Meet Me in London

by Georgia Toffolo

  Swallowing hard she recovered her disappointment.

  “Yes. Great...er...move.” Inspired? It had been everything she’d ever hoped for in a kiss. At least, until now. She glanced at her watch. “Look, you have a meeting, you have to go.”

  He stood and sighed. “It’s with the stall holders about the opening day, do you want to come? We can work out the positioning of the runway so you can tell your girls on Friday. And you’ll need to tell me what kind of backstage setup you’re going to want.”

  Straight back to business, then. Her mind was in a whirl, the ring heavy on her finger and in her heart. The kiss tormenting her as much as his presence. “I could do. Yes.”

  It would give her a distraction from all this. Remind her of her real world and not this fairy tale turned nightmare she was living in. “I just need to pick up some notes I left in my flat.”

  “Great. I’ll walk you there.”

  11

  OLIVER FOLLOWED HER up the stairs to her apartment, relieved he’d managed to bluff his way through all of that without showing how much he was spooked by the emotion in his chest. Putting the ring on her finger had made his heart rattle, stealing breath from his lungs. Watching her face light up as she saw the ring—before she had a chance to mask her real reaction—had been like watching a kid at Christmas. She loved it. She just didn’t want to show him that.

  And he’d loved watching her too.

  Ironically, he’d never proposed to a woman before in his life. Now he’d proposed to Victoria twice. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that—confused, mainly. At risk of wishing it was real?

  Well, hell, when he’d kissed her the other day he definitely hadn’t needed convincing. And despite knowing all the reasons why they shouldn’t do it again his body was straining for her. Especially now as she walked up the stairs ahead of him, her backside swaying in her jeans. It wouldn’t take much to just reach out, span her waist and pull her to him. Kiss her up against the wall—but, to prevent any risk of getting carried away or losing control, from now on kissing would remain limited to her cheek and only in public.

  “Here we are.” She smiled as she stood back to let him go through the door into her flat.

  “This is very different to the other day.” The studio was ordered and neat. Organized. In the middle of the room stood five mannequins wearing an assortment of dresses, some finished, some half-made and one standout one that looked like something he’d sell in his store. It seemed to pull him to look closer. “Is this the fabric I gave you?”

  “Yes. See, it’s a rework of the design on my vision board.” She pointed to the wedding dreams board. Yes, it was similar, but hers had a longer train, a narrower skirt, a different neckline. More sophisticated and elegant.

  “This is so much better. Your design?”

  “Yes.” She blushed and looked away to fluff the skirt. Clearly, she wasn’t used to receiving compliments about her work.

  “How come I didn’t see these the other day?”

  “I’ve been working hard on them all weekend. I only just finished that dress yesterday. I keep all my collection pieces on a rack in my bedroom for safekeeping.” She edged in between two of the dresses and adjusted a pin on one of them. Lifting a fold—or was it a pleat? He had no idea. Allowing the fabric to fall in a different way. “You really think I’d let those girls anywhere near this beautiful fabric?”

  “Good point. Jasmine would make it gangsta somehow. Put rips in the skirt? Tire marks? Evil Easter bunnies?”

  She laughed, her eyes lighting up. “Then I would congratulate her on her unique creativity. But this is the Victoria Scott bridal collection and I’m a little more traditional.”

  “Shame. I think bunnies would look great on that neckline.”

  “Then do your own collection.”

  “I don’t know anything about this kind of stuff, but your designs are next level as far as I’m concerned. Do you sell them? Where?” How had he missed that?

  “I don’t yet. When they’re finished I get Sara from the bar to take photos—she’s a part-time photographer—and put them up on my website.”

  “For online sales?” He thought quickly, his words catching up, blurting out. “You need to showcase these, Victoria. On the runway. At the opening day.”

  “No. I couldn’t.” She walked around looking at them. Evaluating them. Judging them. Shaking her head. “They’re not finished. Not quite right.”

  “They look pretty damned good to me. I won’t take no for an answer. These can be the main show.”

  “Does anyone ever say no to you, Oliver?” She laughed, kneeling and starting to pin a hem. Giving him a good view of her hips, her luscious long hair, her butt. He fought to control his innate reaction to her, the pull of desire that wound through him urging him to plunge his hands into those curls, cup that butt with his palm and kiss her again.

  More.

  But she’d say no, the way she just had. “Never. I don’t know the meaning of the word.”

  “Then let this be a lesson. No, Oliver Russell.” She rocked back on her heels and pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, pinning him with a look of pure defiance. “They. Are. Not. Finished.”

  “Is this our first argument? This is fun.” He watched as she absentmindedly ran her fingers over her engagement ring. This assertiveness was a side of her he’d forgotten about—but it was just like that first night in the bar and made his blood heat. Made him want to push her up against the table and make love to her, right now.

  But instead, he laughed at the suggestion anyone dared refuse him a request. “So finish them, Victoria Scott.”

  “Really?” Her eyes pigged at him. “You think it’s that easy? I don’t have the time.”

  “Make time, I’ll help you. Whatever you need.”

  “You’ll make time?” she scoffed. “What, with going to see your father and working all hours to get the store ready? Do you have a secret machine that conjures up hours like magic?”

  “If I like a project, I make time for it. I like this. I’d like to help if I can.”

  “Unless you’re any good with an overlocker I don’t think so.”

  “Think about it, OK? You can have the finale spot.”

  “No.”

  He knew the problem wasn’t about finishing the clothes or about time. When she was assessing her designs she was judging herself too. It wasn’t the right way to do things, but everyone pinned their worth to their job. “Victoria, what are you scared of?”

  Her pretty, kissable mouth flattened into a line. “I’m not scared.”

  “Yes, you are. You don’t think you’re good enough.”

  “I do.” She shook her head—an action at odds with her words. “I am.”

  “I’ve seen that same look you have in your eyes many times over the years with my less confident junior managers. You don’t want to put yourself out there. You don’t want to take a risk.”

  “It’s just...” With a sigh she ran her hand over the wedding dress. “I love them. But, Ollie, what if...?”

  “It’s my job to get the best out of people, to push them a little out of their comfort zone. So, I’m going to ask you again.” He lowered his voice, put his hand on her arm, making her turn and look directly into his eyes. He knew what was wrong because he saw it swimming there. “What are you scared of?”

  “That...oh, for God’s sake, Ollie.” He saw the moment she decided to trust him enough to say it out loud. It was a big step for her but a punch to his heart too. She was vulnerable and yet sharing those fears with him. “I’m scared no one will think they’re any good.”

  Bingo. He’d finally drummed down to the problem. It had taken guts to admit that. “Great. Now we’re getting somewhere. They are good. I told you that. But, yeah, yeah, what do I know? I’m not your creative peer, I’m not a client. But what i
f I told you, you couldn’t fail?”

  “What if I do? What if people laugh?”

  How had she got such a low opinion of herself? “Who did that to you?”

  She frowned. “Did what?”

  “Who destroyed your belief in yourself? Was it Mr. Ponytail? That tailor guy?”

  She walked over to the window and looked outside. It was dark now, a cloudy night punctuated with streetlights and an eerie orange glow coming from the little shops along the road. She fixed her eyes on one of them. “We were going to share his shop, I was going to have a real space for my designs. But when we broke up he said he’d only offered to have my clothes in his shop because he didn’t want to hurt my feelings. And that he didn’t think my designs were up to much.”

  “I’ve told you before. The man’s an idiot. And I do not listen to idiots.” He didn’t know it was possible to feel such animosity towards someone he barely knew, but hell, there were a few choice words he wanted to say to Mr. Bloody Ponytail. Oliver took hold of her shoulders, managing not to kiss some sense and self-belief into her. Just. “Listen to yourself. Listen to your gut. What would you say to Jasmine or Nisha if such an opportunity arose? In fact, what did you say to them about my offer for the runway?”

  She smiled at the memory. “I told them it was a once-in-a-million opportunity and they needed to grasp it, because no one knew where it might take them.”

  “So, if you don’t want to listen to me, can you please listen to your own advice? These clothes are amazing. You’re a talented designer with an opportunity that could take you to the top.”

  “I—But...” Her shoulders sagged in defeat. “You do wonders for a woman’s ego, Oliver Russell.”

  “I’m not stroking your ego. I’m ring-fencing something I want for my opening day. It’s purely self-interest. Business.” They both knew it wasn’t just that. He believed in her and he wanted her to believe in herself. “Or do you have other stores clamoring for you to hold a show there?”

  “No.”

  “Do you want to keep them online in case you get a better offer? If that’s the case then, sure. I totally respect that. Business is all about competition. But if there’s no one knocking on your door then what do you have to lose by showing them for that one day?”

  “Oh. OK.” She pressed her lips together. Her eyes were suddenly alight with hope. She moved away from him, her hands alive with excitement as she straightened down a bodice on one mannequin and repinned a sleeve on another.

  “I don’t need to think about it. I’ll find time, I’ll make time. I can’t pass this up. Who knows where it might get me?” Her eyes darted to the photo of her friends. “Oh, God, my first proper show. I mean, we had them at college, but this is real real. People will be looking at my designs. VIPs. Wait until I tell the girls. This is dream-come-true stuff. See those dresses in the photo? I made them.”

  She was actually giddy with the idea and it was entertaining to watch. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt as invigorated as she was by work. All he wanted to do was smack a kiss on her mouth and feel the joy emanating out of her. He looked at the intricate designs of the dresses in the photograph. Each different and all perfect for the women’s individual body shapes and, he imagined, their personalities. “Even then you had real talent.”

  “I think it’s just the whole ten thousand hours thing. I’ve done my apprenticeship. I always made things; it started with clothes for my dolls when I was little. My gran showed me how to copy clothes by making patterns out of newspaper. They were woeful with huge clumsy stitches, but I was very proud. Then as I got older, I made things I could actually be seen wearing out in public. My friends liked them, so I made things for them. Not just clothes but accessories too.” She picked up a hair clip from a basket on a shelf. It was made out of pearls and velvet. “I don’t like things to be too matchy-matchy but it is fun to echo a theme in a hair grip or hat.”

  “You’re a machine.”

  “I was. Always making things and trying to sell them.” Her eyes lingered over the photo.

  “And then?”

  She breathed out and the joy seeped out of her. It seemed that, for Victoria, there was always something that pulled her back from wallowing in pure joy, as if she didn’t deserve to stay happy for long. “The accident happened.”

  He let her curl into herself for a minute, but waited, knowing if he didn’t say anything then she’d fill the gap. And, eventually, she did. “I couldn’t bring myself to do anything that made me happy. I was punishing myself, I think.” She blinked and gave him a smile that was definitely brave. “Sorry, stupid me. Shouldn’t talk about that and bring the mood down.”

  “It’s part of your life. Don’t hide it away. Punishing yourself for what?”

  She shook her head, but at the same time the words streamed out of her. “Oh, Ollie, I was driving the car.”

  “God, you poor thing. You have to live with that.” He picked the photograph up and looked at the four of them, so happy and innocent and oblivious to the horrors the next few minutes would bring. His heart hurt for them. But most especially for the girl in the middle with the soft dark eyes and shiny dark hair who was staring into the camera with such a lightness he doubted she’d ever felt since.

  “It wasn’t my fault, apparently. The coroner blamed Claudia, the other driver—who was a friend of ours too. She died at the scene.” Victoria briefly closed her eyes and breathed in a ragged breath. “It was a terrible time for the whole village. Families broke up over it. Claudia’s boyfriend—who had no idea she’d been drinking that night—was so distraught he left town soon after and hasn’t been back.”

  But Oliver was stuck on the detail she’d just given him. The weight she’d been carrying for the last decade. “Someone died? Hell, Victoria. You didn’t say before.”

  He tugged her into his arms wanting to share that weight with her, to take some of her burden, but she pressed her lips together and shook her head. Fighting tears. Holding back.

  “She never had a chance. A waste of a wonderful life, a lost future all for one stupid mistake.” She shook her head again as if trying to erase the memory, tell herself it hadn’t really happened. “I couldn’t even go to the funeral because I was still recovering myself. It was all too hard and everything hurt. My heart mostly. And, truth is, I couldn’t face the stares and everyone’s grief.”

  “You had enough to face, you had to focus on yourself.” He pulled her close, wrapped his arms around her so she knew she didn’t have to relive this on her own. As she talked he stroked the back of her head. “You were all so young.”

  “The four of us grew up very quickly after that. Grew tight together, the accident sealed our bond. We survived and we knew just how lucky we were to have come out of it but...well, Claudia didn’t. Every day after the accident that we had was one less she’d had. It was...truly heartbreaking.”

  Victoria looked up at him and blinked, her voice cracking as she spoke. “No one else understood what we went through, what we felt, so we four clung to each other. Hard. Malie and Lily weren’t hurt but they were scarred. Zoe’s still in a wheelchair—”

  “The pretty blonde?”

  “Spinal injury.” She ran her fingers over her friend’s image. “She was so beautiful, like a little wisp of air, ethereal. And then broken.”

  Ah. The question from the other night was answered. “The wheelchair. Now I understand.”

  “It was tough for her to get used to it at first but now you should see her. She won’t let her injury stop her doing anything.” Her eyes softened with sadness. “Almost anything. She had so many plans.”

  “And you put yours on hold too.”

  “I was bruised physically.” She spread her palms across her stomach. “And it was guilt, you see. I spent hours reliving that night. Trying to think of ways I could have prevented the crash, but no matter wh
at, I couldn’t turn back time.”

  “Your friends didn’t blame you?”

  “No. Never. We tried hard to still do the things we’d always loved doing together. Stealing away to our secret bay in a borrowed rowboat. It wasn’t really our bay; it belonged to Blake Hawkesbury who owned the sprawling estate around Hawke’s Cove, but he let us chill there drinking bubbles and cooking freshly caught mackerel on the beach. It wasn’t our boat either, we just borrowed it. But it was definitely our happy place and we kept on going there, trying to rebuild what we’d broken. What I’d broken. And I tried, I really did.” She shivered. “But the guilt. Can you imagine? If I hadn’t been driving maybe none of it would have happened.”

  He put the photo frame back onto the shelf, reluctant to let go of her for even just a second. “Or something worse might have? If someone else had been driving, you all might have died.”

  Her eyebrows rose as if this was something she’d never thought of. “I suppose so.”

  “You can’t live on what-ifs, Victoria.”

  “That’s what my mum said too.”

  He realized then that he knew little of her family. “She sounds amazing.”

  “She is.” Victoria found a smile and he was glad he’d managed to distract her from the pain she’d suffered. “I’m very lucky when it comes to parents.”

  “You haven’t told me anything about them.”

  She shrugged and walked over to another photo tacked to the wall of two adults and two small children playing on a beach. “There’s not much to know. Dad—David—is an accountant at a small firm in Hawke’s Cove. He was born and bred there, and met my mum—Ellen—when she came down on holiday with a group of friends. She’s an art teacher at the school I—we all—went to. Which was a bit embarrassing at times, but we coped.” She identified the couple in the picture as her parents, pointing to each of them as she described them.