The By Request Collection. Kate Hardy. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: Kate Hardy
Издательство: HarperCollins
Серия: Mills & Boon e-Book Collections
Жанр произведения: Контркультура
Год издания: 0
isbn: 9781474094672
Скачать книгу
concept is a little “honeymoon in the Maldives” obviously.’

      ‘Obviously.’ Flora sounded wistful and he nudged her.

      ‘Come on, work with me here. If I can’t convince you I’m doomed. I actually think this might be even more breathtaking. Not just building over the lagoon but using glass floors to make the lagoon part of the hotel—the water as one of the design materials.’

      ‘And I can bring that detail to bear inside. The lovely local dark woods and the natural blues and greens. Yes.’ She nodded. ‘I can work with that. Thanks, Alex.’

      Alex pushed himself to his feet and walked over to the bar, a long piece of polished oak on the other side of the room. ‘Glass of wine or a stein of Austrian beer?’

      ‘I’m not sure what a stein is. A glass of white wine please.’

      Alex ordered their drinks from the barmaid who was hovering discreetly at the far end.

      He carried their drinks over and handed her the wine, taking a long appreciative gulp of his own cold beer, a heavy weight in the traditional stein glass. ‘Cheers, or should I say prost?’

      She raised her glass to his. ‘Cheers. You were right. A job like this is just what I need.’

      Alex paused. He knew it wasn’t easy for her, younger sister to such high-achieving siblings, daughter of well-known experts in their fields. He knew her mother’s well-intentioned comments on everything from Flora’s hair to her clothes cut her to the quick. He knew how self-conscious she was, how she hated her conspicuous height, her even more conspicuous figure, her dramatically wide mouth and showy Snow White colouring. She really truly didn’t know how stunning she was—when she wasn’t hunching herself inside one of the sacklike dresses or tunics she habitually wore.

      But she was twenty-nine now. It was time she believed in herself.

      ‘You could have had work before,’ he pointed out. ‘How many times have I asked you to freelance for me? You were just too proud to accept—or too afraid.’

      Her mouth shut again, her lips compressed into a tight, hurt line. ‘There’s nothing wrong with wanting to stand on my own two feet.’

      ‘No, there isn’t.’ He fought the urge to backtrack; he’d always hated upsetting her in any way. ‘But there’s nothing wrong with accepting a helping hand either. Sometimes I think you’re so determined to prove yourself you actually hold yourself back.’

      Her eyes blazed. ‘I can’t win, can I? Once you accused me of not knowing my own mind, now you’re telling me I’m too stubborn.’

      ‘If you mean I told you not to apply to vet school then I stand by that. Just like I stand by telling you not to take that job at Village Inns. I still don’t know why you did.’

      Flora set her wine down on the table and glared at him. ‘Why were you so set against it? No one lands the perfect job straight from college. It made sense to get some experience.’

      ‘No, but your heart was never in that job, just like it wasn’t in veterinary medicine. You applied for that to please your mum.’

      Flora jumped to her feet and walked over to the window, staring out at the dark before turning to face him. ‘So you were right that I wasn’t vet material. Right that I couldn’t hack it. So it took me a while to work things out. Excuse me for not being driven, focused on the goal like you, Mr Super Architect of the Year.’

      He ignored the dig. So he was driven. Wasn’t that the point? It was why they were here after all. ‘Art school was far more you—but then you took the first safe job you could find even though designing those trendy pubs and twee restaurants drove you crazy. And when that didn’t work out you went into lockdown mode. Took it personally, as if you had failed.’

      ‘No, I didn’t!’ She paused, looked down at the floor. ‘Well, maybe a little.’

      ‘Look, Flora. You know the last thing I want to do is hurt you. In any way.’ It was truer than she knew. Alex didn’t know where he would have ended up, what he would have been without Flora’s friendship. It was why he had never been able to confide in her, not fully. He had never wanted to see the warmth in her eyes darken and chill. To be judged by her and found wanting.

      God knew he judged himself enough for both of them.

      ‘Thank goodness.’ She looked at him directly then, her blue eyes shadowed. ‘I’d hate to hear what you would say if you wanted to hurt me.’

      ‘I just want you to follow your dreams. Yours, not your mother’s or mine or trying to beat your sister at her own game. I want you to go for what you want. Do what makes you happy. Not hang back for fear it doesn’t work out or in case you get knocked down again. Take each rejection as a challenge, get back up and try again. Harder each time. Here is your chance. Seize it.’

      ‘I was trying to before my temporary boss and arrogant best friend decided to have a go at me.’ But the anger had drained out of her voice. ‘I’m not so good at the seizing, Alex. We didn’t all get the Masters of the Universe education, you know.’

      Alex had hated every single day at his elite boarding school. The only thing in its favour was that every day he had spent there was a day not at home. ‘I dropped out of sixth form to slum it at college with you so I missed the Advanced World Domination course. But I tell you what I do know, Flora. We’re all mostly faking it. Tell yourself you can do it, tell yourself you deserve it and make yourself go for it. That’s the secret. Now, I don’t know about you but those cakes seem like hours ago and I know the kitchen is hoping to do a last trial run on us before the guests arrive tomorrow. Let’s go eat.’

      * * *

      ‘That was amazing. Although I don’t feel I can ever eat again.’ Flora patted her stomach happily and curled up on the velvet sofa.

      ‘Not that cosy though, just the two of us in a room set for sixty.’

      ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ It had felt a bit incongruous at first, the two of them waited on alone in a vast room, but a couple of glasses of the delicious wine had soon set her at her ease and when Alex suggested they went back into the lounge for one last look at the plans and a digestif her original plans for a bath and an early night were forgotten.

      She had only drunk schnapps once before and it hadn’t been pretty. But it was the national drink, after all; it would be rude not to sample it.

      Alex was leaning back in his chair, his glass held loosely in his hand. Flora was usually so very careful about how she looked at him. If he ever caught her staring. If he ever guessed how she felt...

      Alex was her oldest and best friend. His was the shoulder she cried on after break-ups and heartbreaks. He was her go-to person for advice. He knew all her vices and nearly all her secrets. But there were two things that lay between them. Two secrets; a chasm that could never be bridged.

      He had never confided in her why he had left home, and why he was so against any kind of reconciliation with his father.

      And she had never told him that she loved him.

      Not as a friend, as a confidant, but in every way it was possible for a woman to love a man. Sometimes Flora thought she had fallen for him that very first day, that skinny red-headed boy with a look of determination on his face—and desolation in the stormy eyes. The hair had long since darkened to a deep auburn, his body had filled out in all the right places, but he was still determined.

      And he hid it well, but at heart he was still as alone as he had been then. Not one of his girlfriends had ever got through to him. Was that why she had never told him how she felt? He was right, she was afraid.

      Afraid of not being good enough for him. Afraid he would turn away in disgust and horror, just as he had all those years ago. Afraid that this time she would lose him for ever.

      Flora downed the schnapps in one satisfying gulp, choking a little as the pungent,