Page 14 of The Best Thing He Never Wanted

She slipped on the comfortable walking shoes she’d managed to cram into the old suitcase, glad she hadn’t left them behind. The new case was a little bigger; there’d be plenty of room for them in there.

She eyed the old suitcase in the corner, not sure what to do with it. It seemed unfair to leave it here for housekeeping to deal with—but she didn’t know what other options she had. There was something fitting, anyway, about abandoning it in a very nice Bloomsbury hotel. The one thing she knew she would not do was take it on the plane with her when she left.

It might seem a silly thing to most people. But to her, leaving the case behind was symbolic. She’d never liked the thing. It was part of a set Simon had bought her years ago, and in his perfectly reasonable way, he’d expected her to be grateful. Appreciative, at least. That she didn’t like it—that she’d had her eye on a different set entirely, one she’d fallen in love with—was neither here nor there, as far as he’d been concerned.

She pulled herself together and tidied the book she still wasn’t reading back onto the bedside table. She’d worry about the suitcase tomorrow. For now, she should be on her way. She could get a few hours wandering the museum before she needed to come back and get ready for this evening.

From what she’d seen online, there was a whole room of pieces from ancient Crete. She’d no doubt spend most of her time in there. She took her new leather jacket down from the hanger, collected her things, and made sure the room was locked behind her. Walking down the corridor toward the lifts, she couldn’t help smiling. Thinking of Blane, the smile turned into a grin as she imagined what Meg would have to say. Meg would have opinions, no doubt. Bea would of course tell her about him—but if she could just show her friend a photograph of the man…

Well. He’d probably flee, just as he had from the girls last night, if she whipped out her phone and suggested a picture. Not that she needed one for herself. That handsome, stony face had already etched itself into her memory.

She was grateful to him, in a way. He’d taken her focus off being alone here, in this strange little limbo between her old life and the new one. He might not appear cheerful, but he’d certainly brightened her days.

When she reached the lifts, it occurred to her there might well be a conspiracy after all. Whenever she needed to go down, they were invariably sitting on the ground floor. She pushed the button and waited, glancing—only occasionally—down the corridor to where room 1211 must be.

If the man was working, he was hardly likely to come sauntering out. And there was no reason for her to feel quite as disappointed as she did when he didn’t step out of the lift when it arrived, either. She really needed to stop this. She was off to see Minoan artifacts. She did not need to keep thinking about a large American.

When she reached the lobby, she waved at the girls on the reception desk, and they beckoned her over.

“Is everything all right?” she asked as she approached.

“Everything’s fine, Miss Hartley. We just wanted to say thanks again for the chocolates and cookies.”

“Oh, you’re most welcome. It’s always nice to have something sweet while you’re working, isn’t it?”

The two girls exchanged a glance and giggled. Bea could only smile; she wasn’t in on the joke.

“We think you’re very sweet,” said the younger one, Carla. “We just wanted you to know we appreciate it. And what are you up to today? Heading to your concert early?”

“No—I know there are artists who play in the afternoons, but…” She made a face. “You’ll think me an old fuddy-duddy, but I’m going to the British Museum.”

“No, that’s wonderful,” said Lauren. “I envy you. I love to just walk through the rooms whenever I can—it’s so handy, being this close. You know it’s only five minutes on foot?”

“I do, thanks. I’m going to take a little stroll. Is it busy in here today?”

“It’s Sunday morning,” said Carla, as though that explained everything.

“Well. I’ll leave you to it and see you later.”

When she reached the front doors, she heard heavy footsteps behind her and turned with a smile—because even though there was no way she could have known it was him, she knew it was him.

“Hey, Bea.”

That voice was far too deep, and had far too much gravel in it, to be doing what it was doing to her.

“Good morning,” she said.

“Are you headed out?”

“I am. And you?”

“Yeah.” He waved a brochure in the air. “One of my partners says I’m not allowed to come home till I’ve done some sightseeing. So…” A beat. “What about you? Where are you headed?”

“The same, as it happens. Though probably not the kind of sightseeing you have in mind. I plan to spend the afternoon in the British Museum.”

His eyebrows shot up. “The British Museum. Really?”

She laughed. “Don’t look so horrified. Some people still like to wander around museums, you know.”