When Bea and I walk under the huge archway that takes us into the Somerset House courtyard, I’m unprepared. I wasn’t expecting this much magic, and beauty, and majesty. The immense rusticated stone building—apparently it’s an old palace—is lit up in peachy-pink all around us, and spread ahead of us, lined with festive stalls, lies the ice rink.
The sound system belts out Christmas music—currently Slade—and all around me is the sound of Londoners having a wonderful time, getting stuck into food and drink and fun, reminding themselves what Christmas can be like when the world is open again.
It’s intoxicating. This is why I came to London. I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to be here, and to be experiencing London very indulgently thanks to Miles’ generosity.
I squeeze Bea’s mitten’d hand, then stoop down to pick her up. ‘Look at this, pet! Isn’t it gorgeous? Are you excited?’
‘I want to see Daddy.’ Bea cranes her neck. ‘And I want hot chocolate.’
‘Please,’ I say automatically. I pull my phone out of my pocket. There’s a message from Miles.
I’m here. By boot hire.
We make our way over to the boot hire stall, and there he is. Head bent over his phone, obviously. He has a beanie on, and that grey scarf is tied tightly around his neck and tucked into his coat. But, as wrapped up as he is, he’s instantly recognisable. Something about his height, and his impeccable posture, and his mere presence, for want of a better word, makes him stand out in any crowd.
And that face.
Of course, that face.
I still have Bea in my arms when we approach him. He spots us, and his face brightens, and he shoves his phone in his pocket.
‘Hi, baby.’ He leans in to kiss Bea on the cheek, and he’s so close to us both, and the obligatory shiver hits my spine at my favourite phrase coming from his mouth and at his proximity.
‘Hey.’ He nods at me. It’s nothi, baby, but it’s not as hostile as previous greetings, and I’ll take it.
Within minutes, we’re booted up and edging out onto the ice, and right now I would kill to have the grace of a newborn foal as I cling desperately to the rail around the edge of the rink.
Bea looks like one of her American Girl dolls, with her locks poking out from under a pale pink, pearl-encrusted beanie and her beautiful matching palest pink wool coat. It even has a velvet collar. She’s in tiny skates, and she’s gripping the penguin’s handles. She’s ready for action.
Miles glides—yes, glides, goddammit—effortlessly onto the rink. He circles back and stands, hands on his hips, his mouth twitching in amusement as he eyes me up.
It’s annoyingly sexy.
‘Come on, Bambi. Let’s see what you’ve got.’
I shoot him my dirtiest look and try letting go of the rail. I make a tentative move that’s half slide, half step, before my legsthreaten to give way beneath me. Sweat instantly pricks under my arms despite the fact that I’m bloody freezing.Shit. What was I thinking, booking this? This is going to be theworst. I swear under my breath.
‘What was that? I didn’t quite catch it.’ Miles is grinning now, and the appearance of his dimples is the only good thing about this nightmare.
‘Nothing.’ I shoot him another dagger and blow some hair off my face. I’ve got this.
Miles turns to Bea. ‘You okay there for a sec, baby? Mind if I help your incompetent nanny?’
Bea grins. She’s hunched over the penguin like a determined old lady with a zimmer frame, but at least she’s in full control of her limbs.
‘Come on.’ Miles holds out a leather-gloved hand. ‘I won’t let you fall. Is it your first time?’
‘Kind of.’ I eye the hand with suspicion. That dry, Groogy exterior could be hiding the soul of a twisted bastard.
‘That’s nothing to be ashamed of. Seriously, come on.’ He holds out his other hand.
‘I don’t want you to fall because of me.’
‘I won’t. I’m a lot heavier than you. And—ahem—more experienced.’
He’s full-on smiling at me now, and I find myself taking my hands off the rail one at a time and putting them in his, because the force of his smile is so great that I’d follow him over the edge of a cliff if he asked.
‘Well done.’ He glances behind him and takes a couple of graceful glides backwards, and I follow him. I can’t feel his heat through two pairs of gloves, but the grip of his large hands is secure and unflinching. I’ve taken precisely two steps, so the sudden sensations of smugness and wellbeing that envelop me are certainly unwarranted.
