‘I thought you might like it.’
‘You were right.’ He pulls me back to him, leaning into me. ‘And I can’t wait to see it on my bedroom floor,’ he whispers, causing me to laugh against his chest.
‘All set?’ Jackson asks, making me aware of his presence in the room.
Gregory winks at me, arrogant and delicious. ‘All set.’
* * *
We join queuing cars of guests opposite Hyde Park and Jackson rolls us to the red carpet for our allocated arrival slot.
‘Okay?’ Gregory asks.
I realise that my grip has tightened on his hand, my fingers digging into his skin. There’s an answer to that question but I need to think about what it is and in that thinking time, he leans into me and holds a calming hand to my cheek.
‘It’s just us, baby, going to dinner. You and me.’
I nod once uncertainly. He takes my left hand and adjusts my engagement ring so it rests just so on my finger as Jackson opens the back door of the Bentley.
As soon as Gregory climbs out of the Bentley, cameras start to flash. He reaches out for my hand and holds me firmly as he leads us along the red carpet.
‘Mr Ryans!’
‘Mr Ryans, is it true you’re engaged?’
‘Mr Ryans, who is she?’
She.I guess that’s me and I guess they’re surprised that I’m not some model or actress or socialite like most of Gregory’s red-carpet dates.
I’d like nothing more than to get away from the invasion but Gregory turns into me. ‘Look at me, baby. It’s just me. You and me, angel.’
As he stares into my eyes, he gives me that irresistible half-smile and I genuinely smile back in response. Then he takes my left hand and lifts it to his cheek. My muscle memory takes over, moving my thumb across his freshly shaven skin as he rests the tip of his nose to mine, then his lips meet mine and my eyes close, taking me toourworld.
‘Just us,’ he whispers.
‘You just made me flash my ring, didn’t you?’
‘Too right. You’re mine and I want the world to know that I’m the luckiest man alive.’
With the confidence he gives me, I turn back to the cameras with a tight smile, his hand still firmly gripping mine.
We’re greeted in the hotel lobby by another photographer, who takes a formal shot, then we’re each handed a glass of very welcome champagne. The space has been transformed into a swath of colours representing the four charities benefitting from the evening: purple for Transform, a children’s abuse charity, pink for BrainyChildren, a charity researching brain tumours in children, sky blue for EarlyBirds, dedicated to premature baby studies, and aquamarine for Dreams, a children’s hospice that works in conjunction with the hospital Gregory visits every quarter or so.
‘Gregory, old boy.’ A man in his late fifties with soft eyes, a healthy tan and a slick head of silver hair heads our way.
Gregory takes the hand offered to him. ‘Thomas, are you well?’ Then he leans in to kiss Thomas’s wife, Norah, on each cheek. ‘May I introduce you to Scarlett, my fiancée.’
‘Scarlett, Thomas and Norah are heavily involved with Dreams. Norah is the chair of the charity and does a marvellous job.’
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you both,’ I say genuinely, not least because they are two of few seemingly sincere people I’ve met at events Gregory frequents. ‘You must be immensely proud. The place looks superb.’
‘I wish I could say that was down to me,’ Norah says. ‘But I have a wonderful company that I work with every year, me and the chairs of the other charities here tonight anyway. It’s they who pull everything together, and for free. The designers have an eye for those finer details.’
‘It must be a very rewarding job.’
‘It is rewarding, indeed, though it never feels much like a job. You should meet some of the children we get to work with. Wonders of the world. Incredibly courageous.’
The pianist returns from a break and begins to play and for a moment, the room falls quiet but for the hypnotic sound of her music. It’s a song I recognise from an album by Yiruma. My dad would listen to his music sometimes after a long day in surgery and when he became very sick, on the bad days when he struggled to leave his room, Sandy or I would put the album on loop. It always soothed him, comforted him and with that, it brought me pleasure, too. I don’t realise I’m transfixed until Thomas speaks close to my ear. ‘The piece is called “Love Me”. Her name is Violet. Wonderful, isn’t she?’
