Page 94 of The Reluctant Billionaire

And I really, really love it.

I still feel an element of unease, though, at this seemingly relentless upwards journey. At how well everything’s going, both with Totum and with my personal life. So when I get a text from Judy, I actually laugh in horror, because it’s as if my inner self-saboteur has conjured this shit-show up.

With one simple text, my obligations to my past and my fragile hopes for my future are strung up against each other like contestants in an amphitheatre.

Shayla’s in labour. Five weeks early. Can u help this weekend?

Fuck fuck fuck. Shayla is Sylvie’s daughter. Five weeks early does not sound good—this is a shit show. And of course Sylv will want to be by her side the whole time.

This is a fucking disaster.

Fuck.

I text back tentatively.

Oh no. I’m sorry. What kind of timings?

She comes straight back.

Setup tomorrow. Party 11-4 sat

I grimace and suck air in through my teeth as noisily as if someone’s just punched me in the gut, because that’s what it feels like. Could this timing be any worse?

I’m supposed to be somewhere. Is there anyone else who can help? Gaz?

I stare anxiously at the three little dots.

G couldn’t organise a piss-up in a brewery. Anyway he’s on a long-haul to Europe.

Will get more volunteers but need someone who can lead this or it’ll be a total shitshow

There is no easy solution here; I know that much. But fuck, most of the state schools break up for the summer holidays tomorrow and our kids and their parents are staring down the barrel of seven weeks off school with none of the structures or entertainment or childcare or fuckingmealsthey have in place during term-time, and this party is a big deal for them. It’s our way of reminding them that the summer can be fun, that they’ve nailed another whole school year, and, most importantly, that we’re here for them.

The bottom line is that they need me and Lotta doesn’t. Sure, she wants me there; she’s excited to introduce me to her mates. She’s excited for our first trip abroad together. But she doesn’tneedme. She’ll know tonnes of people there and she won’t have to worry about babysitting me.

She’ll get over it.

The kids won’t get over it if their party goes south.

Fuck.

Got it. I’ll be there.

I drag my hand over my face before hovering my finger over Lotta’s number.

* * *

LOTTA

‘Hi, honey,’ I coo. ‘Guess what? The dresses just arrived. They’reamazing.’ Not amazing enough to remotely risk upstaging the bride, who’s going to look so beautiful I can’t even imagine it, but amazing enough to feel very good about being on my boyfriend’s arm this weekend. The rehearsal dinner one is a slinky, silk jersey coral number by Astrid Carmichael, while the gown for Saturday’s ceremony is Chanel. It’s pale aquamarine tulle, and sparkly, and to die for.

The smile on his gorgeous face is weak and tired. ‘I bet you’ll look gorgeous in them.’

I swivel away from my desk in my chair. ‘What’s up?’

‘Lotts.’ He closes his eyes and frowns. ‘I’m so sorry. I can’t make it this weekend.’

‘You can’t—what?’ I stare at him in horror, waiting for him to grant me eye contact and explain himself, because it sounds like he’s standing me up.

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