Page 106 of The Reluctant Billionaire

As far as I can tell, they’re ridiculously hot for each other, but she tries gamely to maintain an air of propriety that he insists on blowing up. He calls her Belle, and she calls him Romeo.

Not confusing at all.

Lotta and I glance at each other. She rolls her eyes and smirks, and I grin and tug her in more tightly against my side.

This is the life.

I don’t know why the fuck I don’t do this kind of thing more often, but it’s something I suspect the hedonistic love of my life can help me with. Most of us are staying at this hotel in Ramatuelle, Villa Marie. That includes Noah and Honor, as Josh and Elle’s families have taken over Noah’s parents’ chateau for the weekend.

We’re sitting on a shady terrace overlooking the pretty pool. Just through the French doors are tables groaning with an excellent breakfast, and I’m slowly and methodically making my way through the spread. Lotta and I worked up an appetite with morning sex that quickly ramped up from sleepy to athletic, and I’m fucking starving.

I didn’t eat much last night, even though the food was incredible. I was too amped up from my mad dash to get here on time and too nervous about mustering up the courage to tell Lotts how I felt about her. Now I’m making up for lost time. I’ve had a massive bowl of fruit and yoghurt, shitloads of charcuterie, and probably an entire wheel of Camembert on what feels like a whole baguette. I’m now putting away an alarmingly large number of tiny pastries, but if I’m going to act like a self-indulgent bastard for a few nights, I may as well do it properly.

Last night was… unbelievable. Literally. I can’t believe how big her heart is. Can’t believe I bled myself dry and she accepted all of my shit.

Can’t believe she loves me.

I glance down at her, and she smiles up at me. Her sunglasses are dark, but I know that smile reaches her eyes. She strokes the hand I’ve got slung over her shoulder with her slender, ring-dotted fingers, and I silently vow to add two more rings to that collection in the not-too-distant future.

I fucking love seeing her like this. She’s drop-dead gorgeous, as usual, but her vibe is relaxed. Undone.

Just-fucked.

She’s in some kind of red halter-neck beach cover-up thingy over a tiny string bikini—also red—under which her fantastic tits sit freely. Her hair’s up in a messy bun, and she’s leaning into me like there’s nowhere she’d rather be.

I can deal with that.

‘Honor and I had an illicit lunch here,’ Noah says casually, draping an arm over the back of her chair. ‘Right after we—uh—got together.’

His wife raises a shapely eyebrow. ‘Got together? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?’

I chuckle along with everyone else, because I have clear memories of Noah recounting the whole sorry tale over whisky in the square one night. Honor’s husband was publicly cheating on her with his then-co-star and now-partner when my mate decided to try out his gallic charm on her and persuade her to ‘level the playing field’ (his preferred turn of phrase for how things went down).

‘Ancient history now, though, right?’ I say, stretching. As I do, I take the opportunity to drink more of the view in. I swear, the South of France is good for the soul. And not only is this place idyllic beyond belief, but I’m noticing that simply putting distance between me and London is helping me to put stuff into perspective.

I’ll never, ever abandon the community centre, or my friends, or my family. But it doesn’t hurt to examine my motives for helping out in the centre more closely and see what a healthy relationship with it looks like going forward. I allow myself a sigh of pleasure as I bury my nose in Lotta’s sweet-smelling, still-damp hair.

I’m roused from my happy little zone-out by Noah hummingHere Comes the Bride, and I look up to see Elle and Josh approaching. They both look freshly showered and really fucking happy. They must have stayed here last night—maybe they’re keeping the chateau’s bridal suite for tonight.

‘You’re not supposed to see each other before this evening,’ Theo points out through a mouthful of croissant.

‘Fuck off, man,’ Josh says with a good-natured shove on his shoulder.

‘Ooh, I love it when you go all alpha on me,’ Theo says. ‘Is he like that in the bedroom, Elle?’

‘A lady doesn’t tell,’ Elle says with a smirk on her face so wide it leaves no one in any doubt as to the answer. I saw those two on that period drama,Grosvenor, a couple of years ago when Mum made me watch it.

They definitely have chemistry.

‘Lady,’ Theo scoffs. ‘Right. You planning on wearing white today? Because the jig is up.’

He nods at her baby bump, and everyone laughs.

‘Tosser,’ she says, and she smacks Theo on the arm. Lotta told me they’re cousins, and I can definitely see it in their easy banter.

‘The mother of my unborn childiswearing white,’ Josh confirms, ‘and she’ll be the most radiant bride to ever walk down the aisle. And I’ll be the proudest fucking guy on the planet.’

He bends and kisses her forehead as she leans into him, her hand on her bump. They’re so high profile it’s ridiculous, and I’m not sure how they can juggle a wedding and a pregnancy with this new Pixar movie they’ve both got coming out. Seeing them like this, though, they’re just like any loved-up couple. Delirious. Hopeful. Excited for the future.

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