Dani Collins - Modern Romance March 2019 5-8

But she was the only one who had bumped into the sporting hero a few years later in Edinburgh. She’d been flattered when he’d recognised her and in a state of disbelief when he had invited her to dinner.

One short month later he’d proposed. Walking on air, she’d accepted, but even before she’d had a chance to share the news, it had been over. At least the humiliation had been private.

Her gaze flickered to the man beside her. How many hearts had he broken? she wondered. Did he keep count? she mused cynically. Did he even remember their names?

A pothole in the road that jolted her made her realise how long she’d been staring at him, in a way that could, to the casual observer, be confused with drooling. Ashamed and a little alarmed at the conscious effort it required to drag her gaze from his patrician profile, she rubbed the ring finger on her left hand hard.

It was only at the last minute that she had remembered to take off the ring Ivo had produced and slipped onto her finger before he’d left. She’d just managed to stuff it in her handbag before her mum had appeared from the pottery.

Handbag! She experienced a flurry of panic...hadn’t she?

The noise of Flora scrabbling in her handbag drew his attention sideways for long enough to register the panic on her face.

‘What’s wrong?’

Heart thudding with trepidation, Flora shook her head and dumped the entire contents of her handbag onto her knee.

‘The ring...was...is it real?’ She aimed for casual and produced shrill panic.

‘You mean is it fictitious?’

Irritated, she cut across him. ‘I mean, is it a real diamond?’

He arched a brow. ‘You’re worried I’d fob you off with a fake?’ He shook his head in an attitude of mock hurt. ‘You think I’m cheap.’

‘I think you’re...’ She inhaled a deep relieved breath and sank back weakly in her seat as her fingers closed around an object that had slipped into a hole in the bag lining. A moment later it was in her shaking hand. ‘Thank God!’ she breathed in fervent relief as she slipped the rock onto her finger.

‘It fits well.’

‘Yes, but I’d feel a lot happier if it was in a bank vault,’ she said darkly.

‘It looks better on your finger.’

Flora, who was repacking the collection of female essentials that had spilled onto her lap, turned her head. ‘I thought I’d lost it. I nearly had heart failure.’

‘It’s just a ring.’

‘Oh!’ An explanation for his relaxed attitude occurred to her. ‘Is it insured?’

‘I hadn’t got around to that.’

The pucker between her feathery brows that had been sitting there all morning deepened as she remembered her mother’s comments. She was not ready to admit that there wasn’t any commonality between the two of them, but on the subject of expensive rings the two reacted very differently.

Callum had had no hesitation accepting the ring that she had slid off her trembling finger after he’d dumped her. She could still hear the moral indignation in his voice as he’d accused her of tricking him, of hiding the truth from him.

‘I mean, kids, a family, what other reason does a guy get married for?’

‘Oh, I don’t know—love?’

He’d laughed, actually laughed at her then, explaining the way you did to a small child or someone not very bright, ‘There are plenty of girls out there for love. A wife is different—a man puts her on a pedestal.’

She didn’t know about the pedestal but he had put the woman he had married two months after he’d dumped Flora in a mansion, several, actually, and, just as he’d said, there were still plenty of girls out there giving Callum love...or at least sex . Callum had never had any intention of changing his lifestyle for something like marriage...he believed he could have it all, and he did.

The wife had to know about the girlfriends. It wasn’t as if Callum was discreet, and there were always cameras and phones around to record any social-media-worthy action of an ex-premier-league footballer, but did the beautiful blonde know that the ring she wore had once been on someone else’s finger? Flora wondered, staring down at the diamond glittering on her own finger.

She had been devastated at the time but Flora appreciated now that she’d had a lucky escape. She only wished it was good judgement and not a biological failing on her part that was responsible.

‘Stop worrying.’

Her eyes lifted and made fleeting contact with Ivo’s dark stare. He can’t read your mind, she soothed herself, managing a huff of scornful laughter.

‘Easy for you to say!’

At the wheel Ivo stiffened in response to being snapped at. The women in his life purred and smiled, and the novelty value of having this redhead snarl up at him had limited novelty value. Before he could react in kind there was a grumpy snuffling sound from the back seat, followed by a wail.

‘See what you’ve done now,’ she reproached, ignoring his indignant growl of, ‘Me!’ as she twisted around in her seat and murmured soothingly, ‘Hush, Jamie, we’re nearly there.’

Actually, they were there.

It took seconds for him to park up in the small terminal.

There was no struggling with bags this end; what appeared to be an army of people arrived and began to unpack the luggage. Their progress through customs was equally swift and effortless and it felt like moments later that they were on the plane with no airline logo, though inside Greco was discreetly evident from the headed notepaper to the coasters on the table.

Ivo told her to make herself at home and vanished, leaving her to cope with the baby. She’d have liked to call him selfish but there were several hovering staff offering her assistance.

Having read up on travelling by air with a baby, Flora spent take-off and the next part of the journey feeding Jamie, who didn’t appear to suffer any problems with the change in pressure. She had just got him changed and back to sleep when Ivo appeared.

He wasn’t alone.

‘This is Cristina.’ The young woman smiled. ‘She’s one of the nannies.’

It would have made less sense to Flora if he had said the woman was part of a boy band. ‘What do you mean, the nannies ?’ The plural part hadn’t passed her by.

‘Well, Nanny Emily is getting on, though don’t let her hear me say it.’ The young woman beside him smiled. ‘And—’

Flora cut him off mid-sentence. ‘If you think I’m handing Jamie over to anyone, you are off your head!’

After scanning her angry face, Ivo turned to the young woman and said something in Italian that made her vanish. ‘I’m trying to make your life easier here,’ he said, struggling to hang onto his temper.

Flora flung back the plait, and shook her head, causing stray red curls to drift across her face. Ivo, distracted by those golden-tinted wisps, fought a strong compulsion to push them back.

‘No, you are trying to take over my life. Jamie’s life.’ Give him an inch and she’d be asking his permission before she decided what dress to wear. This man was so typical of the breed, she decided, forgetting she had ever imagined for one second that she had misjudged him.

‘Where is the harm in having a nanny?’ Not accustomed to considering anyone’s convenience but his own, Ivo had rationalised the efforts he had made to make the journey and stay as comfortable and stress-free for Flora as possible by telling himself it had nothing whatever to do with sentiment, it was simple practicality.

The last thing he wanted was her gratitude. He just wanted Jamie. Admittedly they came as a package but that , he hoped, was a temporary situation.