Meet Me in London: The sparkling new and bestselling romance for 2020. Perfect escapism, for fans of Lindsey Kelk and Heidi Swain.

by Georgia Toffolo

  ‘I meant, on the cheek.’ Shaking her head she stepped back. ‘Isn’t that what you usually do when you meet your fiancé’s parents?’

  ‘Search me.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ve never done it.’

  ‘Me neither.’

  ‘Then we’re engagement virgins. Good. Excellent.’

  ‘I’m not sure whether that’s something we should be proud about or not.’ She laughed, feeling a lot more at ease. ‘Right. So…? Should we start? I have a list of questions…’

  He looked round at the noisy bar; the quiz teams were arriving and the quiz mistress was setting up her microphone and kept testing, testing… ‘You really want to do this here?’

  Maybe a quiz would dilute the awkwardness. She saw Sara grinning at her while pulling a pint of London Pride and Paul giving her the thumbs up. She was never going to live this down. ‘Let’s go somewhere else.’

  ‘I’m starving. Food? Know anywhere round here that’s good?’

  ‘Aziz down the road does a brilliant chicken korma. Do you like Indian food?’

  ‘I like food. Full stop. Lead on, Macduff.’

  Food. Good. Right. Allergies? Intolerances? She’d surely need to know all that, because what fiancée wouldn’t know exactly what her future husband could or couldn’t eat?

  She was starting to feel like a quiz show contestant. Specialist subject: Oliver Russell.

  And God, how she was going to fail. Nil points. ‘Aziz’s restaurant was the first place I ate at when I came to live here, and I go about once a week. It’s a family-run place. Like yours but, literally, about a billion times smaller.’

  She led the way out of the wine bar, turned left and immediately went cold. Across the road Peter was locking up his shop, Emilia was with him, hanging onto his arm as if he was about to scarper and she wasn’t going to let him go. Victoria put her head down and added pace to her steps but his irritating nasal voice followed her. ‘Vicki! Vicki! Wait!’

  She ignored him. The last thing she wanted right now was to have to introduce Oliver to him. Questions would be asked. Questions she didn’t know the answers to. Some questions she just didn’t want to have to answer. Like why they broke up. Not how. But why.

  ‘Victoria, wait. That man’s calling you.’ Oliver’s hand on her arm stopped her in her tracks. She turned, panic in her chest.

  ‘I don’t…’ Too late. Peter had crossed the road and was encroaching. ‘It’s just…’

  Oliver took his hand away, concern in his voice. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing.’ She hauled in a breath and dug very deep for something resembling a welcoming smile, not for her ex and his girlfriend, but for Oliver who didn’t need to be dragged into her past. ‘Hey, Peter. Emilia.’

  ‘Vicki. Hey. And…?’ After diving in for an unwanted peck on her cheek Peter looked at Oliver, his eyes narrowed. Funny, she hadn’t realized until now just how pinched his features were.

  She stepped away from her ex and touched Oliver’s arm. ‘This is Oliver. Oliver Russell. He works next door to the bar.’

  The narrowed eyes got darker and Peter tapped his fingers on his bottom lip. Victoria found herself holding her breath. Peter wasn’t exactly known for his manners and he’d been very affronted by having his car clamped. Twice.

  ‘Russell, Russell… of course. Yes, hello. Are you the guy who is trying to organize some pop-up thing at your department store for the opening day?’

  Oh? None of the barbed comments she’d expected about the rubbish or the clamping. Just a friendly, measly smile now he was going to get something.

  Oliver, totally oblivious to the painful history, gave a brief, professional nod of his head. ‘I am. And you are…?’

  ‘Peter Swain.’ He pointed to his shop across the road. Her shop. Once upon a dream. ‘Tailor. Bespoke, obviously.’

  ‘Obviously. Are you on the list? I’ll check. Good to meet you, the pop-up is going to be a great opportunity for us all.’

  Emilia beamed a too-friendly smile. So different from the face she’d pulled when Victoria had walked in on them. ‘Well, we mustn’t keep you. We’re going to a cake tasting. For the wedding. You know?’

  Victoria swallowed and pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear for something to do with her hands other than curl them into fists of hurt. ‘That’s lovely. Oliver, Peter and Emilia are getting married.’

  ‘Great. Congratulations,’ Oliver said, shaking first Peter’s hand then Emilia’s. ‘Well done.’

  But then she felt Oliver’s eyes on her. Was he expecting her to say something else? Like what? No hard feelings? Because there were some. She turned to look at him and was completely taken aback when he slid his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer.

  As was Peter. ‘Vicki?’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.’

  ‘I… er…’ What to say? They hadn’t practised anything yet, they hadn’t decided how to handle things. Oliver’s arm was warm and firm, enough pressure to make her feel protected, but not too much that she felt stifled by it. He was tall… she hadn’t realized quite how tall until now. He towered over her and there were a good few inches between him and Peter which she was sure her ex would find intimidating. This close she could smell Oliver’s scent; a warm buzz of sandalwood, masculine. Clean. Fresh. She leaned against him and breathed.

  Why was she inhaling this man?

  Acting. Method, obviously. If she lived the role she would be more convincing, surely? What would a fiancée do now? Ah, yes. She leaned her head against his chest and felt the thud of his heart. Steady. Strong. Then wound her arm round his back, brushing his abs as she went.

  Big mistake.

  The man was buff. Her skin prickled at the contact, giving her a hit of heat low in her belly. What would those hard abs look like? Feel like under her fingers? Stifling an instinctive shudder, she blinked to focus. Oliver. Peter. Right. Yes.

  Acting, good. Lust, bad.

  ‘We like to keep things low-key.’ Oliver gave Peter and Emilia a rather satisfied smile with just enough intrigue that had Peter leaning closer to hear his next words. ‘Paparazzi, you know. Make my life hell. I’d be grateful if you keep it hush-hush for now. Thanks, man.’ Oliver stuck his other, non-hugging hand out and Peter had no option but to shake his agreement, with an open mouth and confused stare.

  Victoria bit down on a smug smile. This was the first time she’d ever seen her ex lost for words. Peter looked at her with something like regret in his eyes. Regret and interest, even though he had no right to be interested in anything she did at all. ‘OK, we’d better get going. Nice to meet you, Oliver.’

  ‘Yes.’ Oliver cleared his throat. ‘I’ll get one of my PAs to contact you. I’m sure it’ll be great doing business together.’

  One of my PAs. The struggle to stifle her smile was lost. Take that Mr No-PA Swain.

  Then she unwound herself from Oliver’s grasp, wishing the method acting didn’t have to end; she’d been perfectly in the moment. In his arms.

  Oh, hell. This was getting a little too hot for her to handle.

  Chapter Seven

  AS THEY WALKED INTO the restaurant Oliver asked the inevitable question, ‘Who was that?’

  ‘Just a neighbour.’ Still regretting extracting herself from his arm, but also congratulating herself for doing so, Victoria sat at an empty table and took out her notebook filled with as many questions she could think of, helpfully brainstormed with Sara. ‘Right, what do you like to eat?’

  ‘Anything I don’t have to cook.’ He sat opposite her and handed her a menu Aziz had left on the table, but his eyes were searching. ‘He was clearly more than just a neighbour. First off, you pretended not to hear him. Your voice was shaky, your cheeks bright red, and if you’d been able to shoot daggers from your evil death stare that poor woman would be out cold on the floor. Even I was frightened of you.’

  ‘Humph. There isn’t much poor about Emilia.’ She’d got the guy, the shop, the futur
e.

  He put his menu down on the table and studied her face. ‘Victoria, what happened?’

  ‘Oh, we had a thing. Now we don’t.’ She tried to sound nonchalant although she was shaky because of her body’s reaction to Oliver rather than about her ex. Oliver was attractive and it was becoming clear that she was attracted to him. But it was basic chemistry and something she could overcome with a little effort. She just needed to get a handle on her wayward hormones. ‘Thank you for the arm gesture, though. I think he got the message.’

  At least Peter and Emilia wouldn’t now be thinking she was going to be staring at a Christmas dinner for one. Even if she was. It felt good to have got an upper hand there at last.

  It had felt good to have that arm there, too, she realized with a shock and not just because she got to smell Oliver Russell and see the look on Peter’s face, but because the one thing she missed most about being single was physical contact. The encouraging little press of lips to her forehead, snuggling on a sofa. Kissing. But, in order to keep her heart intact, she was going to have to get used to being on her own.

  ‘It seemed like a good time to start our pretend relationship. Witnesses are even better proof that we are an item, should my mother have any doubts. Which she won’t. She’ll be thrilled to see me with you—’ They were interrupted by Aziz for their order. After he’d gone and returned with drinks Oliver grinned. ‘Seriously, that tailor guy is your type? Hipster beard? Nordic jumper? Ponytail?’ Never had such derision been used for such an innocent word. ‘That’s why you were all weird around him.’

  ‘I was not weird.’ She was. She always was with Peter, when they’d first got together she’d liked his rough edginess but these days he just made her anxious. He knew things about her she wouldn’t tell another soul. He knew her insecurities and he’d stomped on the part of her that she felt would never heal. The loss that was a dull ache inside her and would never be filled.

  But Oliver smiled as if he’d uncovered one of her deepest secrets. ‘Your hands were moving nineteen to the dozen, pushing your hair back behind your ears, messing with your bag strap, smoothing down your skirt. Not weird exactly, but spooked by the situation.’

  ‘I move my hands a lot?’ She looked down at them. Perfectly still now. But yes, she was guilty as charged.

  He grinned, eyes on her fingers. ‘All. The. Time.’

  He’d noticed. ‘It’s one of the things my family laugh at me for doing. One of the reasons Mum encouraged me to draw from a young age.’ Stop those hands moving or you’ll damage something. She slid both palms under her bum to keep them still. ‘It’s a nervous energy thing. Usually, if I’m feeling worked up about something I busy myself with drawings, designs or making things… creating keeps me calm. It’s like meditation. Nothing like sewing a row of blanket stitch to relax you.’

  ‘Being under a blanket sounds much better.’ His eyes glittered as they held her gaze just long enough for heat to suffuse her skin. His mouth curled into a not-so-subtle sexy smile. ‘Sleeping, obviously.’

  ‘Obviously.’ She imagined him under the king-size log cabin patchwork quilt she’d made a few years ago. She imagined being in there with him. Pressing close to that hard, toned body.

  Wow. That was so inappropriate. Really, the conversation was taking her to places she didn’t want to go, in so many directions. Was flirting in the rules? Was it breaking hers? She didn’t want to read the wrong thing into this, so she looked down at her notebook. ‘I really do think we should start—’

  ‘He hurt you.’

  She refused to answer that. ‘Oliver, I have a lot of questions.’

  ‘So do I.’ He sat for a moment and looked at her pensively. She wasn’t sure what he was going to say next, but she hoped he’d get the message that she didn’t want to examine her failed relationships. Her tummy fluttered with anxiety and a mixed-up attraction that she shouldn’t be having. Maybe this was a really stupid idea? They needed to get to know each other just enough to fool his mother into thinking they were intimate. They didn’t need to tell each other their deepest, darkest experiences.

  When he hit her with ‘Were you two serious?’ she wasn’t sure what to do next.

  Hedging, she opened the notebook and ran her fingers down her bullet points. ‘That isn’t a listed question. I think we need to talk about allergies and the agreed story of how long we’ve been dating and the kind of things your mother will want to know.’

  ‘But I want to know what happened between you and Peter Swain.’

  Her heart slowed at his name. She didn’t want the past and the present to mix like this. Oliver was discombobulating with his direct questions. ‘Is it relevant to our fake engagement?’

  ‘It could be. How will I know unless you give me the details?’

  He clearly wasn’t letting the subject drop. She blew out a frustrated breath. ‘OK. Peter and I had agreed to go into business together and then we broke up and he kept the shop and I lost my dream. For a while anyway. Now I’m just reframing and rebuilding. I’m good. I’m… happy.’ She was. ‘I work hard but use my spare time to help my students and do my own designs. I have good friends. I can do anything I want without taking anyone else in to account.’ And now she’d said far too much and sounded desperate.

  ‘Why did you break up?’

  She looked down at the table and drew a deep breath. ‘I think I’m going to draw the line here, Oliver. This isn’t relevant to our deal.’

  He shook his head. ‘I beg to differ. You looked upset, frustrated, angry and anxious. There was a definite tension between you and the woman. But he’s already applied to use the pop-up stall at my store. I need to know if there’s going to be a problem here? I don’t want trouble on opening day, especially from my…’ His gaze ran slowly over her body which was disarming and… distinctly possessive. ‘Fiancée.’

  The way his eyes slid over her she felt caught under a spell. Handsome. Possessive. Interesting. Funny. Make-believe. ‘Fair enough. There won’t be trouble, not from me anyway. Basically, he was cheating, and I found him out.’ Strangely, the hurt in her chest when she thought of that moment was not as acute anymore. ‘Found them,’ she corrected. ‘Together.’

  ‘With Emilia?’ He made a sorry face as if he’d been personally injured. ‘Ouch.’

  She laughed, although it hadn’t been funny at the time. ‘That’s it? I had my heart completely broken by finding my boyfriend having sex with another woman and all you can say is ouch?’

  ‘A dent to your pride perhaps, but hell, Victoria, you deserve so much better. Did that man really break your heart?’

  ‘I thought he had.’ Time to deflect the attention away from her. ‘Is there a trail of broken-hearted women in your wake, Oliver Russell? Are you scared of commitment? Is that why you’re still single?’

  His eyes narrowed and he glanced at the notebook between them. ‘Are these questions on your list?’

  ‘No, this is just conversation.’

  ‘It’s hard to keep track. Did you love him?’

  ‘Wow.’ This was like a tennis match. The ball bouncing between her heartache and his refusal to drop the subject. ‘I don’t know. It was serious. At least, I was serious about him. But the more I think about it the more I realize my heartache was about the lost dream and not losing him. He’s not worth hurting over.’

  ‘And if he gave you up then he’s an idiot too.’

  She looked up at him and tried to gauge his expression. Was he being serious? Was this the real Oliver Russell? Flirtatious when unguarded? It took a bit of getting used to. ‘And yet you just invited him to set up a stall at the opening day.’

  Oliver’s eyes rolled. ‘Public relations. That’s all.’

  Like this was… just a PR stunt for his parents. She needed to remind herself of that every time she thought he smelled good, or when he put his arm across her shoulders and she leaned into him. She found him a PR-worthy smile, although this meeting was starting to feel a lot more like a c
onfessional than a getting-our-lies-straight date. ‘Have you ever had your heart broken?’

  ‘Not likely.’ At her disbelieving glare he shrugged. ‘I haven’t found anyone I want to commit to. Fifty years is a long time to be with the same person. You’ve got to be sure. I’ve never been sure and so now I have to pretend. What about you? Did you and Peter discuss marriage?’

  ‘I’m not the marrying kind.’

  She stopped her hand from creeping over her scarred belly. There… there was the problem. At least Oliver was never going to see that, so she wouldn’t have to watch him trying to rearrange his features in an it’s OK, you’re still beautiful to me kind of expression the way Peter had. Even though it was obvious everything changed as soon as Peter realized he couldn’t have the future they’d been planning. The future he’d started to plan after he became an uncle and suddenly wanted a family of his own. He’d been outraged when he discovered Victoria wouldn’t be able to provide the goods. Worse, he’d believed she’d been holding back from telling him about her infertility, that her silence about it was tantamount to her lying to him. In fact, simply, telling him hadn’t been at the top of her list because he’d always said he wasn’t interested in kids. Who knew men had biological clocks that suddenly started ticking?

  Oliver sat back. ‘How can you not be the marrying kind? Everyone does it in the end, right? At least I’m open to the possibility of marriage. Eventually. What if you meet the love of your life?’

  ‘I won’t. I’ll make sure of it.’ There was no way she was going to go through another conversation with a man about her infertility.

  As if he could read her mind Oliver inhaled, pensively swirling the amber liquid in the pint glass, his eyes piercing and inquisitive. ‘OK, we don’t need to get too personal. Do you want to have some no-go topics? Things we’re not allowed to discuss?’

  Hell, yes. ‘I just want honesty, OK? I mean, I know this is all a stupid pretence for everyone else, but if this is going to work we need to be honest with each other as we go along. Otherwise it’ll be too confusing to keep up with what are lies and what aren’t.’