Page 13 of One Week With You
“So,” he began, clearing his throat. “I’m aware that now isn’t the best time, but I have a favour to ask and I’m realising there’s a way we can both get what we want.”
“Colour me intrigued. I’m listening.”
“How do you feel about being my girlfriend?”
The plate I’d been washing plopped into the sink, sloshing water over the sides and soaking the front of my apron. “Excuse me?”
Rafe looked like he was struggling not to smile, a magnificent sight. I wished he did it more often.
“Pretend girlfriend, I mean. I need a date for my Christmas party.”
“And you wantmeto be your date?” I double-checked, trying to ignore the well of disappointment.Of course he didn’t mean real girlfriend, Talia. Idiot.“What do I get out of it?”
“A date with me, of course.”
“You arrogant bastard,” I said with a smile.
“I’m kidding.” He held up both hands in mock surrender. “How does staying in one of my hotels sound? Or maybe my cottage in Scotland? You’re welcome to use it.”
“Oh.” That was unexpected. “Really?”
“It’s all yours. Just say the word.”
“You’re serious?”
“When am I not?”
Considering I’d barely seen his face without a frown, he had a point. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes.”
Could I?
A remote Scottish escape sounded like perfection. A change of scenery and the space and quiet I needed to clear my head and sort my life out. Or at least plan how to do such a thing. Right now, I had no idea. Running away to Scotland also meant there was no chance my mum would turn up at my flat and guilt me in to attending family events – a high possibility.
“When is this party?”
“Friday. I figured you could fly up to Glasgow that weekend. It gives my housekeeper time to get things ready for you up there.”
“You have a housekeeper? No, wait. Of course you do.”
“Not on site. She lives in the village and keeps it clean and stocks the fridge ready for guests.”
“Right. Of course.” I nodded along. Occasionally, Rafe didn’t live in the real world with the rest of us. “Dress code? For the party, I mean.”
“Whatever you want.”
“Well, I don’t want to turn up in my ugly Christmas jumper if everyone else is wearing a ball gown or something.”
“Ballgowns aren’t really my style.”
Despite myself, I laughed. “Shame,” I found myself saying. “But you have a deal.”
He simultaneously lit up and sagged in relief, which I found strange but didn’t question. I couldn’t imagine Rafe struggling to get a date. He was the kind of man who turned heads in his direction. “Great. I’ll text you the details.”
“Are you sure about the cottage?” I asked again. “Your parents don’t need it?”
“You know my parents always spend Christmas in the Caribbean.”
