Page 74 of The Reluctant Billionaire

Icould get used to waking in Aide’s arms.

To his kisses on my neck. His hard—and I do meanhard—body pressed up behind me.

To him bringing me a perfect espresso as I blow-dry my hair and apply some light makeup in a dressing room so vast it’s totally wasted on him.

To being tugged into his huge shower for a highly satisfying quickie before being served up more perfect espresso and scrambled eggs on the terrace by his very sweet, very smiley housekeeper, Maggie. She seems even happier than me that I spent the night, and that’s saying something.

I adore my ultra-feminine flat, and I love Notting Hill, but there’s something about waking up out here that’s pretty special. I know in an hour we’ll be surrounded by chain-link fences and overlooked by rundown blocks of council flats, but right in this moment I could easily imagine I’m on holiday.

The only sounds are birdsong and the chinking of cutlery against crockery. Given we’re just a couple of weeks past midsummer, the sun’s already high in the sky, casting short shadows over the gardens. All those gorgeous flowerbeds are throwing off their scent, aided by some early-morning sprinklers.

Peace.

Peace is what I feel here. Splendid isolation, like Aide and I are the only two people in the world. Like the trials and tribulations of the rest of humanity are faint. Muted.

I wonder if that’s why Aide based himself out here. It’s clear he’s a guy who, despite his grumpy facade, feels things deeply. Maybe he needs somewhere like this to create some proper distance between him and all the shit he has to deal with. The pressures and the conflicts, the critics and the freeloaders.

I’m really, really glad he has this place. All the stuff he was saying last night suggested he hasn’t really left the chains of his poverty-stricken upbringing behind. That his ‘emancipation’ is, in reality, far more complex and less complete than it may seem.

I’m glad he’s harnessed enough self-love and self-belief to create a little slice of heaven here, just for himself.

My heart sinks as we walk to his car. Andy’s already stowed my overnight bag in the boot. As a delightfully dirty mini-break, it’s been way too short. I refuse to consider whether I’ll ever be back here.

‘Last day,’ Aide says, reaching for my hand on the cream leather of his back seat and clasping it with an easy familiarity.

‘Are you sad?’ I ask.

He leans his head back against the seat and stares at the ceiling of the car. ‘Yeah. I’ll miss everyone. It’s been good working side-by-side with my old mates, you know?’

‘Hmm,’ I say, and he drops his head to the side to look at me.

‘What?’

I hesitate. ‘Nothing. I mean—I’m sure you’ll miss them. It makes sense. I just—I wonder if it’s also a bit bittersweet because you won’t be around to help them any more.’ I turn my hand palm up and intertwine my fingers with his. ‘I’ve seen what an amazing job you’ve done here, and I’m sure it’s hard for you to walk away.’

When there’s so much work still to be done in this community.

I don’t say the words, but I can feel them hanging in the air between us. Aide’s so loyal, so committed, and I know he feels he owes Judy and the community centre the world. I’ve seen how stuck in he gets. I think he even prefers playing footie with the kids and doling out meals to getting his hands dirty with the building work.

For someone like that, being perceived to be ‘walking away’ must be a real wrench.

‘Yeah,’ he says quietly, letting his head fall back on the headrest once again. ‘Tomorrow I’ll be sitting in my cushty office, eating fucking sushi, or something, and these guys will be slogging it out again. And again. Every fucking day. It’s never-ending, the work they have to do.’

‘I know,’ I tell him. I try to seize on the silver lining. ‘At least they’ll have a nice new centre to do it in. Sylvie seems really thrilled with the new kitchen. Everything doesn’t have to be perfect all the time. It beingbetteris a start.’

He squeezes my hand hard. ‘Thanks.’

‘What’s your charity about?’ I ask. ‘Is it linked to the centre?’ I’ve heard him mention his charity, Fresh Start, a few times, and it came up during my online stalking, but I don’t know much about it. Given how heavy the traffic looks as we head into London, now seems like a good time to get to know more about it.

He screws up his nose. ‘Kind of. So Totum has a foundation, and one thing it does is support community centres across the UK. Some of the money for the refurb has come from that, and some of it from me. But Fresh Start’s different. It runs before-and-after-school enrichment clubs in London, and hopefully, at some point, we’ll expand it across the country.’

‘What kind of enrichment clubs?’ I ask. ‘Like, coding and stuff?’

‘Among other things.’ He shifts in his seat, but he doesn’t let go of my hand. ‘Most state primary schools run a pretty limited syllabus. I mean, they cover the basics, but there are very few specialist teachers outside of PE. The kids don’t get a chance to explore many subjects until they hit secondary school, so we’re trying to change that. It’s also a good form of childcare for the parents.’

‘Go on,’ I say.

‘So we’ll go into a school. Take over the school hall, or any decent-sized space, and we’ll run two or three clubs a day, so ten to fifteen a week. Everything from dance to coding to sculpture to parkour. It’s just about trying to enrich these kids’ experience, open their eyes to talents and interests they wouldn’t get to explore otherwise. A lot of schools don’t have the capacity to set this stuff up themselves, and even if they could, the parents can’t afford to pay for clubs. So we make the classes free, and the kids who qualify for free school lunches get priority.’

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