Page 86 of The Reluctant Billionaire

Her mouth twists. ‘I bet you will.’

I order us a Meursault from the bottom of the wine list, because I know she loves her big, buttery whites, and one thing I struggle to feel guilty about spending money on is seriously decent wine. Besides, the most extravagant thing we’ve done in the past week is order Wagamama’s on Deliveroo. There’s no harm in splashing out every now and again.

I’m not tight. I enjoy high quality. I’ve developed atastefor high quality, in case you couldn’t work that out with a single glance at my new, beautiful girlfriend. I’m not that clichéd rich-as-sin miser who’d rather count his money than spend it. I couldn’t be less like that. I’d rather give the entire load away. But I still struggle with guilt over ostentation. Throwing my money around.

That is not, however, an issue to worry about tonight. Because tonight, I’m the luckiest guy in the world, and I intend to have fun.

I’m casting my eye over the menu when Lotta gets gracefully to her feet. A tall posh bloke in a seriously nice suit is loitering. He looks far too confident for my liking yet strangely familiar.

Lotta leans in for a double air kiss. ‘Santi!’

‘Darling,’ he drawls in a deep, cultured rumble I suppose the women go crazy for. ‘You look stunning, as always.’ I roll my eyes internally at his suaveness before fixing a smile on my face, because I left that chippy, insecure boy behind a long time ago, and Lotta deserves a far more socially competent dinner partner than that.

‘Santi,’ she says, ‘allow me to introduce Aidan Duffy. Aide, this is Santiago Vale.’

Santiago Vale. Vale Music. Fucking hell—he’s a massive player in the music industry. Mum’s had a crush on his dad, Dominic Vale, for as long as I can remember.

And the bloke cuddling up to Lotta on her Instagram feed.

Bingo.

I rise to my feet, cogs turning as I put out my hand. ‘The music guy?’

‘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.

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