My jaw drops. “Oh my God. I’m not ready for this.”
“You will be. Do some meditation and deep breathing, and keep thinking about being a mum.” He smiles.
A mother. Warmth spreads through me from the inside out. “Ohhh…”
“Thought you’d like that.” He pulls me toward him and kisses my forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a nice evening with Clare and Ben.”
He walks away, and it’s only then that I see the dark-gray Bentley farther down the road, parked between a Suzuki Swift and a Toyota Aqua, looking like a saber-toothed tiger squatting between two kittens.
He gets in the driver’s side, so he obviously doesn’t have a chauffeur tonight. I shudder to think of him behind the wheel, competent and confident, controlling the road. I bet Mars Ashford has never stalled a car at traffic lights.
I go inside and brace myself for the onslaught of questions from my sister. Maybe she’ll be able to calm me down. Because at the moment, my thoughts are wheeling around my head like the seagulls over the ocean, and I desperately need to focus.
*
The following day, Marcus turns up, as he said he would, at exactly twelve p.m. Clare has already left for the airport, and I’m sitting there all dressed and ready on my sofa with a racing heart when he rings the bell.
I answer the door and say, “Not today, thank you.”
He grins. Then his gaze skims down me, and he says, “Wow.”
I glance down. “Is this suitable attire for meeting the parents?” I’m wearing a sleeveless cream dress with pale orange flowers and light green leaves. It has a crossover bodice and a floaty, knee-length skirt. I’ve paired it with a pair of flat cream sandals. “You’re wearing jeans. It’s too dressy. I should have worn trousers. I’ll get changed.”
He catches my hand as I go to walk away, and laughs. “Wren. You look stunning, babe. That dress is gorgeous. Come on.”
I let him pull me outside and close the door behind me. “Have you told them I’m coming?”
“I have. They remember you. They’re looking forward to seeing you again.”
“Have you told them we’re getting married?”
“Not yet.” He chuckles. “I thought I’d save that bombshell for when I can see the look on their faces. My mother is going to explode with excitement.”
“Oh God. You should have told them. What if they both look horrified?”
“Sweetheart, they’re going to be absolutely thrilled that I’m finally being responsible for once in my life.” He unlocks the Bentley as we walk up to it, leads me around to the passenger side, and opens the door.
“No chauffeur?” I ask.
“I don’t make the staff work on public holidays. And anyway, I enjoy driving.” He waits for me to get in, then closes the door.
I settle back into the seat. The interior is all dark-gray carbon fiber, polished wood, and cream leather. I know it would smell masculine even if the scent of Marcus’s cologne didn’t linger in the air. I feel as if I’ve stepped into the mouth of a big cat.
He walks around the car and gets in. “Buckle up,” he says, and he clips his seat belt in.
I do the same with shaking hands. There’s something about being in a car together that’s so… intimate. Our arms brush when I accidentally rest mine on the central armrest. I glance at him as he starts the car. He’s so comfortable and at home amongst all this wealth. Will I ever feel relaxed and not as if I’ve stepped into a James Bond movie?
He puts the car into reverse and turns to look over his shoulder, resting his arm on the back of my seat as he backs up. He’s wearing a blue-and-white-striped linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Even paired with the jeans, he looks as if he should be on a yacht, sipping champagne and eating caviar.
He’s recently shaved, judging by the smoothness of his jaw, and his hair is damp at the temples again, the same way it wason Christmas Eve, and yesterday. He showers before he comes to see me. For me? Surely not. He must just freshen up before he goes out.
If I leaned close, I could kiss him. I don’t. But I could, because he’s mine.
As he turns back, he sees me looking at him. His lips curve up, and he winks at me before putting the car into Drive and heading down the road.
“Have Clare and Ben left?” he asks.
“Yes. After an evening of being grilled like a cheese sandwich.”
