The wedding was set for the sixth of June.
Before that, I wanted to go to France.
Ashton said he supported it.
Technically, he did. Out loud.
But I could tell he hated the idea.
He looked at me like I’d sprouted wings and flown out of reach, and he didn’t know how to drag me back without crushing something.
If it weren’t for the time it took to plan the damn wedding, he’d have married me the day after Presidents’ Day ended.
I had to argue him down to June.
I left for France in early April.
He meant to come, but work snowballed.
The plan was he’d join me once he dug himself out. If he ever did.
That morning, he drove me to the airport.
We pulled up to the kerb and I reached for the handle, but he grabbed my wrist.
‘What’s the rush? You’ve got time.’
He was stalling. That much was obvious.
If he had it his way, I’d miss the flight entirely, spend another two days tangled up in his sheets, and he’d shrug it off later like it was all accidental.
His grip on me didn’t loosen.
He leaned in and kissed me again.
Like he could stockpile the next ten days into one goodbye.
By the end of it, I couldn’t breathe.
I leaned back, gasping, neck arched, trying to put some space between us.
‘Stop—Jesus—let me go. I’ll miss the bloody flight.’
‘No, it’s not.’ I shoved my phone in his face. ‘Look. Less than thirty minutes left.’
He didn’t budge. ‘Boarding gate’s only a few minutes from here.’
‘There’s still security to get through.’
Lately, Ashton had become increasingly and uncharacteristically clingy, even throwing in some sulky whining that grated on my nerves.
I’d expected him not to let me go easily, but this slow-dragging act was a new low.
I stepped out first and headed to the boot for my bags.
He hurried after me, gripping my hand with one, dragging my suitcase with the other as we pushed through the airport doors.
‘How long are you planning to stay this time?’ he muttered, clearly annoyed.
‘No idea yet,’ I replied. ‘I’ve been going back and forth with Fabrizio by phone and email. It’s exhausting. He invited me to visit their HQ. When I get back depends on how fast the new pieces come together.’
‘Stay away from him once you’re there. I’ll come find you when I get a break.’
I glanced sideways, amusement flickering in my eyes. ‘Afraid I’ll run off with someone else?’
‘Absolutely.’ Ashton didn’t bother pretending it was a joke. ‘I need to keep a close eye on you.’
‘Relax,’ I snorted. ‘Fabrizio’s only interested in work. We’re just colleagues.’
He squeezed my hand harder. ‘He’s single and a man. Of course I’m worried.’
‘Don’t you trust me?’ I challenged.
‘I do, but I’m just saying. Watch yourself in France. Don’t overwork. Call me every day...’
‘I know, I know,’ I interrupted, rolling my eyes. ‘You sound like a parent sending a kid off on their first day at school.’
‘I’m just worried about you. I should’ve hired you an assistant.’
‘It’s a business trip, not a bloody solo hike through the Andes. If things go smoothly, I’ll be back in a week. I don’t need a babysitter.’
We reached the security checkpoint.
I turned to face him square on. ‘I know your day’s packed. Go. I’m good.’
I kissed him one last time before walking away, feeling his eyes on me the entire time.
My gate was already boarding when I cleared security.
Once I found my seat, I was about to turn off my phone when a headline popped up.
Granger Development Group again.
The boardroom drama had been all over the feeds lately—inheritance mess, infighting, whispers of a power grab.
Apparently, Clive Granger had been sick since last winter.
His health tanked, and now he was desperate to hand off the company.
Rhys, the eldest, had been in the doghouse since that scandal with Catherine.
Clive had lost patience with him ages ago.
Word was, he planned to transfer thirty per cent of the company to his youngest son instead.
And the youngest wasn’t wasting time.
Since resurfacing in January, he’d edged Rhys out of the leadership team project by project, pulling in massive profits from some new pharmaceutical venture.
I skimmed the article and shut my phone.
If Daniel and Rhys were busy tearing each other’s throats out, they’d have less time to come sniffing around me.
I landed in Paris to grey skies and the thick smell of petrol and wet tarmac.
Fabrizio Marchetti met me right at the gate, sharp suit, perfect tie, not a hair out of place.
He took my luggage without asking and led me to a black car waiting at the kerb.
He drove me straight to the house he’d arranged.
It was two storeys, limestone façade, dark green shutters, high hedges on either side.
Inside, it was quiet, just one housekeeper and the clean scent of lemon polish and baked bread.
The place was gorgeous: polished floors, matte black fixtures, hand-carved wooden beams, soft wool throws folded over slate-grey sofas.
I turned to Fabrizio. ‘You really thought of everything. Thanks for sorting all this.’
‘Not at all,’ he said smoothly. ‘You’re here to push the new line forward. You need somewhere that doesn’t mess with your flow.’
‘I’ll keep refining the sketches I sent over. Some of the proportions still feel off—’
‘No shop talk today,’ he interrupted. ‘Get some rest. I’ll take you to HQ in the morning.’
‘Alright.’ Updates are released by n0velfire.net
The next morning, I came downstairs right on time.
He was already parked outside, leaning against a different black car.
I slid into the passenger seat.
I thanked him, then said, ‘I looked up the route. I could’ve got there on my own.’
‘My place is on the way.’
He pulled into traffic.
I unlocked my phone and saw a text from Ashton.