I don’t want freedom.
Whereas Chloe left the second she could, despite my teenage fantasies of swanning off to the States, you couldn’t pay me to move now. Well, I might have to, but it certainly won’t be my choice. I’m a home bird, and this is my home. If I have to sell it, I will, but it will break every single cell in my heart.
A knock on the office door saves me from having to respond to Harry’s kind, but misplaced, concern.
‘Come in,’ I call, pleasantly. I like the staff to know they can approach me with anything, at any time. My door is always open, even when it’s not.
Tilly steps into the room, beaming from ear to ear. Her long blonde hair’s piled on top of her head into a stylish, messy knot that the teenagers favour these days.
God, when did I get so fucking old? Raising a child does that you. The flat of my palm instinctively goes to my stomach the same way it always does.
‘Louise asked me to give you this.’ Louise is the head receptionist. She’s been with me for three years now – efficient, organised and a pleasure to have around.
Tilly passes me a sheet of neatly folded A4 paper, her hand trembling as it extends in my direction. She looks fit to burst with excitement.
Harry and I exchange a curious stare before I unfold it.
It’s a booking reference for a reservation. My eyes must be deceiving me because it looks like someone has hired the penthouse for the next six weeks. The penthouse costs almost four thousand euro a night. It’s three thousand square feet of top-floor luxury with its own private terrace, complete with hot tub overlooking the grounds. Bar the odd wedding, it’s rarely used.
My eyebrows shoot skywards. Who on earth would book the penthouse for six weeks? It’d have to be some sort of royalty to justify that. And if it is royalty, imagine the publicity it could bring?
Do I dare to dream my luck could be improving?
The name on the booking is Mickey Mouse. Celebrities always do that. Whoever it is, must be a really big fish.
‘Wow. Any idea who it is?’
‘You will never believe it!’ Tilly’s shrill tone is ten octaves higher than usual, she’s practically squealing.
‘Who?’ The suspense is killing me.
‘Ryan Cooper. Oh myfuckinggod! The man is an absolute legend.’ Her fingers fly to her lips, like she can’t quite believe she said ‘fuck’ in front of her boss.
She needn’t worry. The secondhisname fell from her lips, nothing else mattered.
* * *
‘It’ll be good for business at least,’ Megan says, nursing a glass of wine, perched on the purple plush velvet sofa of my private quarters, which just so happens to be adjacent to the penthouse suite.
‘It won’t be good for me.’
I’ve opted for the hard stuff, swirling amber liquid round a crystal tumbler before pressing it to my lips. It burns, but not nearly as much as the knowledge that Ryan Cooper thinks he can waltz back into my home, after ten years of nothingness.
Like he didn’t abandon me when I needed him the most.
Like he didn’t obliterate my heart into a trillion tiny shards, when it was already in bits with the sudden shocking loss of my parents. He didn’t even stick around long enough to offer his sympathies.
How dare he? The sheer audacity of him. Now he’s a superstar, does he think he’s above the common laws of human decency? Or is he clueless enough to think it’s all in the past now?
I deliberately don’t have my face on the castle website or social media, preferring to use the youthful faces of my star-quality employees. Perhaps he thinks I’ve left? Moved on with my life. Huh. Part of me will probably never move on.
‘Call the front desk.’ I point at the old-fashioned landline. Each room in the castle has one, but they’re only ever used to ring reception. ‘Tell Louise to ring back our VIP guest.’
‘You can’t cancel him, Sasha. You said it yourself, the estate needs an injection of cash.’ Megan shoots me a pleading look. She needs this job as much as I need this castle.
‘I know. That’s why Louise’s going to tell him she made a mistake. She’s going to apologise for using last year’s pricing. Inform him the suite is actually eight thousand a night. Let’s see that flashy git put his money where his mouth is.’ A small smile forms on my lips for the first time since the news broke. It might be petty but it makes me feel better – marginally. Like I have some sort of control of the situation, when clearly I don’t.
Megan’s green eyes widen. ‘You can’t do that!’
