Page 115 of The Rebel Billionaire

Okay then, all is definitely not well in paradise.

I thought Gabbi was exaggerating, but now I can sense the annoyance emanating from the man next to me.

Aubrey moves to the passenger side.

Alex holds open the rear car door so I can slide in.

“It’s open,” he calls across to Aubrey.

The air within the car crackles with unspoken tension as he fires up the engine and heads out of the main gates.

“I really don’t see what the big deal is,” Aubrey says, her tone sullen after about twenty minutes of almost unbearable silence. “It was your mother who invited me.”

“We’ve discussed this.” His eyes meet mine in the rear-view mirror, and I look away.

Awkward!

“Well, she’s not wrong. We have been together a long time,” she says, twisting in her seat to stare at him.

“We see each other sporadically,” he says, his tone clipped.

“Maybe it’s time I moved on… if I’m wasting my time?” she says, her tone sullen. “I’m not getting any younger. I don’t want to waste the best years of my life on someone who isn’t interested.”

I cringe. This is not something I want to listen to.

Back seat swallow me up.

She clearly has a death wish if she can’t sense the agitation rolling off him.

“Maybe you should,” he says.

There’s no mistaking the finality of it.

Shit, I’ve just witnessed Alessandro break up with his girlfriend.

“You don’t mean that,” she says. “Look, I’m sorry if I overstepped.”

“It’s not your fault,” he says quietly. “This has been coming for a while.”

“Fun while it lasted, you mean,” she says, unable to hide the bitterness in her tone. “I should have realised it wasn’t her blocking my calls.”

“Leave Brooke out of this,” he says.

“You’re the one who is breaking up with me in front of your PA,” she says, her voice catching.

“We discussed this at the house. You’re the one who’s brought it up in front of Brooke. Don’t put this on me. I won’t be manipulated, Aubrey.”

I don’t understand. She’s beautiful, a model, fits neatly into his world, but then they say the heart wants what the heart wants. I should know.

My heart wants what it can never have.

“Of course not, you’re Alessandro Bianchi, CEO of St Clair. I’m just some washed-up model.”

I bite the inside of my cheek.

Oh heavens, cut the crap, woman. Please try to retain some form of dignity.

Begging is never a good look and never works, except in Darra’s case, but then she pulled the pregnancy card.