Holiday with the Best Man (5 page)

‘Because it was never out of place?' Roland had to stifle a grin.

Grace nodded. ‘Cynthia prided herself on always being turned out immaculately. And she wore a lot of beige.'

‘Did you like her?' he asked.

Grace wrinkled her nose. ‘Do I have to answer that?'

‘Yes.'

She smiled wryly. ‘I think Cynthia and I didn't meet each other's expectations. I wanted a mother-in-law who's like my own mum—someone who's warm and supportive, who'd be there if I needed help, but who would always encourage me to stand on my own two feet. Someone I could be friends with and who'd make me feel part of the family.'

Roland thought of his own parents. That summed up their relationship with Lynette—and his own with Lynette's parents. He'd assumed that was completely normal, but maybe they'd both been lucky.

‘And what did Cynthia want?' he asked.

Grace looked away. ‘Someone who'd keep up appearances at all times and do whatever she told them to.'

‘Which doesn't sound like much fun.'

‘It wasn't,' Grace said, her voice so quiet that he could barely hear her. ‘I hated being judged all the time, and always falling short.'

Which was what he'd done to her. No wonder she'd been so prickly with him, at first.

And now he was beginning to understand her. Grace was the quiet, sensible sister. The one who'd thought she'd wanted her partner to be completely the opposite of her unreliable father. And yet what she'd really wanted was to be swept off her feet...

An idea was forming in his head.

A really crazy idea.

But maybe it could work. Could he ask her?

Should
he ask her?

‘Obviously cancelling the wedding shook up your life a bit,' he said, ‘but why did it mean that you became a temp and you taking over the lease of Bella's flat?'

‘Because I worked for Howard's family's accountancy practice,' she said. ‘I could hardly keep working there when I'd just cancelled my wedding to the boss's son. I couldn't ask them for a reference, in the circumstances, so temping was my only real option. Plus I'd already given notice to my landlord, and he'd leased my flat to someone else.'

So cancelling the wedding had cost Grace her job and her home, too. Now he understood what she meant about a decision turning her life upside down. And it was a decision she clearly hadn't made lightly.

‘So what are you looking for, Grace?' he asked carefully. ‘Marriage?'

‘Maybe, maybe not. I've just come out of a long relationship, and I guess right now I need to find out who I am and think about what I really want.' She wrinkled her nose. ‘I just wanted to be swept off my feet once in a while. Which I know isn't going to happen, because I'm very ordinary—I'm not free-spirited and brave like Bella is.'

The crazy idea suddenly seemed that little bit less crazy. Maybe Grace—quiet, sensible Grace—could help him move on, haul him out of the limbo where he'd spent two long years. ‘What if you had the chance to be swept off your feet? Would you take it?' he asked.

‘That's
really
not going to happen,' Grace said. ‘I have friends who've joined online dating sites or gone speed-dating, and they've all ended up disappointed.'

‘What if,' he asked carefully, ‘the date was with someone you know?'

‘Such as?'

‘Me.'

‘You?' She stared at him, looking shocked. ‘But you don't even like me.'

‘I was obnoxious to you at the wedding because I'd jumped to some very wrong conclusions about you,' Roland said. ‘I've got to know you better over the last couple of days and I've realised how wrong I was. And I apologise for that.'

‘Thank you. I think.' She frowned. ‘You're actually suggesting that we should date?'

‘That we should help each other out,' he corrected. ‘You want to be swept off your feet, and I need to practise my dating skills.'

She frowned. ‘Why do you need to practise your dating skills?'

Grace had been brave enough to tell him about her life. Roland guessed he owed it to her to be brave back. ‘I assume Bella didn't tell you?'

‘Tell me what?'

‘That my wife was killed in a car accident nearly two years ago—a year before I moved in here.'

She reached across the table and took his hand briefly, squeezing it gently for just long enough to convey sympathy, then letting his hand go before the contact dissolved into pity. ‘I didn't know her, and it's a horrible cliché, but I'm really sorry you had to go through losing someone you loved like that.'

‘It was hard,' he said. ‘And I miss Lynette. A lot.' Mostly. Apart from the one sticking point in their marriage—the thing that had made him jump at the chance to get away for a few days and be rid of all the pressure. And he still felt guilty about it, even though he knew that the accident hadn't been his fault. But part of him still felt that if he'd been here instead of a couple of thousand miles away, maybe Lynette wouldn't have gone out in the car, and she wouldn't have been hit by the drunk driver. Or, even if the accident had still happened, at least he would've been by her side when she'd died, later that night.

He pushed the thought away. ‘But missing her won't bring her back—and there isn't such a thing as a time machine, so I can't go back and change the past. Though, if I could, I'd stop the other driver from guzzling her way through a bottle of wine and several cocktails and then getting behind the wheel of her car.'

* * *

Now Grace understood
why Roland didn't drink—and why his house was immaculate but didn't feel quite like a home. Because he'd lost the love of his life to the selfish actions of a drunk driver. ‘That's so sad,' she said.

He said nothing, but gave a small nod of acknowledgement.

‘But I still don't get why you're asking
me
to help you practise your dating skills.'

He reached across the table and took her hand, then drew it up to his mouth and pressed a kiss into her palm.

And Grace tingled all over. Nobody had ever kissed her hand like that before.

‘My friends,' he said, ‘and my family have tried to find me someone suitable to heal my broken heart.'

‘Too soon?'

‘Partly,' he agreed. ‘But I know Lyn wouldn't have wanted me to spend the rest of my life on my own, mourning her. She would've wanted me to share my life with someone who loves me as much as she did.'

For a moment, a shadow crossed his expression. It was gone before she could be sure it was there. Maybe she'd imagined it, because hadn't he just pretty much told her that Lynette was the love of his life? Or maybe that shadow had been grief that he was still trying to be brave about.

‘So,' he said, ‘I'm going to start dating again. Put my life back together. But I'm finding it hard.'

‘Because you're not ready to move on?'

He dragged in a breath. ‘And I'm out of practice. I need to date someone who won't mind if I make mistakes and will help me get better at dating. And you want to be swept off your feet, just for a little while. So that's why perhaps we can help each other out. For two weeks.'

‘Until Bella and Hugh are back from honeymoon. And no strings?' she checked.

‘No strings. We could just clear our diaries outside work for those two and a bit weeks and spend time together.'

‘Like a holiday?'

‘I guess,' he said.

A holiday with the best man. Part of Grace wanted to say yes; but part of her wondered just how sensible this was. Roland Devereux wasn't the surly, barely civil man she'd met at Bella's wedding. He was kind and sensitive—and this side of him was seriously attractive. But he still had a broken heart; and, even though he thought he wanted to try looking for love again, that made him vulnerable.

She knew that she was vulnerable, too. Her life was still all up in the air. She wanted to stand on her own two feet and work out what she wanted from life. And did she really want to take the risk of dating someone who wasn't going to be available and maybe falling in love with him? Or would this be the thing that changed her life and made everything right again? ‘Can I have some time to think about it?' she asked.

‘Of course. Maybe you could tell me your answer tomorrow?'

‘All right.' Sitting here at the kitchen table with him didn't feel casual and easy any more; Grace felt hot and bothered, remembering the touch of his mouth against her skin. For the last four years—and for longer than that, if she was honest—she hadn't felt anything like this. Like a teenager about to go on her first date, with her heart pattering away and butterflies dancing a tango in her stomach. ‘I'd better do the washing up,' she said, taking the coward's way out of facing him.

‘I'll help.'

Which would put them at even closer range. She couldn't risk that. ‘There's no need,' she said brightly.

‘There's every need,' he corrected. ‘It's my kitchen—and I'm not the kind to make other people do my share of the chores.'

She had no answer to that.

But, as they worked by the sink, they ended up brushing against each other. Grace tingled all over—which was ridiculous, because they were both fully clothed and, technically speaking, his shirtsleeve had touched her dress, which was nothing like his bare arm against her bare torso.

And then she really wished she hadn't thought of that, because now she was imagining what it would be like if Roland was skin to skin with her. She went very still, and looked at him. He was exactly the same: still and watchful. So had he felt that strange connection between them? Was he tingling all over, too?

Grace couldn't help glancing at Roland's mouth. His lips were slightly parted, revealing even, white teeth; how had she not noticed before how sensual the curve of his mouth was? When she looked up again, she realised that he was looking at her mouth, too.

And then he leaned forward and kissed her. It was the lightest, gentlest, most unthreatening brush of his mouth against hers, and it sent shards of desire all through her. She couldn't ever remember a kiss making her feel as hot and shivery as this before.

‘Tell me tomorrow,' he whispered.

She shook her head. ‘I can give you the answer right now.' Even though part of her knew this was crazy and she ought to be measured and sensible about this, the way she always was, a stronger part of her couldn't resist the challenge. And maybe taking a leaf out of Bella's book—living life to the full, instead of being sensible all the time and holding back—would be good for her.

Two weeks. No strings.

Time to take the leap.

‘Yes.'

CHAPTER FOUR

T
HE
MIDDLE
OF
the next morning, Roland texted Grace.

Do you have a posh cocktail dress?

She thought about it. Was he planning to take her to a cocktail bar or something? Given that Roland was six-foot-two, she could actually wear her one pair of high heels without being taller than he was and making him feel embarrassed. She could team them with a little black dress, and maybe put her hair up.

Yes. Why?

Taking you out for dinner tonight. Need you to be ready for seven. Does that fit in OK for work?

Which meant she had absolutely no idea where they were going; all she knew was that the dress code meant posh. It could be anything from a private dinner party in a castle somewhere—given that Roland's family owned chateaux in France and he mixed in very different circles from her own—to dinner at Claridge's. Was this what it felt like to be swept off your feet, not having a clue about what was happening? Grace was used to being organised and in charge, and right now she felt a bit out of her depth. But she brazened it out.

Sure, can be ready.

Good. Any allergies or things you can't bear to eat?

No to both.

Excellent. See you at seven.

Where are we going?
she texted, though she had a feeling that he wouldn't tell her.

Out
,
was the reply that she'd half expected, leaving her none the wiser.

Roland wasn't at the house when Grace went back to Docklands after work. But he'd asked her to be ready for seven, so she showered, changed and did her hair to make sure she'd be ready. As she started applying her make-up, a wave of nervousness swept through her. This was their ‘date'—and it had put her in a complete spin. She knew this wasn't a real relationship, but Roland had promised to sweep her off her feet, and she'd promised to let him practise his dating skills.

Did that mean he was going to kiss her again? And those feelings she'd had last night—would they get to the point of overwhelming her common sense? Would she end up making a fool of herself?

She tried to put the thought from her mind and concentrated on getting ready. By the time she'd finished, it was ten to seven and Roland still hadn't come back from work. Given that he'd asked her to be ready for seven, if he turned up in the next few seconds it wouldn't leave him much time to get ready to go out. But surely if he'd been held up at work or in traffic he would've called her?

Had she just made a huge mistake and agreed to a ridiculous deal with someone who would turn out to be as unreliable as her father? Someone charming who would let her down? That would mean she'd gone from one extreme to the other: from thinking of marrying a sensible man who didn't make her heart beat faster, to dating one who'd break it without a second thought. That wasn't what she wanted. At all.

Maybe she should call the whole thing off and find herself somewhere else to stay until Bella's flat had dried out.

She was about to start looking up hotels when the doorbell rang. Even though it wasn't strictly her place to answer the door, maybe it was a delivery or neighbour who needed something and she really ought to answer. When she opened the door, she saw Roland standing on the doorstep. He smiled and handed her a single red rose. ‘Hi.'

‘Thank you,' she said. Then she noticed the way he was dressed. He was wearing a formal dinner jacket, with a bow tie—and she was pretty sure that wasn't what he'd normally wear to the office. ‘But—but...'

‘But what?' he asked, his dark eyes glittering; clearly he was enjoying the fact that she was completely wrong-footed.

She gestured to his suit. ‘You didn't come back here to get changed.'

‘I can hardly sweep you off your feet if you see all the domestic stuff first,' he pointed out with a grin. ‘I came home at lunchtime to pick up my clothes and I got changed in the office.'

‘Oh.' Feeling stupid and vaguely pathetic, Grace stared at the floor. Why hadn't she thought of that? And that was why he was here at precisely seven o'clock—the time when he'd asked her to be ready. Of course he wasn't unreliable. She'd jumped to conclusions and been as unfair to him as he'd been to her.

Roland reached out, gently put the backs of his fingers under her chin and tilted her chin until she met his gaze. ‘Hey. This was meant to make you feel special, not awkward,' he said. ‘But I did warn you my dating skills are rusty. I'm sorry I got it wrong.'

If this was Roland in rusty mode, heaven help her when he was polished. ‘It's not you, it's me being stupid,' she mumbled. ‘I'd better put this rose in water—and it's lovely. Thank you.' And now she was babbling like a fool. He must be really regretting making that deal with her.

As if he could read her mind, he said quietly, ‘Grace, just
relax
. This is about having fun.' Then he leaned forward and brushed his lips very lightly against hers, which sent her into even more of a tizzy. Every nerve end in her lips tingled and her knees felt as if they'd turned to soup.

‘You have two minutes,' he said.

She just about managed to get her head together enough to ask, ‘Where do you keep your vases?'

‘Um—I don't have any, which is a bit pathetic given that my sister Philly is a florist.' He flapped a hand dismissively. ‘Just use a glass for now and we'll sort it out later.'

The momentary confusion on his face made her feel a bit better. She put the rose in a glass of water in the kitchen, then joined him again at the front door.

‘Your transport awaits, madam.'

She had no idea what she'd been expecting—but it certainly wasn't the gleaming silver Rolls-Royce that waited for them by the kerb, with a chauffeur at the wheel wearing a peaked cap.

‘A Rolls-Royce?' she asked.

‘In design terms, I prefer this to a stretch limo,' he said with a grin, and helped her into the car.

‘Are you quite sure your dating skills need polishing, Roland?' she asked when he joined her in the back of the car. ‘Because I think you've already swept me off my feet tonight more than I've ever been swept in my entire life so far.'

He inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘Good. That's the plan.'

They stopped outside a restaurant in Mayfair. The chauffeur opened the passenger door for her, and then Roland was by her side, tucking her arm into his elbow and leading her to the restaurant.

Grace recognised the name of the place as one of the best restaurants in London. It had two Michelin stars and the food was legendary—and it was so far out of her budget that she'd never even dreamed of booking a table here for a special birthday. Yet she noticed that the
maître d'
greeted Roland as if he was very well known here, then ushered them over to an intimate table for two.

She drank in her surroundings. This was definitely a once in a lifetime opportunity. The room was very light and airy, and was decorated in Regency style. There were Venetian glass chandeliers suspended from the ceiling, with beautiful art in gilded frames and a huge antique mirror hanging on the duck-egg-blue walls. The carpet was in a slightly darker shade than the walls, and her feet actually sank into it as she walked. The dark wood chairs had blue-and-cream-striped seats; the tables were covered with plain white damask cloths and were set with silver cutlery, with a simple arrangement of roses and a candelabrum in the centre.

‘This is amazing,' she whispered when the
maître d'
had seated her and left them to look at the wine menu, ‘but don't you have to book a table here months in advance?'

‘Usually,' Roland agreed with a smile.

Which meant there was a reason why Roland had been able to book a table at the last minute. ‘So did you go to school with the owner or something?' she asked.

He shrugged. ‘I just did a little bit of renovation work for them, about four years ago.'

‘They have one of your glass boxes here?'

‘Sadly not. Though I do like the idea of a glass wall between the restaurant and the kitchen so the customers can see their food being cooked,' he said. ‘Possibly not for here, though, because it wouldn't work with the architecture. I've booked the tasting menu for us, by the way. I hope that's OK?'

‘More than OK, thank you. I've always wanted to do something like this,' she said shyly.

‘And don't feel that you have to stick to water just because I don't drink,' he added. ‘I'm perfectly happy for you to have the paired wines with each course if you'd like them.'

‘I don't drink a lot,' she said, ‘so it'd probably be a waste for me to do that. Maybe I could have one glass of wine, if they can recommend something?'

He spoke to the sommelier, who returned with a single glass of champagne and a bottle of water.

‘Thank you,' she said quietly. ‘That's really lovely.'

‘What I like about this place is the attention to detail,' Roland said. ‘Maybe it's the architect in me, but I like the fact they've kept the Regency styling right down to the glassware.'

She looked at the glass; the stem was sturdy and the bowl was conical, with an engraving of wine leaves just below the rim. ‘This is an antique glass?'

‘Reproduction—but a good one,' he said.

The waiter brought out the
amuse bouche—
a sunflower seed crisp with a braised artichoke and a bay leaf cream. Grace had never seen anything so beautifully presented; it looked more like a work of art than a dish.

But the first mouthful was even more amazing; the combination of the tastes, the textures and the scent stunned her.

‘I've never had food this good before,' she said in almost hushed tones. ‘The way the whole thing is put together and presented—it's incredible.'

Roland looked pleased. ‘I hoped you'd enjoy this, seeing as you're a foodie.'

‘Hey, I'm strictly amateur,' she said ruefully. ‘But I like this very much indeed. Thank you so much for bringing me here.'

He smiled. ‘That's what tonight's about, doing something we both like. It's nice to come here with someone I know will get this as much as I do.'

Grace wondered, had Lynette not liked this sort of thing? But she didn't ask; it was too intrusive and might spoil Roland's enjoyment of the evening. And Grace was determined to enjoy being swept off her feet, because she knew she'd never eat at a place like this again. Roland's world was in a completely different league from her own.

Course after course followed, all cooked to perfection and plated beautifully. The staff were friendly and attentive without being over the top, and Grace started to lose her shyness and relax with Roland.

‘I hope you've got stamina,' he said with a grin. ‘There are eight courses.'

‘Eight? That's
so
greedy.' But she grinned back. ‘Bring it on. I love everything about this. And, as you say, it's nice to do something like this with someone who gets it.'

‘So what else do you like doing?' he asked.

She thought about it. ‘Curling up on the sofa with a good book, walking in the park, going to the cinema with friends, and dance aerobics class with Bella. You?'

He considered it. ‘I probably spend too much time at work. But I like wandering round museums. Especially ones in gorgeous buildings.'

‘Where you look at the architecture and think what you'd do if you were given a free hand?'

‘Busted,' he said with a grin.

Grace found herself relaxing with Roland, chatting easily about the food. ‘A pre-dessert dessert? What a fabulous idea,' she said when the waiter brought a terrine with lemon verbena cream layered with orange curd, and served with the lightest and crispest almond
tuile
. Even better was the dark chocolate
pavé
with fresh blueberries and shards of dark chocolate. And then there was the cheeseboard, with a selection of cheese, tiny crackers, walnuts and black grapes, all served on a long slate board.

‘That was utter perfection,' she said with a sigh. ‘And right now I feel like a princess. A very greedy, full-to-bursting one, but definitely a princess.'

‘Good.' Roland smiled at her. ‘I'm glad you're enjoying this.'

While they had coffee and
petits fours
, the chef came out to see them.

‘Ro. It's been too long,' he said, clapping Roland on the shoulder. ‘And this is...?'

‘Grace Faraday, my friend,' Roland said. ‘Grace, this is Max Kleinman.'

‘Delighted.' Max shook her hand warmly.

Max Kleinman was the equivalent of a rock star in the culinary world, and Grace felt incredibly shy. She knew Bella would've been in her element here and chatted away to him, and not for the first time she wished she had her sister's people skills. But she was the one who was quiet and sensible and good with numbers. All she could think of to say was, ‘Your food is amazing.'

To her relief, Max looked pleased rather than embarrassed. ‘I'm glad you liked it. I hope this means you'll come back.'

In my dreams, Grace thought, but she smiled. ‘I hope so, too.'

Finally, the Rolls-Royce took them back to Roland's house. Grace was shocked to realise that it was almost midnight; they'd spent nearly four hours at the restaurant. She'd never lingered that long over a meal before.

Roland gestured to his coffee machine. ‘Decaf cappuccino?'

‘I think I'm too full to eat for another week, let alone drink coffee now,' Grace said. ‘Thank you, but I'm fine.'

‘So was it OK?' Roland asked.

‘More than OK. I've never eaten such amazing food in my life,' she said. ‘Thank you so much for spoiling me.'

‘My pleasure,' he said, sounding utterly sincere rather than being polite.