Page 49 of The Reluctant Billionaire

No Pete. No Woody. None of the scabby teenagers she teaches science to.

I’ll ask Tish to look into some options later.

‘You’re gorgeous, too,’ I tell her, partly because it’s true and partly to piss my brother off. Laura has that natural, girl-next-door prettiness that Pete and I have always gravitated to.

Or at least, I did until I was bewitched by a Mediterranean stunner with a penchant for six-grand trainers and athletic shower sex.

Pete rolls his eyes. ‘So you gonna bang her or what?’

‘Peter!’ Mum exclaims. ‘Stop that right now. Aide. Parmesan.’

‘I’m not going to gratify that with an answer,’ I say with the moral outrage of a man who absolutely did not spend his Friday evening banging the woman in question.

‘Aide doesn’t go for girls like that,’ Mum says, bustling over with the saucepan of drained spaghetti and putting it on the cork mat in the middle of the table. ‘She’s far too fancy for him. He should stick with what he knows.’

And there you have it.

Predictable as clockwork.

My mother’s total refusal to accept that I may be deserving of choosing my own future.

My own place in this world.

And my own companion in it.

Now, all that remains is to sit down for dinner and place a private wager on how long it’ll take my brother to pitch me the latest harebrained investment scheme he wants me to fund on his behalf.

I stand at my place at the same kitchen table we’ve had since I was a kid, the table whose varnish has long been scrubbed off, and proceed to dole out the spaghetti.

20

LOTTA

Ijump straight into it with my brother as he pours me a glass of Krug. We haveElgin Residents and Friendstonight, a soirée that one of our celebrity neighbours is generously hosting on his roof terrace, and we both require some social lubrication first. He because he’s a miserable bastard who, to be fair, is having a shitty divorce, and I because I have barely emerged from mywho exactly is Aide?rabbit hole of the past twenty-four hours.

‘Thanks. So. You know Aidan Duffy, right?’ I say with false bravado as I accept the flute from him. Even saying Aide’s full name feels weird. Forbidden, somehow.

He stares at me blankly. ‘You know I do. How do you think your community project got kicked off?’

Um. The answer to that isI have not once wondered that.

I shrug. ‘I dunno. Randomly?’

‘He and I came up with the idea over drinks one night.’

Excellent. They’re not only acquaintances butdrinking buddies. This is information I really could have done with having a week ago.

‘Did he not mention he knew me?’ Gabe asks.

‘Nope.’Among other small details he didn’t mention. Like, that he was thirty-second on theSunday TimesRich List last year.

‘Why do you ask, anyway?’ He takes a slug of Krug.

I hesitate. ‘I’ll tell you, but I need you not to be a judgemental arsehole for like, five minutes. Okay? Can you promise me that and just be nice?’

He raises his eyebrows. It’s a common reaction to my outbursts. But, to his credit, he follows it with a nod. ‘If that’s what you need.’

‘It is.’ I take a deep breath and a long sip. God, that’s delicious. Right. ‘So I didn’t realise it was him. As far as I was concerned, he was just this guy Aide on our project.’

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