It was still and dark by the time she made it to Nico’s palatial house in Kensington.
She had been there several times in the past. Twice to drop off urgently needed documents and another time for a Christmas gathering he had hosted for a handful of employees. It had been a grand occasion, with waiters everywhere and a classical quartet playing in the background. She could remember the way she had felt then...painfully aware of Nico in his black polo and black trousers and the woman who had followed him here, there and everywhere, looking at him with adoring puppy-dog eyes.
Why on earth she hadn’t got the picture loud and clear then and duly taken herself off to a dating site, Grace had no idea.
So long being careful and responsible had boxed her in. Her energies had gone into her job, and living a life outside that—outside Tommy and all the practicalities that went along with the care he had needed—had been sidelined. All those missed opportunities to meet a guy, have fun, see what the future might hold in store for her...not to mention to give Tommy the freedom from her stifling caretaking. He hadn’t put it in so many words but she had understood without having to be told. Instead, she had remained in a holding bay, waiting for life to happen and daydreaming about Mr Impossible.
She had barely recognised her own crush on her boss for what it could dangerously mushroom into.
Now she was here, and she was going to deal with the fallout for all her poor choices whatever the outcome.
Of course, there was nothing convenient anywhere near his house, like a coffee shop. There were just other mansions with forbidding iron gates and precision-trimmed hedges tall enough to protect the occupants of the big houses from riff-raff’s prying eyes.
In the absence of a key to his house, she did, fortunately, have the code to his side gate and she let herself in hoping no one saw her, because they would immediately call the police.
This was definitely not the sort of place where random strangers were tolerated, least of all ones letting themselves in via side gates.
Of course, there was no one in. The darkness was a giveaway. Just the outside light illuminating the front door. She rang the bell anyway and, with the predictable lack of response, she went to the bench at the side and sat down. She was braced for the long haul. It was not yet nine in the evening. Thank goodness it wasn’t too cold. A bit chilly but nothing her thick cardigan couldn’t handle.
It was after eleven by the time Nico got back to his house. He’d left Grace and headed straight to the pub. It wasn’t a gastropub with delusions of grandeur. It was one of the few proper pubs not a million miles from his house, because he wanted to walk back. A proper pub where a guy could go and drown his sorrows in a few honest-to-goodness bottles of strong beer.
He had to.
His mind was going crazy. He couldn’t assimilate what had been thrown at him and even though he knew he was being an ass, because he, more than anyone else, should know that people were entitled to their privacy, he still felt bitterly hurt. Wounded to the very core. Wounded in places he hadn’t even known existed.
The temperature had dropped. He felt the coolness penetrating his lightweight jacket as he clumsily pressed the buttons to the side gate. The walk had sobered him up, but he could still feel the effects of the beer he had drunk. Not enough to block out all his thoughts but enough for a definite improvement.
The sound to his left as he began heading up the Victorian paved path to his front door almost failed to penetrate.
The shape huddled on his bench registered a hell of a lot more and if the night air hadn’t quite sobered him up, then the sight of someone on his property did the trick in record time.
And Nico’s milk of human kindness was at an all-time low. He strode over at pace and reached for the collar of whoever was curled on his bench and then cursed with shock when the shape unfurled and he saw who it was.
She had gaped in surprise when he had shown up on her doorstep. Now it was his turn. He watched, stunned for a few seconds, as she rubbed her eyes and began sitting up.
‘Jesus,’ he muttered, swearing again. ‘What are you doing on my bench, Grace? How long have you been here?’
‘I’m cold,’ she whispered by way of response.
Nico barely stopped to think. He swept her up in one fluid movement and carried her through the door and into the warmth of his sitting room, then he gently placed her on one of his wildly expensive leather sofas and stood back, arms folded, staring.
Grace looked up at him. Their eyes collided and she swallowed, at a disadvantage now that she was here, lying on his sofa while he towered over her with an expression that could freeze water.
She struggled to sit up, but her joints ached from how she had fallen asleep on the bench.
‘Want to tell me why you’re here?’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘You’ve come here to tell me that you’re sorry? When I walked out your front door, Grace, I told you that I had no intention of ever seeing you again and I meant it.’ His voice was cold and unforgiving. ‘So what if I knew or didn’t know about your brother, about the life you’d had? Not the end of the world. Trust me.’
‘I know it’s not the end of your world, Nico.’
‘You’re shivering.’ He swore again, told her to stay put and returned seconds later with a glass. ‘Drink this.’
Grace took the glass, drank the whisky and felt it burn through her nerves, giving her some much-needed strength.
‘I wasn’t keeping secrets from you,’ she said quietly, nursing the glass.