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CHAPTER EIGHT
CELIA’SIDEAOFthe perfect honeymoon involved white sands and blue sea and lazy cocktails on a beach and being somewhere where you could easily imagine that the rest of the world didn’t actually exist. Even after she and Martin had parted company, she could remember guiltily and longingly gazing at faraway destinations in magazines, where sun, sea and sand were the only ‘S’s to be had, without that other one,stress, rearing its ugly head and spoiling everything.
By the time they’d returned to London the previous afternoon,stressat whatever Leandro had planned had definitely been high on the agenda as she’d churned over in her head the prospect of going on a pseudo honeymoon with him.
She’d made an effort to find out what he had in mind, but he had told her to just make sure her passport was up to date and her summer wardrobe was up and running.
Then he’d looked at her, a quick, sidelong glance as his powerful car ate up the motorway miles, and said thoughtfully, ‘I think a shopping trip might be in order.’
Why fight it?
The consequences of accepting his offer of marriage had been beginning to sink in.
The altruisticrightnessof doing the best for the baby they now shared hid a network of uncomfortable realities.
His wealth was staggering and while she had every intention of continuing her own business, adapting and adjusting as necessary, she would essentially be the recipient of immense financial comfort.
How could she dig her heels in and fight that? He wanted the best for his child and she would be tugged along in the undertow.
‘Really?’ She’d greeted his pensive observation with a half-hearted lack of enthusiasm. ‘I have summer clothes.’
‘What?’
‘I said I already have perfectly fine summer clothes.’
‘No.Whatsummer clothes do you have?’
Celia had bristled, but had then remembered what her summer wardrobe consisted of and said, truthfully, ‘I think I have some shorts and a couple of dresses.’ The truth was that she had the sort of clothes designed to hide behind. Baggy shirts and loose-fitting dresses and everything in muted colours that allowed her to fade into the background.
‘We’re going to be getting married,’ Leandro had pointed out. ‘You’re going to have to dress the part.’
‘Dress the part?Do you think I’m some kind of Barbie doll, Leandro? What world do you live in where you really imagine that women should dress to fit in with a guy?’
‘Actually...’ Leandro had been sidetracked ‘...you’d be surprised how many women enjoy shopping for expensive clothes. They rarely have to be forced into it kicking and screaming. But,’ he’d continued reasonably, ‘that wasn’t what I was getting at.’
‘No?’
‘If we go anywhere expensive, you’re going to be ill at ease in clothes that make you feel self-conscious. Besides, has it occurred to you that I might actually want to treat my bride-to-be to a new wardrobe? Jewellery? Holidays? A new car...?’
Bride-to-be in name only, Celia had thought. ‘I don’t need a new car.’
‘Stop arguing with me all the time.’
‘If I don’t happen to agree with what you’re saying, it doesn’t mean that I’m arguing with you.’
At which point he’d burst out laughing and told her that he would collect her the following morning at ten sharp from her house.
So here she was now. She was no wiser as to the destination of this honeymoon and locked into a morning shopping with Leandro.
She was far from beginning to show yet but, even so, her first words as she settled into the back of his chauffeur-driven car were, ‘It’s silly to spend a lot of money on clothes that are only going to fit me for a few weeks—by the time summer rolls round over here, I’ll be as big as a whale.’
‘And a good morning to you as well, Celia. Good night’s sleep? I wouldn’t have to do this trip out if you’d simply listened to me and moved into my place. It’s not like your parents’ house where you would be forced to share a bed with me. You would be able to have your pick of rooms.’
When he had suggested that, Celia had instantly turned him down on the grounds that there was no need.
‘Where are you taking me?’ she now asked and he grinned.
‘You make that sound as though I’m ferrying you for a day out of pure torture.’
