Page 54 of Spare Heir

‘I see,’ she says, sipping her champagne cocktail. ‘But you wish she were, I take it?’

‘Something like that,’ I say. ‘It’s complicated.’

‘It always is,’ she says.

‘What about you?’ I ask, steering her away from my impossible situation. As much as I long for Nathalie, I’m nostalgic for the days when I was numb to all feeling. I was only half-alive, but I was great at pretending I was fine. She stunned me back to life, and now I’m drowning in a sea of pain.

I keep telling myself I can handle this, and it will get easier. Family and business expectations weigh heavily on me, and sometimes I wish I wasn’t shackled to all this success. But who would I be if I wasn’t Sebastian Rochester, CEO of Rochester Hotels, and shareholder in the company?

Shaking my head, I sigh and pick at the fancy French cuisine. I’d much rather be sharing a pizza with Nathalie and Daisy, and a wave of homesickness rolls over me.

‘You’re miles away,’ says Lizzy.

‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘I’m not good company this evening. Please forgive me. You were saying?’

Over dinner, to the backdrop of the setting sun, she regales me with how she met the love of her life, and how she couldn’t have fallen for someone more unsuitable if she tried. She rolls her eyes and is self-deprecating. I think how fortunate that she’s a nice person and not a predatory type who would cash in on my predicament.

As we eat, a camera flashes, and I notice a guy snapping shots of us from a distance. I stand up, but the host hurries over and tells the photographer to leave.

‘Paparazzi,’ I say. ‘No doubt, another glossy photo of us, this time sharing a romantic dinner.’

‘Well, it’s kind of working out exactly like we planned, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, it is. My grandfather and older brother are going to be pleased with the show we’ve put on,’ I say.

‘And what about the woman you can’t stop thinking about?’

‘This will be the nail in the coffin,’ I say, and order another beer. Lord knows, I need something stronger, but I can’t afford not to keep my head straight, so I resist the temptation to numb my torment.

The wheels of the jet hit the runway, and I’m relieved to be back in London. At least that media circus is over, and I can get home to Daisy—and Nathalie. I can kid myself all I like that she’s not monopolising my every thought, but the truth is I haven’t been able to get her out of my head throughout the whole trip. I kept imagining how amazing it would be if we took a holiday together, like the one Daisy begged for. If I’d agreed to Nathalie’s suggestion, they could have met me after the final interview yesterday, and we’d now be enjoying the Riviera together. Perhaps we’d be swimming in the sparkling aqua waters of the Mediterranean. But I knew it couldn’t work after a week of masquerading as Lizzy Archer’s date. I won’t risk trailing Daisy and Nathalie through the media with me, and someone would be bound to spot us after the high-profile week I’ve just had.

The short flight was enough for me to get up to speed on the articles in the press.

Fuck. It is even worse than I thought it would be.

I asked my assistant to organise a copy of the paper Nathalie saw so I would know what I was up against. It wasn’t pretty. No wonder she was upset. The article looked and sounded like I’m in a serious relationship with Lizzy and am about to pop the question. I only met the girl for the first time a few weeks ago, but that doesn’t stop them! Berating myself, I wonder what I expected. Like Lizzy said, it worked out exactly as we planned, and our fake dating was an immense success. It seemed like everybody bought it and thought we were the real deal.

There’s only one person I really need to buy it, and that’s Grandfather.

Damian calls on the drive home and congratulates me on a perfect match. He sounds genuinely happy for me, and it seems like I might have pulled off convincing the family that I’m dating Lizzy for real.

We talk about the new hotel, and I can tell he’s impressed. I should be thrilled, and this is the time to bask in the glory of a job well done. It’s rare Damian commends me—he’s tough to please—all the more so since our father died, and his life unravelled piece by piece.

But this hard-won success doesn’t ease the pain, and I don’t feel the joy of victory.

‘The interviews went well, and you and Lizzy are all over the media. It couldn’t have gone better. And I’m enjoying not being the one in the spotlight. It makes a refreshing change,’ Damian says, his tone teasing.

‘Ah yes, and how is Jamie, by the way?’ I ask, knowing this will deflect him from talking about me and Lizzy.

There’s a chilled silence that only Damian could pull off.

He still doesn’t speak so I say, ‘I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to her. Had an idea I might see her around Greystone again.’

In a voice that could freeze icicles, he eventually replies. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen her since the ball.’

‘Sorry, Damian,’ I say.

‘Whatever for?’ he asks and makes light of it as if he didn’t fall for her. But I know there was something between them.

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