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

  She couldn’t work out if this was an act or not, so just nodded, her words lost in her throat.

  It will be fine. It will be fine. She’d been through worse and survived.

  He held her hand tightly as they walked up to the door. Maybe he thought she was going to make a run for it. ‘This is my parents’ favourite place. They used to come here when they first started dating. It’s also where my dad proposed. Where I had my very first outing straight from the hospital, after I was born. It’s a family favourite. Special.’

  Which made everything worse. Panic wove through her chest and she was tempted to turn and run but she wasn’t the kind of person to renege on a promise. ‘I don’t know enough about you—’

  ‘Ollie!’ The door flew open and a cuddly, balding man in chef’s whites threw his arms up. He pinched Oliver’s cheeks as if he were his own son. ‘Oliver Russell! Long time no eat? And who this?’

  ‘This is Victoria. Victoria, this is Antoine, the best pasta chef in the world, and a long-time family friend.’

  ‘Bella, bella. Pleased to meet you.’ The chef took Victoria’s free hand and shook. Then, as he turned back to Oliver, his face fell. ‘They are out the back.’

  Oliver nodded, the desire in his eyes replaced with concern. ‘How is he?’

  Antoine shook his head. ‘Not good, I’m sorry. He needs to eat. You all need to eat. You all work too hard. But Victoria will be a good distraction, yes?’

  Her stomach clenched. For someone who hated being in the spotlight she was going to be the main attraction.

  The chef walked them through the cosy restaurant and she was surprised to see it wasn’t as upmarket as she’d imagined. It was simple and homely with framed photographs of the Amalfi coast on walls that had been draped with red and green tinsel for Christmas. Classical festive hymns played in the background. The delicious aroma of garlic and rosemary infused the air making her stomach rumble in anticipation – the last thing she’d eaten had been breakfast because somehow, thinking about spending the evening with Oliver had snatched her appetite clean away. But now she wasn’t sure she’d be able to manage a mouthful in front of his parents either.

  Antoine’s was obviously popular as the restaurant was crammed with diners grouped at little wooden tables that filled the room. But everyone stopped and smiled at Antoine as he squeezed Victoria and Oliver across the floor. Then, before she could take another steadying breath, she was in a private room at the back. About the same size as her spare bedroom, it housed a large table and a mahogany sideboard stacked with plates and glassware.

  As Antoine led them in all conversation stopped and she inhaled sharply; three pairs of eyes peered up at her. Three Russells. Some of the most influential people in the country, right here.

  Oh, God.

  ‘Hello, family of mine. We made it!’ Oliver wrapped an arm around her shoulder, likely to show their ‘togetherness’, but she froze. Completely. Her body wouldn’t soften, wouldn’t move. They were looking at her and she’d locked in self-preservation mode.

  What to do? Alarmed, she looked up at Oliver and tried to tell him telepathically that she couldn’t do this, but he squeezed the back of her arm reassuringly and smiled down at her as if she was the best thing that had ever happened to him. ‘Here she is. My Victoria.’

  And still the eyes were on her. No one spoke.

  My Victoria. It had been so long since anyone had talked about her with such longing in their voice it took her a moment to remember it was just an act. He was good at this.

  His pupils flared, nudging her to respond.

  Right. Yes. Fiancée. She edged into his embrace, felt the strength in his hold, the warmth of his body. He smelled so good as she lay her head against his shoulder and dug deep for her best smile. ‘Er… hi, everyone.’

  ‘Victoria, darling.’ A trim woman in her seventies dressed in a neat dove grey cashmere dress and pearls stood and came around the table, trembling as she took Victoria’s hand in both of hers. ‘I am so very pleased to meet you. My dear, you are such a salve to my heart.’

  ‘This is my mother Stella.’ Oliver laughed as he tugged his arm away from Victoria’s shoulder and air-kissed his mother’s powdered cheek. ‘Put her down, Mum, or you’ll scare her off.’

  ‘Oh, Oliver, don’t underestimate her. If she’s won you over she must have more balls than Russell & Co’s Board of Directors combined. You notwithstanding. That right, Victoria?’

  As the grip on her hands lessened Victoria looked into the older lady’s eyes and saw so much hope there it almost broke her heart. Despite her wealth and social standing, she was just a mother wanting the best for her boy.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know about that. Hello, Mrs Russell—’

  ‘Call me Stella, please, everyone does. Do you prefer Vicki, Vic, Tory, Victoria?’

  ‘Most of my friends call me V, work colleagues use Vicki, Mum and Dad call me Victoria. Basically, I answer to anything.’

  ‘Victoria it is, then. Such a lovely name and also the name of my favourite aunt so that’s a very good sign. I’ve never met any of Oliver’s girlfriends before. I just know you’re special.’

  Too bad she wasn’t actually meeting Oliver’s girlfriend, then, just a stand-in. ‘Lovely to meet you too, er, Stella. I’ve heard so much about you.’

  Most of which Victoria had found online. She tried to remember the details. Stella Russell. Seventy-four. Daughter of an Earl. Married at… what was it? Twenty-five? No children until she was forty-two. Then Oliver. Great support to her husband.

  ‘This is my father Eric.’ A steady hand on her shoulder as Oliver edged her away from Stella and towards a frail man in a wheelchair. Victoria disguised her momentary inhale as a cough. He was barely recognizable from the hearty and robust man she’d seen so many times on the television. He pushed down on the wheelchair arms to stand up but didn’t look strong enough, so she went over and bent to shake his hand. ‘Mr Russell, I am so happy to meet you.’

  ‘Not as much as I am to meet you. Thank God someone’s brave enough to take him off my hands.’ Despite his frailty his grip was still solid and strong, and she just knew from the determination in Eric’s eyes that he was going to fight this illness, which made her feel as if she wanted to fight along with him.

  But – on the flip side – also a little afraid at the lies she was telling right now, to his face. What would he do if he ever found out this wasn’t exactly the blissed-up romance they were portraying?

  ‘And this is Andrew, my cousin.’ Oliver nodded towards a tall, dark-haired man, with eyes that were too small and too close together, sitting at the table. Even though they bore a definite Russell resemblance – with the same proud jawline and dark messy hair – the looks they gave each other were mistrusting and lacked any familial warmth.

  Oliver’s voice flattened. ‘I wasn’t expecting you to be here.’

  ‘Your mother thought it would be nice for your girlfriend to meet us all at once.’ Andrew nodded towards Victoria, those small eyes cold and searching. The way he put emphasis on girlfriend was suspicious and sullen and he clearly didn’t think any of this was nice at all. ‘He’s kept you a tight secret, Victoria. I see him every day and he’s never even mentioned you. Not once.’

  ‘I… er… don’t know…’ How to answer that? Her heart thumping hard against her ribcage, Victoria went for a shrug and clasped her hands together before she started her nervous gesticulating and anxiety-driven verbal diarrhoea or blurting out the truth.

  ‘Ahem. Talking of secrets…’ Stella interjected with a steely tone, clearly used to intervening between the cousins. She looked from Oliver to Andrew and back again with ill-concealed concern, then patted the empty seat next to her for Victoria to sit down.

  Oliver took a seat on Victoria’s right side, next to his father. Victoria grabbed his hand under the table, for strength and support and not because she liked holding it.

  Even though she did.

  He pressed a gentle ki
ss to her cheek and squeezed her hand. Her heart sped up a little.

  Stella smiled. ‘Oliver let slip that your engagement was being kept hush-hush until the opening. I’m so glad you agreed to let us in on it before then.’

  Victoria dredged what she hoped was a delighted, excited expression. ‘Not a problem. You all know before…’ Everyone. ‘Anyone.’

  ‘Oh? That is so lovely.’ Stella pressed her hand to her heart and blinked back a sheen of tears. ‘This calls for champagne. Antoine! Bring a bottle of your best bubbles, please. I was beginning to think this day would never happen. It makes me so happy.’ With shining eyes Stella glanced at Victoria’s left hand, her mouth forming an ‘O’.

  ‘He proposed without a ring?’

  Victoria clenched her left hand. Shoot. They hadn’t got around to talking about that. ‘Yes.’

  ‘No,’ Oliver said at the same time.

  Hot damn. This was something they should have discussed.

  Stella’s gaze moved slowly from Victoria to Oliver, her smile wavering as her voice cooled. ‘Yes, or no?’

  Oliver coughed. ‘It was a spur-of-the-moment proposal, I just couldn’t wait to ask her. She drives me crazy, what can I do?’ He raised one shoulder nonchalantly as if it was all completely out of his control and he just couldn’t understand it.

  ‘We haven’t got around to choosing one yet.’ Victoria nodded, taking his lead. ‘Oliver’s so busy, you know, with the store. I said we could wait.’ Then she cringed as, from across the table, Andrew’s stare bore into her.

  He knew. He knew this was all a lie. He knew and he would wait until the worst moment to tell Stella and Eric and it would break their hearts and break the trust they had with their only son.

  Antoine appeared, bearing a huge platter of antipasto and the heat around the engagement dissolved into oohs and aahs at the glistening olives and slivers of Parma ham.

  The Russells started to eat but Victoria couldn’t face anything and pushed her food around her plate with her fork, hoping they wouldn’t notice. She didn’t think she’d manage to get anything past the lump of lies in her throat. There were so many facts of their fictional relationship they needed to agree on. So much she needed to learn about him. She was going to resurrect her list of questions and demand a sit-down meeting so they could get their stories straight. If they survived tonight.

  Conversation was stilted and interspersed with groans of pleasure at the delicious-tasting food, but presently Stella’s focus turned back to the newly engaged couple. ‘Oliver works too hard. Like father like son, I suppose. But I know Russell & Co is going to be in safe hands with you two at the helm.’

  You two? The panic rose up into Victoria’s throat. Did Stella mean Oliver and Andrew? Or Oliver and Victoria? She couldn’t tell. Did they expect her to work for the company too? Surely not? The way Andrew’s lip curled in response gave her the distinct impression he thought he was being edged out.

  But then Victoria almost laughed as she remembered: this farce was only until opening day then she could sneak off and live her own life. Pretend she and Oliver just hadn’t been a good match, grown apart… all those usual excuses. And she could walk away, keeping her heart intact and, hopefully, not shattering any of theirs too much. His parents were a successful power couple, they’d get over this in no time and then Oliver would find his real-life partner and Victoria Scott would be a distant memory of some girl he used to know.

  Stella was still talking, ‘You need to treat her well, Oliver.’ She leaned across and tutted at her son. ‘You can’t keep a girl like Victoria waiting. She really, really needs a ring.’

  ‘On it, Mother. Give me a chance, she only just said yes.’ There was humorous censure in his voice, the pained embarrassment of a child in his mother’s smothering gaze. But at least the attention was back on him.

  Not for long. Stella turned to Victoria. ‘And Oliver tells me you’re moving in together.’

  Oh, yes! Victoria breathed. She knew the answer to this. ‘Right, after the store—’

  ‘Opening.’ Oliver finished her sentence and she glanced over to him. He squeezed her hand again and she saw the smile in his eyes. Genuine warmth. This was going OK. They could do this.

  She chanced another sip of champagne and let it soothe her throat and her nerves. Maybe she needed to loosen up a bit. She took another sip. And another and felt the tension ease away.

  Antoine cleared away the plates and she fiddled with the stem of her glass, not sure what to say next, but Oliver gently pressed her thigh with his palm and offered his hand for her to grip again. She took it gratefully.

  As she breathed out, his thumb stroked across the base of hers, then over her palm sending shivers across her skin. His touch was like a switch turning on in the depths of her body. Heat rose inside her and she couldn’t help but stroke his hand too.

  Stupid idea.

  Her nerves were a mess, they’d already embarked on this ridiculous journey together and now she was stoking the connection between them on a sensual level too.

  Worse, she felt herself instinctively leaning closer to him. It was crazy – madness – that he had this kind of effect on her, but she just couldn’t seem to stop her body from reacting. Even here, with his family. She was like a silly teenager with a crush.

  Realizing she was still looking at him – and probably drooling – she drew her gaze away, cheeks burning, but Stella clearly thought it was adorable. She clapped her hands. ‘Oh, look at you. Do you two lovebirds want a moment alone? He can’t keep his eyes off you.’

  ‘No! No. I’m just fine, thank you.’ Victoria took a sip of water.

  Thankfully, Eric touched his son’s hand and all eyes turned to him. ‘Wheel me through to the bathroom, Ollie lad.’

  ‘Right you are, Dad.’ Oliver stood and tugged the wheelchair back, but it came to a shuddering halt. ‘Damn. Bloody thing’s caught.’

  ‘It’s stuck on the carpet. Wait. I know a trick.’ Glad to be able to use some of the excess tension that made her want to move her restless hands Victoria jumped up and pushed her weight down on the handle, which had the simultaneous effect of levering the front wheel up a little, then she manoeuvred the chair backwards and out onto the wooden floor by the service counter. ‘You have to get the balance of your weight right so you can tilt it back and then push it forward.’

  Eric clapped. ‘Thank you, my dear. We’re just getting used to it.’

  Oliver caught her up and took control of steering the wheelchair as they walked towards the bathroom together. ‘Have you got an advanced driver’s licence or something?’

  She sighed her relief at being away from the table, just for a minute. ‘I’ve had a lot of practice with these pesky things. One of my best friends is in a wheelchair and we’ve got stuck plenty of times.’

  ‘Best friend?’ He frowned. ‘Not one of the girls in the photo? The car accident? Hell, Victoria—’

  ‘Don’t. Please,’ she whispered, shaking her head as her chest tightened at the memory. ‘Not here. Not now.’

  Hot damn. Bad enough he’d caught her off-guard earlier and she’d told him about the accident. The last thing she needed was to rake all of that up here in front of his family.

  The accident was always off-limits as far as she was concerned and the only people who truly understood were Zoe, Malie and Lily. They’d been through it with her. They’d lived the pain and fear. They’d all fought to survive and heal. Victoria’s injuries had been bad enough, and she’d had to re-align her hopes and dreams. But Zoe’s spinal injury had been the worst thing out of it and Victoria would never, ever forgive herself for that.

  Shaking off the memories she smiled over to Eric. ‘It’s a bit of a learning curve, but usually the problem’s caused by the wheels wanting to do their own thing. A bit like shopping trolleys, you know? They all want to go in different directions.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Oliver ran his palm down her shoulder, oblivious to the fact his dad was probably l
istening and watching. Oblivious or not caring.

  ‘What for?’

  He leaned to her ear. ‘The pain you carry around with you. I wish I could help.’

  His smile was kind. It seemed to say, I understand. You’ve got this. And it tugged at her heart. He’d been so gentle when they’d talked about that night, encouraging her to talk when she wanted or needed. Like a friend would. He’d be a good friend to have, she thought. Straight up and loyal. And a dangerous adversary to have, too. The Russells had power and money and knew people.

  ‘I’m fine. But thank you.’ She gave him what felt like a wavering smile in return, then he disappeared into the bathroom with his dad and she turned, taking a big, deep breath in readiness for returning to her audience.

  But Oliver was back in seconds. ‘Victoria,’ he whispered. ‘Stop. Dad said I have to wait for him here.’ He took her hand and drew her closer out of earshot of the table. ‘Just checking you’re OK? You know… about all this.’

  ‘We’re doing fine, do you think?’

  ‘Brilliantly. They’d never guess we weren’t a couple.’

  ‘They’re lovely. So lovely.’ She looked over to the table and saw Andrew swiping on his phone while Stella sat upright staring straight ahead, worrying a napkin in her hand. What was she thinking? Did she believe them? Was she anxious about her husband? Her son?

  Oliver followed Victoria’s line of sight and smiled. ‘She tends to get a bit over-excited, I’m sorry. But she likes you.’

  ‘Andrew doesn’t.’

  Oliver’s expression hardened. ‘I’m sorry about him too and I honestly didn’t know he was going to be here otherwise I would have prepared you. But they’re right, you might as well meet them all at once and get it over with.’

  Victoria couldn’t help laughing. ‘You make it sound like taking bad medicine.’

  ‘Believe me, dealing with Andrew is worse than a bout of stomach flu.’

  ‘He feels threatened. You’re taking his job and now they’re talking about me being involved too. He’s being edged out and he doesn’t like it.’