“Your knight in shining armour – or, at least, a shining black cab.”
Imogen burst out laughing. “My cab driver? Who took me to the hospital?”
“Well, I was very grateful to him,” Theo murmured, wriggling his brows. “He was quite clearly about to jump the bench and start throwing punches if someone didn’t give you medical attention.”
Imogen rolled her eyes. “How did you even find him?”
“He emailed me to thank me for the tip,” he shrugged. “I happened to mention that you’d had Hermione and that we were having her christening today.”
Imogen stared at him with exasperation and Theo shrugged. “What? So I’m proud. Shoot me.”
Imogen laughed, reaching up and bunching his shirt in her fist. “I’ve got a much better way to make you pay, Mr Trevalyen.”
“Oh, yes?” He prompted, swaying his body closer, brushing his strength against her.
“My parents are going to stay tonight. Imogen’s sleeping through reliably now. What about you, me…”
Theo reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a white credit card. On closer inspection, she saw the swirly gold logo of Claridge’s. “A night in a hotel? One step ahead of you, honey.”
Imogen might have been piqued that he’d taken her idea except that she’d become used to this. Theo and she were so in sync that they frequently spoke at the same time or finished one another’s sentences.
“Perfect,” she grinned.
He kissed the tip of her nose and she shivered. Anticipation and delight filled her. The christening was a joyous affair. Afterwards, they enjoyed refreshments in the garden of the church and Elena went to great effort to befriend Didee. It warmed Imogen’s heart to see the two grandmothers getting along so well. Even Theo’s father was at his social best, speaking to all and sundry, pulling out his phone to show photos of Hermione to anyone willing to adore his granddaughter.
But finally, late in the evening, Hermione was settled at home and Imogen and Theo were alone together. At last. Or they almost were. Just as Imogen was contemplating a soak a deux in the enormous spa bath, the doorbell to the suite sounded.
Theo was in the formal lounge room, so Imogen moved towards it. She pulled the door inwards without checking who was on the other side, and confusion spilled through her when she saw Gianni with a dumb waiter.
“Gianni?” She blinked. “What are you doing here?”
“I bring the dinner!” He said loudly, and he leaned in and pressed a kiss on each of Imogen’s cheeks. “Is your favourite, no?” He lifted one of the stainless steel lids off the platter to reveal several squares of focaccia.
“Yes,” she said, bemusement obvious in her expression. “But … are you working here now?”
“Oh, no! But Theo asks and Theo gets.”
Speak of the devil, Imogen thought as she whirled around to see Theo on the other side of the room, propped nonchalantly against the door.
“In here, Gianni,” he said, his eyes not leaving Imogen’s face.
She frowned, stepping aside so Gianni could wheel the trolley through the penthouse. He pushed it over the carpet, leaving two perfect little tracks that she followed with curiosity.
And, as she walked into the next room, she sighed.
Of course he’d done this.
Because Theo Trevalyen was thoughtful, romantic and … perfect.
The floor of the formal lounge had been cleared and there was a picnic rug in the middle. Candles were lit on every available surface, and soft jazz music played through speakers, somewhere.
“Carpet picnic?” He prompted, earning a huge smile from Imogen.
“Always.”
Theo shook Gianni’s hand and included a large tip. The older man hugged Theo in exchange and when he turned to Imogen it was with a look of pride. “You are a bella donna. You make ‘im so happy. I never thought it possible.”
“Thank you, Gianni,” Theo drawled, but his smile was full of affection.