Hired Girlfriend, Pregnant Fiancée?

by Nina Milne

  The waiter returned with a long wooden board that held bread and three slender bottles of olive oil. ‘Rosemary, chilli and plain,’ he explained, then took their order and departed.

  As she helped herself, Gabby glanced across at him. ‘So,’ she said, ‘I’m intrigued. To be honest, I can’t imagine what kind of business you have in mind.’

  A sudden heat touched her cheekbones and she looked down at the piece of bread she held. A flash of insight told him with complete certainty that she had suddenly been hit with exactly the sort of business he currently had in mind.

  Say something, Zander. Before the silence stretches so taut it snaps.

  ‘Before we go any further, I need to know if you are in a relationship.’

  ‘I can’t see how that could possibly pertain to a business proposition.’

  Her voice had a definite chill factor and he couldn’t blame her.

  ‘Humour me. Please. Just a simple yes or no will suffice. Then I’ll explain.’

  Gabby narrowed her eyes but then shrugged. ‘No.’

  Out-of-all-proportion relief touched him that his assumption had been correct. It was an assumption based purely on the sheer intensity of the kiss they had shared. Somehow he’d been sure that if Gabby was seeing someone, she wouldn’t have kissed him like that.

  ‘So explain,’ she said flatly.

  ‘It all started with that kiss. There were some rather unfortunate repercussions.’

  The waiter reappeared with their wine, and the interlude gave him time to gather his thoughts and marshal them into coherence.

  She tilted her head, waited for him to continue.

  ‘You know my circumstances?’

  ‘Sure. You run a highly successful consultancy company, with offices in London, Germany and Ireland, you made your first million by the time you were twenty-seven, and you started your business from a rented garage whilst you slept in an ancient caravan because you gambled everything.’

  Guilt delivered another sucker punch. He’d done all of that. His wife had died and it had kick-started his route to a success she would never see—a success that would not have happened had she lived.

  It’s not that I don’t believe in you, Zan. It’s just not worth the risk. What’s wrong with what we have now? If you do something like that, I’ll never see you. I want us to be together, have a family, not risk losing the roof over our heads.

  Claudia’s words were so clear in his head, but there was no point pursuing that path. Right or wrong, he’d done what he’d done.

  ‘All that is correct,’ he said. ‘But I meant my personal circumstances.’ Though he couldn’t blame Gabby for citing his business ones. This was supposed to be all about business.

  ‘I know that you were widowed. And as I said on Saturday I’m so very sorry. You must have been devastated.’

  How to explain it? Explain that he had been blasted with grief—grief at the loss of a life so young, grief that the girl he’d fallen in love with aged sixteen should have been taken, grief at the waste, the sadness, the sheer horror of watching someone you cared about fight and lose, slowly get weaker and fade away.

  ‘It was difficult,’ he said.

  He waited as their pizzas arrived, black pepper and parmesan were dispensed. Then he continued, aware of the intent concentration of her expression, grateful for the lack of question or comment. Gabby was letting him tell the story as he wanted.

  ‘Since Claudia’s death I haven’t had another relationship, and to be honest I am good with that. I haven’t wanted one and I still don’t. However, my family have different ideas. They are worried about me, think I need to move forward...and they spend way too much of their time trying to set me up.’ He paused to sample the pizza and nodded. ‘You’re right. This is incredible.’

  ‘Glad you like it.’ She paused to pour chilli oil over her pizza. ‘It’s nice that your family cares.’

  For a second he saw wistfulness cross her face.

  ‘Yes. But on Saturday, after our...encounter, I went back to Mum and Dad’s and everyone fell on me with joy.’

  ‘Why?’

  He sighed. ‘We were spotted by one of my mum’s friends. Edna Harris, if you want to know full details.’ The woman had an uncanny ability to nose out secrets, to be in the ‘right’ place at the ‘right’ time. ‘She headed straight for Casa Grosvenor to share the glad tidings and my family are thrilled.’

  Gabby’s face held bemusement. ‘OK. But I’m still not seeing this. All you had to do was explain you were helping out an old schoolmate with a hen challenge. End of.’

  ‘Given the detail Edna went into about what she saw, it would have been a tricky explanation.’

  Gabby speared an artichoke heart and shook her head. ‘Yes, but...’

  ‘You’re right. I could have explained it. I decided not to.’

  ‘Because...?’

  The artichoke was halted, halfway to her mouth, and for a moment his gaze snagged on her lips. He remembered their feel, the taste of her, the sheer unexpected passion and desire that kiss had evoked...

  Deep breath. He decided he might as well go for it. ‘Because I thought it would be a great idea to pretend you are my girlfriend.’

  The artichoke heart fell from her fork.

  ‘That’s why I’m here. I want to hire you to be my fake girlfriend.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  GABBY WATCHED THE descent of the artichoke heart on to the tomato sauce of her pizza as her brain scrambled for a response to his words...questioned whether she could have heard them correctly. Perhaps this was Zander Grosvenor’s idea of some sort of bizarre joke. Perhaps her tomato-splattering response was being recorded by an unseen camera. If so, the image could be labelled The Personification of Stupefaction. Or maybe she had misheard him?

  Trying not to gibber, she surveyed his expression—outwardly calm, with a hint of tension in his jawline.

  Eventually her brain decided on a single syllable. ‘Why?’ Immediate hindsight suggested a simple no would have been a better choice, followed by a rapid exit.

  Zander sipped his wine, then placed the glass down, his fingers still around the base. For a second she studied his hand—its size, its strength, the very faint smattering of hair, the sturdiness of his wrist—and a funny little thrill shot through her.

  Wrenching her gaze away, she looked up. ‘Why would you want to hire a fake girlfriend? If you need a girlfriend, I’m pretty sure you could muster up a real one.’ The man was gorgeous and loaded and—oh, God, had she just given him the wrong idea? ‘Not me, obvs. But I’m sure there would be plenty of women who would go out with you for nothing.’

  ‘I don’t want a real girlfriend. I don’t want a real relationship. Not right now.’ The words or ever seemed to hover unspoken over the table, implicit in his tone, and Gabby could have kicked herself around the restaurant. The man was a widower, either still in love with his wife or not yet ready to move on. She’d been so inappropriately focused on his damn hand she’d lost the plot.

  ‘I’m sorry, Zander. I didn’t mean any disrespect to Claudia.’

  ‘None taken.’

  ‘But I still don’t get why on earth you would want a pretend girlfriend.’

  ‘Because it would make my family happy.’ His sigh contained exasperation, but affection and warmth, as well. ‘They were genuinely so thrilled that I might have found someone.’

  ‘Did Edna Harris mention the bunny suit?’

  ‘Yup. But I don’t think they would have cared if you were naked.’

  Had he really said that? Naked? The two syllables resonated in the air, evoking images he quickly censored. Move along.

  ‘My sisters were happy I’d lightened up and met someone “fun”. My mum was happy I’d met anyone, because she’s worried I’ll never get over Claudia.’

  Do you thin
k you will? She bit back the question. None of her business. God knew she didn’t like discussing her own personal circumstances, her own losses and how she’d dealt with them. So instead she picked up a piece of pizza and contemplated him over the rim.

  ‘I get that you want to make your family happy.’

  Hell, she’d do anything for her grandmother. Anything at all. The familiar twinge of intertwined love, guilt and worry twinged her nerves. Her grandparents had used up their pension, the equity in their house on her—the cost of bringing up a child as they’d entered their seventies had taken a huge financial toll on them. Then, when her grandfather had died, his pension had stopped.

  And now... Well, Gabby squirrelled away as much of her salary as she could for the future that she knew was imminent—the time when her grandmother would need more and more help at home to retain her independence. A time when there might be no choice but to find a residential care home. After all, Lucille had turned ninety the previous month.

  Gabby would be more than happy to move in with her grandmother right now, but Lucille flatly refused, informing her that she didn’t need to be tied to an old lady—she needed to be living her life and enjoying her youth. Nothing would budge her.

  ‘Gabby?’

  ‘Sorry. The thing is that, however much you love your family, faking a relationship is a little extreme. Plus...surely it’s wrong.’

  ‘Wrong in what way?’

  ‘Well, it’s an outright lie, for a start. But it’s not only a factual lie. It goes deeper. You want to make them believe that you’re getting over Claudia, that you’re moving forward, when you aren’t.’

  ‘I have got over Claudia. In the sense that I am not still in love with her or her memory. But my family won’t accept that—they want proof, and the only proof I can offer them is a girlfriend.’

  Gabby shook her head. ‘But if you’re over her, why not open yourself up to the idea of a real relationship? With someone you really like as opposed to a virtual stranger whom you kissed to help her out.’

  For a treacherous instant the kiss returned to her mind, replayed in full neon pink bunny-suited glory. And in that instant a small voice from the deep recesses of her brain screamed at her to shut up! Questioned why she was having some sort of moral, intellectual discussion about this. Hell, if this man wanted a fake girlfriend, so what? She should take the opportunity and run with it.

  Run where? interjected the voice of reason. Towards more kisses? That would be plain stupid.

  ‘My reasons for not wanting another relationship are personal. My objective here is to combat my family’s worries. And, from an entirely selfish viewpoint, I’d like them to cease their matchmaking efforts, which, frankly, are driving me nuts.’

  ‘But...it won’t work.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because presumably you don’t want to continue this fiction for ever. So what happens a few months down the line when we split up? They’ll start worrying again. Even more than they are now. Because if you dump the fake girlfriend—FG for short—then they’ll think it’s because of Claudia. And if FG dumps you, they’ll be worried that you’re heartbroken. Lose-lose.’

  ‘I’ve thought of that. I’d make it clear from the get-go that the relationship isn’t serious for either of us. You or me. It’ll be a bit of fun, an interlude...a first step on the relationship ladder.’

  To her surprise she felt a pang of hurt at the implication that that was all she could be. Get real, Gabby—talk about oversensitivity. This was a fictional, hypothetical scenario. Yet the idea of playing the role of ‘an interlude’ didn’t appeal. Shades of her childhood. To her mother she had been an unfortunate interlude, not a commitment.

  Aware of his scrutiny, the small crease on his forehead, she shook her head. ‘There is no “us”—this is a hypothetical question about you and FG.’

  He raised a hand in mock surrender. ‘Fair enough. But I have thought this through. This fake relationship will be a fun, strings-free one. Me putting my toe back in the relationship waters with someone not after commitment. That way my family won’t try to gather FG into their bosom, but they will feel happy I am “moving forward”. They will also stop trying to set me up with every female of their acquaintance. Win-win. It will work. So I need a real fake girlfriend. I need you. All you have to do is attend a few events with me, some family functions, be seen with me for a few months... And, of course, I’ll pay you. So what do you think?’

  ‘I think it’s mad and you’re madder.’

  Suddenly he smiled. ‘So you’ll do it, then?’

  For a moment the smile literally rendered her speechless. The usual gravity of his face had lightened, his eyes seemed flecked with wicked charm, and for a moment she almost entered the bubble of insanity and agreed.

  As if he sensed her hesitation, he said, ‘Come on Gabby. It might even be fun.’

  Fun. Still under the spell of that smile, her brain was exhibiting interest in the whole ridiculous idea. Perhaps it was a bit like the urge to poke an aching tooth or prod a bruise. Plus he’d said he would pay her—so in truth this would be a job, a business transaction, a chance to put away a little extra money for her grandmother.

  ‘What sort of events?’

  ‘My sister is getting married in a couple of months in Bath—at the actual Roman Baths. And I’m hosting a charity gala next week in London. We’ll need to have a few meals out, or other date-like activities in between. Smile for a few photos. There may be an interview or a few questions from reporters.’

  The last words were said in such a casual tone that at first she didn’t comprehend their meaning. And then suddenly a whole lot of dots were joined up. ‘Exactly who is your sister marrying?’

  ‘Alessio Bravanti.’

  ‘The racing driver?’ Just to be absolutely sure.

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘And this charity gala—you don’t mean a knees-up in the village hall? You’re talking a full-on function? The type covered in celeb magazines?’

  ‘Yes.’ He eyed her, no doubt noting the horror that etched her features. ‘Is that a problem?’

  ‘Yes. I’m sorry, but you’ve got the wrong girl—the wrong candidate for the role.’ Pushing her plate away, she shook her head, aware of a pulse of frustration-tinged regret. ‘I wish I was the sort of woman who would jump at this, but I’m not. The whole thought of being watched and judged makes me come up in hives.’

  ‘No one will judge you.’

  ‘That’s not true and you know it. Your family will definitely judge me, and I won’t blame them for that. They care about you. But it won’t only be them. What about all the guests at the wedding and the charity function? The reporters...the public...?’

  ‘Why does it matter what they think?’

  ‘Because words can hurt just as much as sticks and stones, and the wounds can take longer to heal.’

  Gabby could still feel the pain she’d felt when her mother had been discussing her with her boyfriend du jour.

  Yes, the kid’s a pain...a drag. I know. I’ll see if I can dump her with my parents again.

  That sting would always be with her—the knowledge that she was nothing more than an encumbrance.

  ‘And people’s opinions do matter.’

  Sometimes they could even be life-changing. Social workers had watched her throughout her childhood, assessed her, assessed her grandparents, formed opinions, and Gabby had made damn sure she’d conformed to whatever they wanted.

  She had been the child they’d needed her to be: quiet, invisible, polite, grateful... Whatever it took to jump the regulation hurdles and stay with her grandparents after her mother’s death from an overdose. And she was still that person—the kind who shunned the limelight, the one who had never wanted to be anything like the ‘party girl’ her mother had been, the one who just wanted an ordinary life.
>
  ‘So I’m sorry, Zander, but I can’t do this. It wouldn’t work.’

  Perhaps she was mad, given that he would pay her and she would love the chance to add to her savings. But it wouldn’t be fair to either of them when she knew she couldn’t pull it off.

  ‘I’m not the type of person who could act as your girlfriend—someone who goes to glittering events on the arm of a multimillionaire. You’ll have to find someone else.’ He opened his mouth and quickly she stood up. ‘Bathroom break,’ she said.

  And on the way to the bathroom she’d pay the bill, say goodbye and leave. Because for some daft reason she felt bad—bad that she was refusing the job and bad that she was too chicken to take on a role that most people would kill for. But she knew it was the right decision. Gabby knew her limitations and this was definitely one of them. This role was beyond her abilities.

  * * *

  Five minutes later Zander watched as Gabby headed back to the table, her stride purposeful, the doubts he’d sensed earlier clearly dispelled. This was a woman on a mission to say farewell and leave as soon as possible. Well, tough.

  She halted, looked down and frowned.

  ‘I ordered dessert,’ he explained. ‘It’s the house special, and according to the staff it’s what you always have.’

  The frown deepened. ‘I... How on earth do they remember that?’

  Her surprise was genuine, and Zander realised that Gabby really had no idea how memorable she was. He wasn’t sure he could put his finger on it himself. She was undoubtedly pretty, but it went deeper than that. Perhaps it was the depth of expression in her hazel eyes, a sense of vulnerability...some elusive facet that etched her on people’s memory banks.

  ‘Anyway, I wasn’t planning on staying.’

  ‘But it would be a shame to waste it,’ he said smoothly. ‘And also I didn’t have a chance to mention an important part of my proposition.’

  There was a hesitation and then she sighed and sat down, picking up her spoon with an expression that indicated a determination to speed eat her way through the tiramisu.