“Besides having a midlife crisis during your lunch break?” Her teasing smile coaxed one in return from him. “What’s this really about?”
He leaned back and drummed his fingers on the table. “I don’t know. Pathetic whinging. Forget I said anything. I don’t want to ruin our celebration.”
Grace studied him for a minute, then rose and tossed a banknote on the table. “C’mon. Let’s go.”
“But we’d planned—”
“Hang the plans. Are you coming?”
Ian shrugged apologetically to the server, then followed Grace out of the café. Once out on the pavement, he looked to her. “Where to?”
“I don’t know. Let’s just walk for a bit.”
“I really do need to get back.”
“Why? James isn’t around, so you’re the boss. And your capable assistant has things well under control, right?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then loosen up that tie and let’s go. How often does London get sunshine, even in July? It’s criminal not to enjoy it.” She took a small digital camera from her bag and slipped its strap around her wrist. Then she threaded her fingers through his and tugged him down the street.
Their progress was slow, in a pleasant, unhurried way, punctuated every few blocks by Grace raising her camera and snapping shots of passersby or buildings or a cluster of birds. What there was about the typical cityscape to inspire her, he didn’t know, but gradually he managed to stop thinking about the work awaiting him back at the office and let himself enjoy watching her. There was something unreasonably sexy about her careless confidence, the easy but competent way she handled the camera.
“You’re gorgeous,” he said.
“You’re delusional.” She smiled at him, though. “Maybe delusional isn’t so bad. Oh look, shawarma. Let’s eat here.”
“This place is good,” he said. They stepped up to the little shop wedged between a news kiosk and a leather tourist shop and ordered lamb shawarma. Then they found a nearby bench on which to perch while they ate.
“Shall we take bets on my ability to keep tzatziki off my trousers?” Ian asked while he peeled back the foil wrapper.
“You should stop wearing suits.”
“For greater ease of shawarma eating?”
Grace chuckled, then took a sip of her fizzy. “Because they suck the life out of you. It’s like cuff links are your Kryptonite.”
“Cuff links keep my sleeves together. Besides, that would make me Superman.”
“Well, then, Superman, you should kiss me.”
“Excuse me?”
“Kiss me. You didn’t seem to have a problem with it anywhere else. But you weren’t wearing a suit then.”
“That logic is completely mental.” He laid his arm across the back of the bench, then leaned over and pressed a light kiss to her lips.
She cocked her head and considered. “Point proved.”
“Hey!”
“You call that a kiss?”
“In public? Yes.”
“That is pathetic.”
He gave her a mock scowl. “Are you trying to make me angry now?”
“No, I’m trying to make the point that you are two different people, and I wanted to have lunch with the one who would kiss me like he meant it.” Her eyes glinted with challenge.
He wrapped his hand around her lapels, then pulled her close enough to press his lips to hers again. She smiled against his mouth before she softened to him, sliding her hands beneath his jacket so her fingernails could trace shivery trails down his back through his shirt.
It was Grace who pulled away first, a little breathless but utterly self-satisfied. “Well.”
Ian cleared his throat. “I win.”
“No, I’m pretty sure I win.” Grace gave him a naughty little grin before she turned back to her shawarma. “That was a rather impressive public display of affection. Next thing you know, you’ll be wearing a pullover to work. Of all the horrors.”
Ian laughed and nudged her leg with his knee. The grin she shot back unexpectedly wormed into his chest and gave his heart a firm clench. He pulled off his tie and draped it around her neck. “You’ve made me see the error of my ways. I might even go back to work tieless.”
“You’re so very brave.”
He reached for her hand and laced his fingers with hers. Before he lost his nerve or she shifted the topic to a joke again, he said, “I have something to ask you.”
“Yes?” she said slowly. No fear, but the caution in her voice was unmistakable.
“Will you come to Scotland with me for Jamie’s wedding next month?”
“His wedding?”
“What did you think I was going to say?”
“I had no idea,” Grace said with a self-conscious little laugh. “Of course I’ll go. But what will your family think? Won’t your mum be there?”
“Jamie and Serena have always loved you. And Mum … well, she’ll have to get over it. What do you say?”
“I say yes.” She stretched up and stole a kiss. “As long as you let me keep this tie.”
He grinned at her and loosened the top button of his shirt. “It looks better on you anyway.”
Chapter Sixteen
“Spill it.”
Grace cracked an eye open before diving back under the warm duvet, ignoring Asha’s expectant look as she perched on the arm of the sofa. But the lure of fresh, hot tea was too strong to resist, wafting through the layers of down and cotton over her head. With a sigh she threw back the duvet and accepted the mug while she blinked sleep out of her eyes.
“Spill what?” The first sip—milk, light sugar, just how she liked it—woke her marginally. The second pried her eyes open to somewhat resemble alertness. “And what time is it anyway?”
“It’s ten after nine. You’re lucky I let you sleep in at all after that cryptic text message you sent me.”
The text message. Grace had sent it late last night after she’d tired of waiting for Asha to come home from dinner with Jake. The excitement of the interview—and admittedly the lunch with Ian—had driven away sleep for hours, which explained why she felt as though she’d been hit by a lorry this morning.
Asha was still waiting expectantly, so Grace filled her in on the interview with DeVries and his promise to take her application to the board of directors at the next meeting.
“But Ian’s on the board, right? Surely this is a formality.”
“I hope so. DeVries asked about my relationship with Ian. Didn’t seem too disturbed over it, but he also didn’t want it to become common knowledge.”
“Right.” Asha’s eyes sparkled, and she nudged Grace aside so she could climb beneath the covers with her. “How’s all that going?”
Grace took another sip of her tea so she didn’t have to answer right away. What was she supposed to say? That she felt giddy at the mere thought of him, as smitten as a schoolgirl with her first crush? Or that he could light up every nerve ending in her body just by looking at her? That was far too confessional for a morning where she’d barely consumed a quarter cup of caffeine, so she settled for, “Good. He asked me to go to Scotland with him for James’s wedding.”
Asha squealed. “That’s great! You’re going, right?”
“Of course. That was the reason for the text message. I need your shopping expertise. I have to find a dress.”
“Say no more.” Asha gripped Grace’s shoulder with mock seriousness. “I knew this day would come. My little girl has become a woman.”
Grace snorted, but Asha’s enthusiasm warmed her. No questions about what it meant that Ian was bringing her to a function where his mother would be present. No prodding about what this indicated about their relationship.
“So … does that mean you’re going to have to play nice with his mum?”
Spoke too soon. Grace shrugged, unwilling to let the matter dampen her spirits. “He didn’t seem to care, so I’m not going to worry about it.”
“I’d say that’
s a big step. After she kicked you off her property that time, the fact he’s willing to risk her ire says he’s serious.”
Her tea again served as an excuse not to answer, even though she’d thought the same thing. Ian was nothing if not a dutiful son, though to his credit, he’d not stood by and allowed his mother to insult her. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to be the reason for more family discord.
Why not? You’re the one who broke up your own family.
She discarded the thought before it could take root and poison her mind. She was not responsible for the actions and reactions of others. “So. Dress. Where are we going?”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ve got you taken care of. Wear comfortable shoes.”
In retrospect, Grace should have known what the glint in Asha’s eye meant, but four stores and six hours on Oxford Street later, she wondered if she should have gone to Marks & Spencer and picked the first black dress she could find.
Now, as she shimmied the twentieth option over her head, she was beginning to think Asha was torturing her on purpose.
“Let’s see it then,” Asha called from outside the dressing cubicle.
Grace walked slowly from the tiny space to the full-length mirror. It was a pretty color—a vibrant royal blue—and the long sleeves covered both arms to the wrist. But when she turned to view the plunging back in the mirror, she immediately swiveled back toward the cubicle.
“Where are you going? It’s perfect!”
“I don’t think so.”
“But it shows off your tattoo so beautifully! I don’t even remember seeing this one.”
Grace twisted to look over her shoulder. The V-shaped opening exposed her back almost to the waist, revealing most of the Tree of Life inked there. “That’s because it’s not finished. And may never be. Trust me, Asha, this is not the kind of attention I want at James’s wedding.”
Asha looked unconvinced, but she flopped back down in the upholstered chair to wait while Grace went back to try the next option. Her voice followed Grace into the cubicle.
“You know, sweetie, have you ever thought that maybe the things you’re so afraid will draw attention are the things that Ian likes about you? Lord knows, all the proper English businesswomen have never had a shot with him.”
Grace paused with the dress halfway over her head. Ian had always been fascinated with her tattoos. But this wasn’t about Ian or her. The day was supposed to celebrate James and his new wife. There was no reason to draw attention to herself when all eyes should be on the bride and groom.
But she underestimated Asha’s persuasiveness. When they headed up to John Lewis’s third-floor café for a late lunch, she was in possession of both the blue dress and a pair of coordinating heels. Unfortunately she also had the niggling sense that what she had seen as a straightforward trip to Scotland might be fraught with more drama than she was ready to handle. Ian’s family—at least the Scottish side—were good people. They didn’t need the turmoil that Grace would bring into their family, whether it was for a weekend or longer.
Yet when her phone rang, she scrambled for it like a teenager waiting for an invitation to prom.
“Hello, beautiful.” Ian’s low, quiet voice sent shivers straight down to her toes.
“Hi. I’m having lunch with Asha. Can I ring you back?”
“No need. Chris invited us to a film tonight. He’s bringing his girlfriend. Do you want to go?”
Us? There was already an us, that his best mate would assume she should be invited? “Do you want to go?”
“If you do. We’re supposed to meet at that old Indian place in Piccadilly at half past six if we’re joining them.”
“Sure. Meet you there?”
“No, I’ll pick you up at Asha’s place.” His voice dropped another octave, which meant he was calling from work. “I can’t wait to see you.”
“Me too.” She clicked off, dropped her phone back in her pocket, then scowled at Asha’s searching expression. “What?”
“That was Ian.” Her eyes widened as if she’d suddenly worked out a puzzle. “You’re in love with him.”
Grace swallowed but said nothing.
“I don’t mean you still love him, like you always have. I mean you’ve fallen for him all over again.”
Her heart gave a brutal twist. She couldn’t deny Asha was right. But what was she supposed to say? That in a space of a couple of weeks, she couldn’t imagine being without him? That he was never far from her mind? That at times she wanted him so badly she couldn’t breathe? It was all true, but it made her sound pathetic and obsessive, so instead she settled for a noncommittal answer. “He makes me happy, but I’m being cautious.”
“Just don’t ‘cautious’ yourself into another decade of misery because it scares you. There’s a reason why neither of you settled with anyone else. I pray you both figure it out before one of you gets stupid again.”
“Well, in the meantime, we’re going to the cinema with one of his mates tonight, so you will have to do with Jake for company.”
“Good. Grace, I want you to be happy. No one deserves it more.”
Grace smiled in response, but Asha’s words left her feeling unsettled. She wanted to believe it was true, needed to believe it was possible. But for the first time, it wasn’t Ian’s heart she feared for. It was her own.
Chapter Seventeen
Asha left the flat first, giving Grace enough time to wash and change before Ian arrived. Tonight she’d made an effort to dress nicely in new jeans, metallic sandals that showed off her polka-dotted pedicure, and a light mesh sweater. She was putting on a coat of mascara when the downstairs buzzer rang.
A minute later she opened the door to find Ian equally casually dressed in his typical chinos and fine-gauge sweater. She barely had the door closed behind them before he lifted her around the middle and gave her a hello kiss that made her glad she wasn’t standing on her own feet.
“Hi,” she said, breathless.
He set her down with a grin that was almost as devastating to her balance as the kiss. “I’ve been wanting to do that all day. Are you ready to go?”
“Let me get my bag.” She found her much-neglected shoulder bag, into which she loaded her keys, her wallet, and her tiny digital camera.
“You’re bringing a camera?” he asked as she looked up.
“I always bring a camera. You never know what you’re going to come across.”
They descended the stairs to the foyer, and Ian held open the front door. “I like that way of approaching life.”
“Which way? Always be prepared? Like the Boy Scouts?”
“No, with anticipation of something new and worth remembering.”
That was unexpected. What had gotten into him tonight? “Had you given up on spontaneity?”
“Maybe I just didn’t have anyone to appreciate it with.” He squeezed her hand, then flagged down a passing taxi when they reached the corner.
Grace’s enthusiasm waned the closer they got to Piccadilly Circus, the irony of which was not lost on her. Dinner with Ian’s friends was the least frightening thing she’d done in a decade, including seeing him again. He seemed to pick up on her mood and pulled her aside before they entered the building.
“Grace, relax. You’ll like Sarah. You already know Chris.”
“I’m fine. Really. I’ll be on my best behavior.”
Ian gave her a little nudge, and his grin surfaced. “I certainly hope not. What fun would that be?”
They climbed the narrow staircase to the restaurant a floor up, an open space with the sort of bare formality that seemed to characterize Indian restaurants. They waved off the host and crossed the room to where Chris waited at a window table for four, his bulky form standing out in a roomful of normal-sized people.
“Ian.” He greeted his friend first, then turned to Grace, his smile widening. “Grace. It’s been donkey’s years! You look great! How are you?”
Grace accepted his awkward side-arm hug,
chuckling at the effusive greeting. “Nice to see you, Chris. You haven’t changed a bit.”
“And you are as good a liar as you ever were. This is my girlfriend, Sarah.”
Grace shook her hand while they exchanged the expected pleasantries, and she took the seat Ian held for her. Sarah was not the kind of woman Grace had anticipated. She was pretty in a natural, accessible way, with a shoulder-length, brown bob and almost no makeup—nothing like the overstyled groupies Chris had dated in his British Team days. When Sarah smiled, her dark eyes sparkled merrily. Grace instantly liked her.
“I have to say, Grace, you are not at all what I expected.”
“Oh? How’s that?”
“When Chris said you were a war photographer, I didn’t expect anyone so … well, pretty.”
Grace felt a surprise flush rise to her cheeks. She’d been called many things by other women, but pretty usually wasn’t one of them. “I’ll admit, after knowing Chris years ago, I didn’t expect you to be—”
Sarah grinned. “Normal? Trust me, I know.”
“Hey!” Chris protested.
Grace stifled a laugh and flipped open the heavy cardboard menu to scan the listings. The banter flowing around her lifted her spirits. Despite her earlier reservations, the normalcy of the evening was irresistible. She was accustomed to being crowded around a table with a group of journalists, their cameras within easy reach. No need to listen for air-raid sirens or wonder if the slam of a lorry’s cargo door was an RPG hitting a nearby building.
She could actually relax.
After they placed their order, Grace folded her hands atop the table. “So, Sarah, I know Chris is an investment analyst. What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a bookkeeper for an office-cleaning firm.” Sarah’s freckled nose scrunched up. “Sounds dead dull, doesn’t it?”
It did, but Grace could hardly say that. “Not necessarily. Do you like it?”
Sarah shrugged. “It’s all right. Chris and I live together, so it’s for mad money, really. Pays for the trips back to see the folks and take holidays and all that. Besides, with all the time he spends at work and at the club, I’ve got to do something with my time.”
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