Page 86 of The Reluctant Billionaire
‘The very same,’ he says, shaking it with a surprisingly firm grip. ‘And, far more glamorously, this one’s neighbour.’ He has that faux self-deprecating air that so many former public schoolboys have, but I don’t hate him. I suspect everything’s a bit of a piss-take with him. Besides, he’s properly talented. No wonder his speaking voice sounds like warm treacle.
Before I can reply, he jerks his head in my direction and says to Lotta, ‘So, is this your little “enigma”?’
To my surprise, she blushes and shoves him on the arm. ‘Thanks a lot,’ she hisses.
‘Enigma?’ I ask. I have no clue what he meant, but seeing Lotta flustered is amusing.
She rolls her eyes. ‘Santi threw a party last week weekend after you and I…’ She huffs. ‘I may have mentioned, briefly andin confidence’—this last part aimed at him through gritted teeth—‘that there was someone in the picture who I couldn’t quite figure out. You know, because you were a dirty little liar.’
I close the gap between us and kiss her on the cheek, because the fact that she was ranting about me to her mates after kicking me out makes me inexplicably happy.
‘Did you, now?’ I murmur.
‘Oh, yes, darling.’ Santini clasps his hands together. ‘You two are perfect. Look at you! Am I correct in thinking you’retheAidan Duffy?’
I’ll never get used to being recognised, nor do I enjoy it. But I laugh, because Lotta’s groaning beside me.
‘Think so,’ I say. ‘If you mean the tech bloke.’
‘Exactly!’ Santi points at me. ‘I knew it.’
‘So I’m the only person on the planet who didn’t know who you are,’ Lotta whines. ‘Fucking excellent.’
‘Darling, get with the programme. Nerds are the new hotties,’ Santi says, looking me over approvingly. ‘Anyway, you two are divine. So adorable. You should have his babies.’ He nods at Lotta.
This guy is fucking weird, but also hilarious. I also don’t disagree with him on the last part, which is even weirder.
An image of her pregnant, so fleeting it’s almost subliminal, flashes through my mind. Her tits would be so fucking luscious. I blink.
‘Anyway, Santi, how are you doing?’ Lotta asks through still-gritted teeth, a not-so-subtle way of indicating her desire to change the subject away from my filling her with my babies.
‘I’ve been singingO Holy Nightall fucking day, if you must know,’ he says, putting his hands in his pockets. ‘You may think it’s July, but the festive season is officially upon us. We’re recording our family Christmas album. Dad’s even roped poor Vi into it.’
‘Violet’s Santi’s daughter,’ Lotta tells me. I nod and slip my hand further down the small of her back till I can feel the waistband of her thong through the thin silk of her dress. I like standing here with her like this, in the middle of this restaurant. Like she’s mine. Like it’s not the biggest miracle on earth that she’s in my arms.
‘She’s ten,’ Santi says. ‘The exploitation of every last generation of Vales for commercial purposes is relentless. If Dad could record the fucking dog, he would.’
‘Maybe you should put him on the album cover anyway,’ Lotta suggests.
‘Nope. Tried that. Dad vetoed it. Said he wasn’t “pretty” enough.’
Lotta gasps. ‘Luke’s the prettiest boy in the world!’
‘Exactly. His beauty is rivalled only by his quiet stoicism. But you know Dad. He said a Staffy wasn’t “elevated” enough for the family brand. Wanted to hire a golden spaniel for the cover shoot. A fuckinggolden spaniel! Can you imagine?’
‘I am really, really pissed off on Luke’s behalf,’ my little hellcat says, crossing her arms.
‘As am I, darling. As am I. Anyway, the stress of the whole thing’s getting to us all. Dad’s blood pressure’s through the roof, his cholesterol’s a fucking disaster, and Mum’s going ballistic about his health. She said I’m working him too hard, when in reality it’s completely the other way around. God knows, I’m going to need a fucking guru just to keep him alive for the next six months. It’ll be a marathon—the planned publicity around it is a total circus.’
‘Ooh—I have someone,’ Lotta says. ‘My parents will be away from October and they have an amazing person they won’t be requiring for winter—she’s a wellness consultant. She’s from California, and she’s extremely well-versed on the whole holistic thing, and, you know, complementary medicine. And nutrition too, obviously.’
Santi grimaces and rakes a hand through his dark hair. ‘Dear God. An American, and an alternative one at that. She sounds utterlyghastly.’ He really is a fucking drama queen, this guy.
‘She is notghastly,’ Lotts says firmly. ‘She’sdelightful. And she’s an amazing chef. She is also a total smoke show, for your information,Santi, so I would thank you to keep your ill-informed opinions to yourself.’
He shoots her a filthy look, then rolls his eyes. ‘Fine. Send me her number.’
‘Let’s play a game,’ I say when we’ve got rid of Santi and are each nursing a glass of Meursault. ‘Quick fire get-to-know-you.’
