and kisses her forehead as she leans into him, her hand on her bump.

They’re so high profile it’s ridiculous, and I’m not sure how they can juggle a wedding and a pregnancy with this new Pixar movie they’ve both got coming out.

Seeing them like this, though, they’re just like any loved-up couple.

Delirious. Hopeful. Excited for the future.

I don’t count myself as soppy at all, but there’s something about the two of them that moves even me.

It’s probably because I’m so obnoxiously happy.

But love is in the air at this table, and it’s not just me and Lotta.

Nor is it the bride and groom. These people at this posh resort are a world away from Gaz and Sylv and Judy and the gang, but they share one massive feature, and that’s heart.

There’s romantic love here, and platonic love. Chemistry and friendship.

Despite the almost-constant ribbing, they’ve all got each other’s backs.

Maybe, when family falls short, it’s okay to let your found family rally around once in a while.

LOTTA

Elle does wear white—Valentino couture, to be precise—and she looks like an angel sent from heaven.

When Josh sees her, his face is a picture.

I swear, I’ve never seen a man happier to be getting married.

There’s a full photography, paparazzi and phone ban in force today, but Hello!

magazine has won the exclusive rights to shoot the event, with all the proceeds going to Crohn’s Disease charities. It’s a cause close to Elle’s heart.

I can’t wait to see the money shots they get of Josh’s face as he watches her glide towards him in a sea of ivory silk and lace. With her perfect five-month-old baby bump, she’s a vision of beauty and fertility and general gorgeousness, and she takes my breath away.

If Aide hadn’t turned up, I suspect I’d be spiralling about now.

Pathetic. But true.

I’d be sitting here in my stunning, diaphanous Chanel gown of palest aqua tulle, feeling like the dress of a lifetime was wasted because he didn’t come. I’m not proud of myself, but I can’t deny it.

The ceremony is underway. It’s five o’clock and still very hot, but in this open-sided marquee, banked by white flowers and greenery, we’re perfectly shaded.

Even Nora, who’s a wedding planner for a gorgeous resort in the UK and by far the most anal person I know, is gobsmacked by the beauty around us.

It’s a small wedding by Hollywood standards—only two hundred and fifty people.

The chateau is built on cliffs overlooking the Med and flanked by pine forests and its own spectacular olive grove.

This part of France is verdant and heavily wooded.

The scent of pine is everywhere, the elevated position offers a light breeze, and behind Elle and Josh and the officiant is the Mediterranean, sparkling azure like the coast it gives its name to.

We have Noah and Honor on one side and Theo and Nora on the other. Theo’s supposed to be sitting up-front with his family—his mum and Elle’s mum are sisters—but he said it would be more fun with us. Everyone’s so in love, and it’s impossible not to get swept up in it.

And while I’m ecstatic for my friends and adore their other halves, this many Happily Ever Afters in such close proximity could be a bitter pill to swallow.

If.

If I didn’t have the world’s most beautiful man sitting beside me, looking every inch the ultimate female fantasy in his tux.

If he wasn’t holding my hand against his rock-hard thigh as if he’s scared I’m going to run away.

If he didn’t keep glancing at me from under those thick black eyelashes in a way that’s loving and conspiratorial and oddly vulnerable.

Then, yeah, I’d probably be feeling totally miserable and lovesick. As it is, I feel like I’m floating in some kind of bubble. I’m swept up in the magic, not only of Elle and Josh’s fairytale, but of my own. Caught up in the excitement and the anticipation of what lies ahead for me and Aide.

We’ve only just scratched the surface. It’s been carnal and desperate and lust-fuelled up until now, and I don’t expect things to get less explosive between the sheets anytime soon—or ever—but I’m even more excited about what we can achieve together outside of the bedroom.

What does the future hold with Aide by my side? How can I be there by his side, to love and support him while he goes through the world, trying to make it a better place? How can I possibly sit here and attempt to imagine what we can achieve together?

All I know is that my world is a brighter place with him in it. I am a better person with him inspiring me every day. And there’s nothing I care about more than making Aide Duffy happy as he navigates life hellbent on giving back.

He needs someone who’s as focused on his welfare as he is on everyone else’s.

Shit. Those are the kinds of sentiments wedding vows are made of.

My man scrubs up well. For some reason, it keeps hitting me this evening. The irony, that is. The irony of the fact that he had me at hello with his grimy vest and his power tool. He scratched an itch for something I didn’t know I needed.

And now he’s here with me, in one of the most beautiful spots in the world, surrounded by the rich and famous and beautiful, dazzling everyone he meets with his conversation even more than with his movie-star good looks and Tom Ford tux and bank balance, and I’m swooning.

Maybe it’s not ironic.

Maybe it’s just a function of the fact that he’s so ridiculously hot and impressive and articulate and kind and dripping with integrity that he’s irresistible in every persona he embodies.

That he has me useless and smitten and aroused and pathetically infatuated simply because, in every guise, he is himself.

He’s inimitable.

We’ve drunk champagne and eaten lobster in the open air, surrounded by potted ancient olive trees and rambling roses.

We’ve wished the happy couple well, and laughed with friends, and watched Aide and Theo have a dance-off to Rihanna’s Work, which was apparently played in tribute to Josh and Elle’s scorching hot dance floor meet-cute at the Cannes Film Festival.

It’s impossible to dance like that and not work up a heat, so Aide’s lost his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.

His shirt’s open at the neck, showing off his cross, his tie’s hanging loose, his hair’s still oiled except for a couple of escapee strands over his forehead, and he looks so fucking hot that I could ride him here and now, in front of everyone.

He caught a little sun today as he passed out by the hotel pool after breakfast, and he’s bronzed and gorgeous.

I may have dubbed him an all-man man when I met him in full Bruce-Willis-meets-Henry-Cavill glory that first day on site, but weirdly the black tie ensemble doesn’t remotely take the edge off his raw masculinity.

If anything, it makes it all the more stark.

The perfectly cut shirt showcases those broad shoulders.

The massive arms and the tapering waist. He’s still got his leather bracelets on.

Those chunky rings still decorate his large workman’s hands.

They’re a welcome reminder that the civility of tonight’s dress is a thin veneer.

Underneath, just like he promised me that first time in his office, it’s all the same. It’s all real.

His blue eyes are fixed on me, and only me, as I cavort with Nora.

The expression in them is nothing short of predatory.

He hooks a strong arm around my waist and pulls me in towards him.

I go willingly, planting my palms flat on his chest and gazing up at him adoringly.

His hand slides down to my arse and he kneads it hard.

I’m expecting some veiled threat about what awaits me later in our suite.

What he plans to do to me when he gets me alone.

I’m not expecting the words that come out of his mouth when he puts it close to my ear.

‘Just warning you,’ he growls. ‘I want this for us someday, and I’m not planning to wait too long, okay?’ His breath is hot on my skin, but goosebumps erupt all the same. ‘Because I’m not letting you go.’

There he is.

My very own caveman.