Page 72 of Serving the Couturier

There was a momentary pause before Stan spoke again. “Good idea. Darrel is already preparing Tomma for tomorrow night and the following week. Any idea of how long the two of you will be gone?”

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly.

“It’s not a problem,” Stan continued. “Darrel and I can hold down the fort for as long as you need.”

“Thanks,” I said, grateful for his understanding. “I trust you to handle everything, Stan.”

“Is there anything else I can do?” he asked. “Anything you need taken care of before you go?”

“I don’t think so,” I said, shaking my head even though he couldn’t see me.

“What about a flight?” he asked. “Do you need me to arrange anything?”

“No, but thanks,” I replied. It occurred to me that the family jet was in London, but it shouldn’t be difficult to get a flight to England flying out today. I glanced over to where London was coming back into the bedroom. “I need to go now.”

“Of course,” he said. “If you need anything, just call. And again, I’m sorry for your loss.”

I thanked him and ended the call. I needed to get dressed, but I sat on the edge of the bed, unmoved, unable to summon the strength to stand. My father was gone, and it left me with a feeling of emptiness.

London placed her hand on my shoulder. “Is everything okay with Stan?”

I nodded. “He’ll take care of things.”

THIRTY-EIGHT

LONDON

The weather wascold and wet when we departed New York City on Monday morning. After a nearly eight-hour flight, we arrived in London to find it even colder and just as rainy.

The private plane Spencer had arranged for us had a sleeping compartment in the back, and we spent a few hours there, not speaking or trying to sleep. I wasn’t sure what to say, as I had never experienced losing a parent. All I could do was imagine what I would want from a partner in a similar situation and hold Spencer.

As we stepped out of the airplane, a fancy car was waiting for us, and a suited man stood at the back door. He asked if Spencer wanted to go home, and Spencer replied he wanted to go wherever his mother was. As we settled into the luxurious leather seats, Spencer put his arm around me and pulled me close. I was grateful to be there for him, offering him comfort in a difficult time. Despite my own worries about the impact my injury might have on my career and the uncertainty about the future, my focus was solely on Spencer. I hugged him tightly and told him I was there for him, ready to support him in any way he needed. We sat in silence for the entire drive, with Spencer resting his cheek on my head, and I focused all my energy on being there for him in his time of need.

When we finally arrived, the driver opened the door, revealing Spencer’s parents’ house. Despite the late hour, lights were on, and the front door opened before we reached it. The butler stood at the door with the same stoic expression he had the last time I was here, as if nothing had changed.

Once inside, Gabriella, Spencer’s youngest sister, came over to us. She wasn’t crying, but I could see the redness in her eyes before she buried her face against Spencer’s chest. Spencer wrapped his arms around her, and I stepped back to give them some privacy.

I knew how she felt, as I had lost my brother’s best friend, Leo. Being at his funeral felt a lot like this, feeling helpless to ease the pain of those I care about, and hurting more for them than myself.

Gabriella sniffled as she stepped back from Spencer, taking his hand in hers. She finally acknowledged my presence. “London.”

“I asked her to come with me,” Spencer said in a quiet voice. “Where’s Mum?”

An elderly woman’s voice echoed from behind us. “Your mother is in the drawing room, waiting for you.”

Spencer and Gabriella tensed as the owner of the voice approached us. Her dark blonde hair, streaked with silver, was styled in an elegant knot. Her blue eyes, though they would have been identical to Spencer’s if they held any warmth, were cold and distant. She was tall and slender, almost to the point of fragility, yet still carried an air of elegance, even in these trying circumstances.

“Grandmother,” Spencer greeted her, kissing her on the cheek.

The woman looked past Spencer, straight at me. “Surely, your company told you we don’t tip our drivers for helping with the luggage. It’s part of the service,” she said in a condescending tone.

It took me a moment to realize that she was addressing me.

“Grandmother, she’s not the driver,” Spencer interjected, his voice holding a hint of something I couldn’t quite identify. “This is London McCrae, my girlfriend. London, meet my grandmother, Opal Johnston York Masters.”

“Is that so?” His grandmother approached me, her expression appraising. However, there was something in her eyes that suggested that she hadn’t mistaken me for the driver, but rather that it was a test. I wasn’t sure if it was for Spencer or for me.

“It’s nice to meet you, ma’am. Although I wish it were under better circumstances. Please accept my condolences.” I held out my hand.

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