Total pages in book: 221
Estimated words: 213317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1067(@200wpm)___ 853(@250wpm)___ 711(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 213317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1067(@200wpm)___ 853(@250wpm)___ 711(@300wpm)
An attendant asks if we want anything to drink and I take a mineral water, but Ant waves her away with a no, thank you. Even in this state he manages to give her a smile, so his veneer sure is a good one. She doesn’t seem to notice he’s feeling like shit, but I do. My hand is straight back on his and holding tight, and he takes some deep breaths now the attendant is out of view, letting his veneer drop again.
“Sorry, princess,” he says. “Ignore me.”
“I’ll never ignore you,” I tell him. “You can be as terrified as you want, and I’ll always be here. You only need to tell me.”
“Thanks, baby.”
“I love you so much,” I tell him, and that makes him smile.
“Ditto.”
Ant calms down the very second the plane touches down, back to his full shining composure. His hand is solid in mine as we head through to collect our cases. No trembles, or shakes, or even a hint of the fact he was terrified just a few short minutes ago.
I imagine we’ll be getting a taxi from the airport, but no. We get out to the exit and he leads me along with him, off to one of the car parks at the side. He points out another Audi, this one in bright scarlet.
“This is ours.”
“Wow,” I say, realising all over again just how little an idea I have of Ant’s life over here. He’s never mentioned a car in Berlin.
“If you think this is wow, then just wait until you see the city,” he tells me, and pulls away for the drive.
I’m so glad we’re here before lunchtime, because I get to see the full scope of the brilliance in the daylight. I’m staring wide-eyed at everything we pass, and it’s like a reversal of hitting Bucklebury, with Ant pointing out so many things on the way.
“Let me show you our office,” he says, and I get another rush of excitement. I’m absolutely desperate to see it.
Sure enough, it’s as grand as I’d figured it would be. A huge imposing stone building on a busy street, with Nevilles Banking Group displayed proudly over the main entrance.
“One day I’ll take you in there,” he tells me, and I give a little whoop. “In the meantime, though, I think it’s time for lunch. I’ll take you to one of my favourites.”
He pulls into a car park off to the side of the Nevilles German HQ and there is a space with his name on it. Makes sense, since he’s one of the senior executives.
A few suited businessmen pass by and offer him a Mr Bradstone, and the look on their faces in that one tiny moment tells me everything. They look at him like a lord, with so much reverence that it makes my head spin.
I’m with a god of career and banking and life. Of everything.
He doesn’t say a thing about the people who greeted him, like they mean nothing whatsoever, so they clearly aren’t friends of his. I don’t get the chance to ask much about the place, as he takes hold of my hand and leads me proudly away from there, stepping out onto the bustling street with a smile on his face.
“Here we are, baby. This is my world in Berlin.”
My eyes rove around, hoping to soak in all of it, but he’s already gesturing to a restaurant opposite. A gorgeous looking bistro that matches its surroundings, and that’s only confirmed all the more when we step inside.
They know him. Of course they do.
They give him a Mr Bradstone, sir with as much respect as the guys in the car park. It feels like an honour to be sitting opposite him with a menu in my hand.
“Let me order for you,” he says. “I know what you’ll enjoy. Trust me.”
I laugh. “I’ve no doubt about that, Mr Perfect. You know me better than I do.”
He orders a seafood dish to match his, and I don’t look nearly so certain that I’ll enjoy it when it arrives.
“Try it,” he says, and I take a forkful tentatively.
Ok, here goes… fish has never really been my thing…
“Well?” Ant asks, as I swallow down my first mouthful.
I give him a nod and a smile. “It’s delicious. I didn’t think I liked salmon all that much, but I do. Clearly.”
“See?” he says, taking a sip of water. “You can always trust my judgement.”
He calls the waiter over, then speaks to him in German. It doesn’t take a translator to know what he’s talking about when I hear the word champagner.
“No,” I protest. “I can’t start drinking yet!”
He silences me with a wave of his hand. “This needs a celebration, baby. It’s the least we can do.”
I’ve been determined to stay off the drink until at least this evening, but find myself with a glorious glass of fizz in my hand, yet again, toasting against his mineral water.