by Carrie Duffy
But it was eating him up inside, not knowing how she felt. He hadn’t been with a woman since Alyson came back into his life, and he was getting pretty frustrated in other areas too.
The next time he saw her, he would tell her at the first opportunity he got. Aidan was head over heels in love with Alyson, and he needed to know if she felt the same way.
Dionne lay back on the ultrasound table, her top pushed up below her breasts, her trousers pulled down to her pelvis as Dr Martine Chrétien, the obstetrician, smeared warm gel over her enormous stomach. She was at the American Hospital of Paris, about to have her final scan. The sensor was placed over her bump and within seconds the image appeared on the screen – her baby, so clear and recognizable, like a new person already.
Dionne felt a lump in her throat that wouldn’t shift, an overwhelming feeling of love surging through her. ‘Hi, baby,’ she whispered, giving a little wave.
She looked up at Alyson, standing beside her, mesmerized by the black-and-white image. Her eyes were shining wet, her expression incredulous. ‘It’s amazing,’ she breathed, reaching out for Dionne’s hand. Dionne took it, squeezing tightly. They smiled at each other, a shared moment between them.
The two women were gradually rebuilding their friendship, and Dionne had invited Alyson along today, thinking it might be the perfect gesture to help their reconciliation. It was her way of apologizing, of putting everything that had happened between them in the past. What better way to celebrate new beginnings than a new baby?
Dr Chrétien moved the scanner carefully over Dionne’s stomach, producing a perfect image. It was so clear, so perfect. The heartbeat was strong. Dionne choked up when she heard it, the new life pumping away. Her baby.
The obstetrician turned to her with a smile. ‘Everything is fine, Mademoiselle Summers. The baby’s very healthy.’
Dionne sighed in relief, as Alyson smiled.
‘The scan is extremely clear,’ she continued. ‘In fact, I can make out the sex, I’m ninety-nine per cent certain. Would you like to know?’
Dionne hesitated, her heart beginning to race a little faster. She stared at the screen, wondering if she could make it out, but she couldn’t see clearly. She turned to Alyson. ‘What do you think?’
Alyson shook her head. ‘It’s up to you. Your call.’
Dionne thought about it. She’d had the nursery painted in tones of yellow and cream, but if she knew what she was having, she’d be able to completely redecorate. And she could start buying clothes in the appropriate colour – she’d seen all the adorable little boy and girl outfits in Baby Dior, but stuck to white and neutrals. Above all, she was curious. This baby whom she’d carried for eight months now, who had caused such a seismic shift in her life … she wanted to get to know it a little better.
‘Yes,’ she replied firmly.
‘You’re sure?’
She nodded quickly, before she could change her mind.
Dr Chrétien looked at her and smiled. ‘Congratulations, Dionne. You’re having a girl.’
The rest of the day felt a little flat after the morning’s excitement. Dionne returned to her apartment, saying she needed to rest, so Alyson went back to her own flat, feeling tearful and emotional. It had been mind-blowing, such a rush seeing the images of Dionne’s baby on the screen like that. Dionne was going to be a mother! Alyson could hardly wrap her head around the idea – crazy, irresponsible Dionne was going to take care of another person for the rest of her life.
But Dionne was changing, Alyson could see it. She’d calmed down, prioritized. The focus in her life had finally shifted, from being all about her to being all about her baby. A girl. Dionne was going to have a daughter.
Alyson felt herself well up once more, as she slammed the door to her apartment and stood there, drinking in the silence. She wondered if she’d ever have that. A child, a future, a reason to concentrate on something other than herself.
She flopped down on her sofa, her thoughts automatically coming back to Aidan, where they always seemed to end up these days.
She’d been trying to contact him for hours, wanting to know how the launch had gone, but she couldn’t get through. His phone was switched off. It was frustrating, but she guessed that was a good sign. Hopefully it meant it had been such an amazing night that he was still sleeping it off. She hoped there wasn’t a more sinister reason behind it – that now the job was finished he was no longer interested in speaking to her. She wondered if she would see him again – did they even have a reason to keep in touch any more? She thought they were friends, but perhaps Aidan didn’t see it like that. Perhaps he thought of their relationship as nothing more than a business transaction.
Alyson stared listlessly up at the ceiling. She didn’t know what to do with herself, all alone in the apartment that didn’t feel like hers any more. She supposed she should get round to calling a real-estate company to put it on the market. Or maybe she should get out her laptop and do some research for Dante Consulting. If the launch had gone well and Kennedy’s Dubai was a success, then she needed to strike while the iron was hot, try and take on some more clients.
The buzzer to her apartment rang out, and Alyson groaned, dragging herself up from the couch.
‘Allo?’
‘Mademoiselle Wakefield?’ It was the porter from the front desk. ‘There is a gentleman here to see you. Shall I send him up?’
‘Who is it?’ Alyson asked in confusion. A gentleman? Maybe Jacques from Capucine?
‘He says his name is Aidan Kennedy.’
Aidan! Alyson exhaled in shock.
‘Yes, please, send him up,’ she managed to stammer, before hanging up the phone.
Shit! She estimated she had just over a minute before he arrived at her door. Alyson raced to the nearest mirror, frantically trying to smooth down her hair and quickly slicking on some lipstick. She shoved the cluster of empty mugs from the coffee table into the dishwasher and stared blindly round the apartment. What the hell was Aidan doing here? Had there been a problem with the launch, or—
But there was no time to wonder any more as the next moment he was there, right outside her door. Alyson opened it to let him in, and thought she might faint with pleasure. He looked incredible in just jeans and a black T-shirt that picked out his thick, dark hair and the smattering of stubble that indicated he hadn’t had time to shave before he arrived. His skin was lightly tanned from the hot Dubai sun, his eyes the brilliant blue of the Arabian Gulf.
‘Hi,’ she said shyly. Her heart was still thumping from the burst of adrenaline she’d got tidying the apartment, her skin lightly flushed from the exertion.
She felt ridiculous suddenly, as though she wanted to run and hide. What was wrong with her? It was Aidan! She’d spent the best part of three months with him, so why couldn’t she act normally now?
‘Hi,’ he grinned, strolling lazily into the flat and looking around. ‘Nice place.’
‘What are you doing here?’ Alyson burst out. ‘Not that it’s a bad thing, but I didn’t expect … How was the launch? Was everything okay?’ She couldn’t seem to stop talking.
‘I left straight after it ended. I haven’t slept in what seems like a couple of days, so forgive my dishevelled appearance.’
Alyson didn’t think she’d ever seen him looking so hot.
‘In case you were wondering, the opening was amazing.’
‘Really?’ Alyson squealed in delight, realizing she’d been staring at him. He grinned at her, and she felt her stomach somersault, looping the loop like a fairground ride.
‘It went perfectly. I couldn’t have asked for anything better. And all thanks to you.’
Alyson blushed at the flattery.
‘We make a great team, don’t you think?’
‘The best,’ Alyson agreed. Her heart was hurting so badly she didn’t think she could take it much longer. ‘Would you like a drink?’ she asked, groping for something to say. Her voice had somehow gone up an octave.
; Aidan laughed. ‘No thanks, I’m okay. I have something a little more urgent to talk to you about.’
‘What?’ Alyson asked in alarm.
‘Alyson, I’ve tried to say this so many times, but I’ve been thwarted at every attempt,’ he joked, his delicious Irish accent sounding sexier than ever. ‘So, if I’m out of line, or you want to tell me to go to hell, then I promise you, I’ll walk out of that door and never come back.’
Alyson’s breath was coming fast as she wondered what he was about to say, if it was possible that—
‘Alyson, I’m crazy about you. I always have been. I can’t stop thinking about you. That’s the reason I came here today. I just needed to tell you – I couldn’t bear to wait any longer …’
Alyson could hardly believe what he was saying. It was everything she’d dreamed of, everything she’d fantasized about.
‘Aidan,’ she breathed, and before she knew what was happening, he’d taken her in his arms, kissing her so softly, so exquisitely. His lips touched hers, warm and delicious, but he took his time. He wanted to savour this moment.
Alyson felt weak, as though her legs wouldn’t hold her up.
‘Is this what you want?’ he asked tenderly.
‘Oh, Aidan,’ she murmured, ‘I’ve wanted you for so long. I never dreamt that you’d … I was so afraid.’
‘Well you don’t have to be afraid any longer,’ he assured her. ‘I’m here, for as long as you want me.’
‘I’ll always want you,’ Alyson managed to say.
‘Then I’ll always be here.’ He kissed her again and she smelt the delicious tang of his skin, the musky, manly scent of him. Alyson felt a sweet sensation of heat, low in her groin, but there was no need to rush – she knew that this time it would lead to fulfilment. Aidan wasn’t going anywhere and neither was she. She wrapped her arms around him, wanting to lose herself in his arms, his lips, his body.
His kisses were soft, just the lightest trace of stubble brushing against her cheek. She wove her fingers through his hair, tracing the smooth skin on the back of his neck, able to do all the things that had haunted her dreams during the long, hot, sticky nights in Dubai.
Aidan’s breath was warm against her neck, his hands brushing lightly against her body. She moaned as his palms slid over her breasts, letting out a groan of longing as she felt her nipples tighten beneath the thin fabric of her top. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and the sensations were heightened, the rough texture of his thumbs circling the tiny, pale-pink buds.
‘Aidan …’ With shaking fingers she unbuttoned his shirt, finding the tanned, muscular chest below, a smooth covering of dark hair in the centre. He looked so young, so virile. Compared to Philippe, he was a veritable Adonis.
He pulled her close, and she could feel his hardness pressing against her. He was as eager as she was, both of them desperate to take their time but unable to do so. They’d wanted this for so long they had no sense of control, slaves to what their bodies were telling them.
Aidan slid the fabric of her top down below her breasts, catching his breath at the sight of her body, the delicate, pale skin creamy and flawless.
‘You’re perfect,’ he breathed, as he bent down to her, his mouth closing round her nipple as he lightly sucked and licked.
Alyson gasped, her back arching as she pressed herself into his hands, longing for him to take her completely. Then her fingers slid down between his legs, feeling him through the thick fabric of his jeans. She let her hand move along his length, as Aidan groaned.
‘Alyson,’ he told her. ‘I can’t hold on much longer …’
She stared at him, her pupils dilated, the irises black. ‘This way,’ she murmured, as she took his hand and led him towards her room. They collapsed onto the bed, removing clothes in a frenzy, delighting in discovering each other’s bodies for the first time.
As they lay naked together, Aidan poised above Alyson, about to enter her, he paused, looking her straight in the eye.
She lay beneath him, almost shaking with anticipation. Her lips were parted, her skin flushed.
‘I love you, Alyson,’ Aidan told her, his eyes tender and full of wonder, as though he couldn’t believe that they were finally together.
Alyson’s arms were wrapped around him, her hands stroking the smooth skin on his back.
‘I love you, too, Aidan,’ she told him. ‘I love you, too.’
38
Dionne was in her element. She was swanning around backstage at the Capucine show, the centre of attention, and she adored it. Everyone wanted to speak to her,the press desperate to interview her about her scandalous past and her triumphant return. If there was one thing the media liked better than a fallen star, it was a resurrected one.
And Dionne played the game to perfection. She’d completely transformed from the diva she once was and now she charmed the reporters, being polite and gracious, taking the time to talk to whoever wanted to speak to her. More than one reporter who knew the Dionne of old commented privately what a difference it was, how she was almost unrecognizable from the stuck-up, difficult bitch they were used to dealing with.
Backstage it was chaos – there were people everywhere, designer-clad bodies packed tightly together, with blaggers downing all the free champagne they could lay their hands on, and fashionistas who hated each other kissing the air beside each other’s cheeks. Because Capucine was trying to turn around its fortunes and get the media onside, reporters had been given unprecedented access to the whole show. Cameras and journalists were everywhere backstage, running around like kids in a candy store, and there was no privacy. Not even the model changing area was off limits, with girls having microphones thrust in their faces as their make-up was being applied, photographers snapping away as the models tried to get a little down-time.
The atmosphere crackled with electricity, and Dionne thrived on it, as vital to her as food and air. She didn’t realize how much she’d missed it. And maybe, just maybe, this would be the beginning of bigger things; this one show would be the catalyst that relaunched her career. Yes, she was doing it for CeCe, but she was hopeful for herself too.
The music was pumping, and the energy was almost tangible. Dionne was blossoming, positively glowing. Her bump was enormous – she looked ready to burst – and her dresses had been specially made to accommodate it. Jacques had joked that he might design a diffusion line of maternity wear. Her opening dress was gorgeous – full-length and sweeping, with layer upon layer of plum chiffon, a sweetheart bodice and lace detail that covered her upper arms. The colour was rich, the fabric light and airy, so comfortable to wear in her expectant state.
For once, this was a show she might remember, Dionne thought, as she gratefully took a sip of orange juice. No alcohol, no drugs – it was kind of weird to do a show and not be high or drunk. But she was glad of it. She wanted to remember every second and she knew this was going to be special.
‘Dionne – do you have time for a couple of questions?’
‘Of course.’ Dionne smiled radiantly at the reporter, moving in front of the camera.
‘First of all, congratulations on your pregnancy.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Do you know if you’re having a boy or a girl?’
Dionne smiled mysteriously. ‘I really can’t say,’ she replied. She’d signed a big-money deal with a magazine for the first photo shoot – hey, she was a single mom and she had to make ends meet.
‘This is your first ever show for Capucine. Are you looking forward to walking for the label?’
‘Oh, totally,’ Dionne gushed. ‘I can’t wait! I mean, I think everyone’s finding it very strange today, to be here without CeCe, but this is the best tribute to her. Jacques Perrot is an amazing, talented designer, and he’s done a fantastic job on this collection. Because of him, CeCe and her legacy live on.’
A runner passed by and tapped her lightly on the arm. ‘Mademoiselle Summers? You’re needed in make-up.’
‘Thanks. I have t
o go,’ she apologized to the reporters, breaking into an excited grin. ‘Duty calls.’
Only a few streets away, Aidan and Alyson were seated nervously in the offices of Philippe’s lawyers, on the rue de Castiglione. It was a prestigious area and the office reflected that. It reeked of old money – all leather armchairs, dark wood-panelling and bookcases lined with weighty-looking tomes. This was the final stage in Aidan’s acquisition of Philippe’s properties. His lawyers had checked over the contract already and all he needed to do was sign.
Alyson had gone with him for moral support, her hand resting on his arm as they waited for the avocat to finish preparing the documents.
Jean-Baptiste Le Clerc looked like a typical lawyer: grey, middle-aged, well dressed in a classic pinstriped suit. After what seemed like an age, he turned the papers around and pushed them across the antique mahogany desk to Aidan.
‘Monsieur Rochefort signed earlier today,’ he explained. ‘All that’s needed is your signature.’
‘Thank you,’ Aidan nodded, trying not to show his anxiety. His hands were shaking slightly as he picked up the Cartier pen, hovering above the paper just below where Philippe had signed.
Alyson stared at the page, at the familiar handwriting and that confident, scrolling signature that she knew so well. It was like a relic from another time.
She wondered if Philippe had looked into who he was selling to: she assumed not. If the rumours Aidan had heard were correct, Philippe had had more pressing issues on his mind recently, like trying to rescue Rochefort Enterprises from the brink of bankruptcy. He’d be so eager to offload his unwanted properties that she doubted he’d waste time checking who the buyer was. Besides, Alyson doubted he’d recognize Aidan’s name. He’d probably never even appeared on Philippe’s radar, the older man never imagining that the young manager from the tourist bar all those years ago was set to become his rival.