When Fate Isn't Enough Read online

  Martin looks confused. “I don’t understand, sir. Surely this can’t be it. You pack more for an overnight trip.”

  I laugh as I hold my hand out. “Hi Martin. I’m Lily. It’s nice to meet someone else who finds Gavin’s clothing addiction ridiculous.”

  Martin shakes my hand. “The pleasure is all mine, Miss.”

  When Gavin slides in the car I ask, “Will there be room for me at your house or will there be clothes everywhere? And do I dare ask if I get any closet space?”

  He rolls his eyes. “Very funny. I asked Mason to pop into the flat to prepare for our arrival. There will be plenty of room.”

  “Who’s Mason?” I ask before it occurs to me. “Oh god, is he your butler? You seriously have a butler?”

  “Mason’s been with my family since I was a child. Growing up he was more of a father to me than my own father was. You’ll adore him, I promise. He and his wife, Hazel, live at the country house. We’ll take a trip out there in a few weeks so I can introduce you.”

  I shake my head. “This is going to take some getting used to.”

  When the limo drives out of the airport traffic and onto what looks like a highway, I look out the window and watch the landscape go by. There are so many things I want to see while I’m here. While Gavin listens to his voice mail, I put together a mental list of places I want to go before I leave.

  Before I leave? How can I create a list if I don’t know how long I’ll be here? I’m here and I have absolutely no plan. What the hell am I thinking? When I got out of the hospital, I went home and declared I was going to London. I didn’t think it through. I never even asked Gavin if he wanted me here. I just demanded we go.

  When he tucks his phone into his jacket pocket, I tug on his arm. “I know this is a bit late to be asking this, but are you sure you’re okay with me being here? I pretty much invited myself.”

  “No, I invited you—it just took you a while to say yes. I couldn’t be happier that you’re here. For months, I’ve wanted nothing more than to see you when I wake up, come home to you at the end of my day, and lie in bed and watch you overindulge on ice cream. Now you’re here. It’s a wish come true.” He kisses my temple. “I couldn’t be happier.”

  “I have no idea how long I’ll be here. I don’t have a plan,” I say.

  “You’ve been through a lot. It isn’t necessary to know what you’re doing yet. In fact, it’s better that you don’t have a plan yet. Give yourself some time to heal. No pressure. Just rest, recover, and lie about with me.”

  “Can you say necessary again?” I just love his English accent. He could turn me on by reading me the instructions for my DVR.

  Martin moves into a right turn lane. He looks over his shoulder and says, “Welcome to London, Ms. Clark. We’ll arrive in just a few moments.”

  Gavin explains that his flat is in Knightsbridge, right across from Hyde Park, which means absolutely nothing to me, since I know nothing about London. Despite the rain, I can tell how beautiful the city is. I can’t wait to explore. Martin pulls the limo into the parking garage of a newly built 10-story, red brick building that kind of reminds me of DC. Gavin pats my hand. “Welcome home.”

  Martin collects our bags and offers to take them up, but Gavin takes the bags from him and sends him home so he can make dinner with his family. When we enter the building, a uniformed doorman greets us. “Mr. Edwards, how was your flight in?”

  Gavin shakes the man’s extended hand. “Willis, so good to see you. It’s my sincere pleasure to introduce you to Lily Clark. Lily, this is Willis. He’s the man that makes everything happen around here. He has the patience of a saint, and believe me, I’ve tested it over the last few months while the flat was being renovated.”

  “The pleasure's mine. Don’t listen to a word he says. He’s been a model tenant.”

  Gavin laughs. “That’s only because I haven’t lived here yet.”

  I start to chime in, but a yawn overtakes me. Despite my long nap on the plane, I’m more tired than I thought. I cover my mouth to hide my yawn. “Excuse me!” I say. “It’s nice to meet you Willis.”

  Gavin’s hand moves to the small of my back. “That’s my cue to get this lovely lady upstairs.” He picks up our bags.

  “Can I deliver those to your flat, sir?” Willis asks.

  Gavin waves him off as he nudges me to the elevator. “You do enough, Willis. Thank you anyway.”

  “Of course, sir,” Willis answers “Have a wonderful evening!”

  I whisper in his ear. “It’s like people are morally opposed to you lifting a finger for yourself. When you eat, is there someone ready to jump in with a napkin to wipe your chin?”

  He pokes me in the ribs. “Don’t be cheeky.”

  “Don’t expect me to pick up after you. You’re a big boy. You can pick up your own socks.” Judging from what I’d seen when we shared a hotel room, it’ll be the other way around. He’s far more organized than I am.

  As we walk to the elevator, I soak in the beautiful lobby with chandeliers, marble floors and tons of crown molding. When we get into the elevator, I ask “Is there where you lived with—”

  “Heavens no. For the last several years, Brooke and I lived separately. Her house was in Chelsea and I was staying at the Hampstead house- this ghastly, drafty beast of a house that’s been in my family for generations. I bought this flat about two months ago. Right after I got back from our trip to Boston.”

  “I’m surprised you never said anything. Or is life just one big game of Monopoly to you? You buy so much it’s not worth mentioning?” I sound bitter, but I’m not. I don’t resent his wealth, but sometimes I feel as though we live in two different worlds. Gavin’s lost in the upper stratosphere of the filthy rich, and I’m on the ground with the rest of the working class. It’s not because of anything he says or does. He doesn’t flaunt his wealth. He doesn’t waste his money on asinine things, or at least if he does he hasn’t told me. He’s the most charitable person I’ve ever met. I guess the issue is mine. It seems after Ash, I have an inherent distrust of men with money.

  He shrugs. “I wasn’t exactly keeping it from you. There just wasn’t a good time to bring it up. You had just bought your place, and I didn’t want to spoil that. More than I already had.”

  The elevator car arrives and I step in. “If you have a house in … where did you say? Hampstead? Why’d you by this place?”

  He holds a key fob to a panel on the door and pushes PH. “I wanted a fresh start. Some place that was all mine. Without any ghosts.”

  He knows I worry about filling the shoes of his late wife. Brooke Livingston was an American actress, and she starred in Covent Gardens, one of those teenager shows that became a cult classic. She was strikingly beautiful, and even from the grave, she casts a very large shadow. I used to love that show; now I have to hate it. It’s such a shame.

  “I’ve been having the flat decorated since I bought it. Poor Willis had to deal with all the contractors coming and going. They just finished a few days ago,” he says as we reach his floor.

  “So you haven’t seen it yet?”

  The doors open and he motions for me to step out. “You and I have a whole flat to break in,” he replies with a wink.

  We walk in, and the only word I can think of is magnificent. The flat is enormous—I lose track of how many bedrooms it has! Each room is painted in soft, clean tones that give the sophisticated, elegant apartment a homey feel. I adore the dramatic floor-to-ceiling windows, and multiple skylights. If the sun ever shines, the whole apartment will be bathed in light. Instead, dense storm clouds cover the horizon, giving the rooms a tempestuous feel that makes me want to climb in bed and make my own storm between the sheets.

  Each room has a terrace that overlooks the park and provides spectacular city views. Too bad it’s December, or I would spend quite a bit of time out there.

  I wander around to get the lay of the land. Each room is more amazing than the last; his decorator has an amazin
g eye for detail. Each piece of furniture is ornate and unique.

  My favorite room is the sitting room right off the kitchen. It’s blanketed in white. Overstuffed white sofa. White plush carpet. It just seems so clean and serene, I feel at peace sitting in it. I might even enjoy yoga if I did it in this room, and I hate yoga.

  “Gavin, I’m blown away. Your apartment is amazing.” I sit down on a very comfortable blue sofa in the living room. “On the ride up here, I was expecting something stuffy and museum-like. But this is a home. A place where you can come kick off your shoes and relax.”

  He moves the accent pillows to the other sofa so he can sit next to me. “That’s possibly the best news I’ve ever heard.” He smiles and leans in to kiss me. “I couldn’t be happier. If I’m being honest, I had you in mind when I spoke with the decorator. Before I bought it, the flat was very modern with gray and black and dark wood. Trendy and chic, but not what I wanted. I think my decorator actually cried when we pulled up all the black granite. But I told her, I want it to look like people actually live here, rather than something out of a design magazine.”

  “You weren’t kidding when you said you have a thing for furniture. Your decorators out did themselves. I’ve never seen such unique pieces. Everything looks one of a kind.”

  He looks confused for a moment. “Oh, I forgot. You never got my letter.”

  I trace the seam of the arm of the sofa. I don’t know anything about furniture, but even I can tell the stitching is amazing. “What letter?” I ask.

  “The letter that went with the desk.”

  I shrug. “Nope, no letter,” I say. “I didn’t hear from you for three weeks, thought you’d dropped off the face of the planet. Which made the furniture delivery confusing. A letter would have been extraordinarily helpful.”

  He puts his arm around me. “Lily, I can’t apologize enough about that. I missed you terribly. Every day, I longed to speak to you, but I thought you wanted space. For the rest of my years, I will regret not being there for you. I should have ignored that email and pestered you until you spoke to me. Perhaps if I had…”

  I hate how he blames himself. What happened to me was Ash’s fault. Not mine, and certainly not Gavin’s. “There’s nothing you could’ve done,” I say as I thread my fingers through his. “I survived and now we’re here together. Let’s focus on the positive. Tell me, what did the letter I didn’t get say?”

  He kisses my hand. “I told you I have a studio. I do some painting, a little photography. You’ll see some of my paintings around here, and the shots I sent you when you moved into the flat in Georgetown are mine.”

  I adore the collection of photos he gave me. They’re the most captivating black and white pictures of various places in London. Not the typical touristy places, but places only a local would know and love.

  “I also resurrect furniture,” he continues.

  I roll my eyes. “Dear God, is there no end to your need to save things?” I tease.

  He points a finger at me. “Shut it!”

  I nudge him with my shoulder. “That’s my line! In all seriousness, tell me all about it. How the hell did you get into making furniture?” I shake my head. “So random, Oxford.”

  “When I was young, Mason, my butler, managed all of my family’s properties. He would come across furniture in the attics and spare rooms, and my parents would just want to toss it. Instead, Mason took it and sanded it down and worked with it. He made it into something amazing.

  “I spent more time with Mason than I did with my parents, and I loved working with him in his workshop. Manual labor wasn’t something my parents thought a proper English gentleman should do, so perhaps I loved it because it pissed them off.

  “So sometimes I take an old piece and completely re-do it, like the desk I gave you. Other times I make something new. It’s a creative outlet. Working with a chainsaw, blow torch, and power sander can be quite a stress reliever,” he says with a wink.

  I look around the room. “Everything here, you made yourself?”

  Gavin nods as he runs his hand over the coffee table, his fingers lingering on the knots in the wood. I notice a sparkle in his eye. He’s clearly proud of what he creates. “I only work in wood and metal. The sofas and chairs aren’t mine.”

  “I’ll warn you now. I’m not the best at remembering to use a coaster,” I say, getting his attention.

  “If you leave watermarks on my table, I’ll be forced to punish you.”

  I waggle my eyebrows. “Don’t tempt me.”

  He pulls my legs out from under me and tickles me relentlessly.

  “Stop! Stop!” I scream. “I had way too much to drink on the plane. If you want to keep this sofa pristine, enough with the tickles!”

  Thankfully he stops and shows me to the bathroom. Even in the bathroom, there’s a small cabinet which I’m guessing is one of his pieces.

  Gavin feels the need to fix everything he finds broken, but it shows how much hope he has. God, I envy his hope and optimism. I don’t think I’ve had that much faith in anything good since I was a child. But not Gavin. He’s always sure he can make things better. I try to wrap my brain around his psyche, but when I think about him sweaty and working with power tools, I get distracted.

  I don’t often play the Ashton vs. Gavin game, because it’s like comparing slugs and unicorns, but sometimes I’m hit upside the head by how different they are. I couldn’t get Ash to help me put together IKEA furniture. He’d never gotten his hands dirty a day in his life. Gavin, who was raised with even more privilege, feels an inner need to create. Ash was a parasite who tried to take everything he could out of life, and Gavin wants to make something amazing with his. How can he even be remotely attracted to me after I was with someone like Ash?

  Coming out of the bathroom, I find him sitting on the sofa tapping away on his phone. God damn, this man is sexy.

  He doesn’t look up, allowing me to shamelessly ogle him. A deep growl from my stomach gives me away. I rub my stomach. “You need to feed me.”

  “I was just thinking the same thing,” he replies. “You up for curry? I have yet to find a decent curry spot in DC. I’d been craving it while we were in the states.”

  I sit down next to him on the sofa. “Well, that would make sense. I’ve yet to try a curry I like. Maybe I’ve just been getting it from all the wrong places. Let’s give it a whirl. I’m all about trying new things while I’m here. Is it ok if we eat in?”

  “Of course.” He walks to the entryway where he left our luggage, and pulls out his laptop. “I’ll pull up the menu for you.”

  I lean back and put my feet on the coffee table, expecting him to scold me. “Just order me whatever you think I’ll like. I trust you.”

  He smirks, but doesn’t say a word as he takes his phone out of his pocket. I hear him placing the order as he walks out of the room. A few minutes later he returns with a glass of wine. While we wait for the delivery, we cuddle on the sofa. About forty minutes later, Willis brings us an exorbitant amount of food.

  “Jesus, Oxford. You feeding an army?”

  “I wanted you to try all my favorites.” He pokes me in the tummy. “Ordering too much has never really been a problem for us.”

  I smack him in the arm. “Shut it.”

  Gavin carries the bags into the kitchen and we set up the smorgasbord on a rustic table which, again, I assume is one of Gavin’s pieces. Dinner’s fabulous. I’m now a full-fledged curry lover. As Gavin predicted, I overeat, my pants feel tight, and now I have heartburn. I move to the living room, curl up on the sofa, and moan while he cleans up.

  “Gavin!” I call from the living room. “I need yoga pants. Where’s my luggage?”

  He stands in the hallway with a dishtowel flung over his shoulder. “Tummy ache?” he asks. I can tell he is dying to say “I told you so.”

  “Nope, just want to be more comfortable,” I lie.

  He walks to the sofa and kisses my forehead. “Of course, luv. I’ll bring
the luggage back to the bedroom.”

  It’s clear Gavin’s put extra effort into making the master bedroom perfect. The vaulted ceilings and skylights make the room feel huge. With the low cloud cover and the soft grays and slate blues of the decor, the room has a sultry feel. The walk-in closet’s the size of my condo in DC, leaving plenty of room for Gavin’s gargantuan wardrobe. The best part is the bed. Huge, soft, just begging to be jumped on.

  “I haven’t showed you the best part.” Gavin winks at me and pushes on the molding of the wall next to the bed.

  A hidden door opens to show off a secret stainless steel fridge. My mind races with all of the exciting things he could house in a fridge in the bedroom. He opens the door and reveals that it’s fully stocked with ice cream—Gavin’s one and only vice.

  He casually leans on the door of the fridge. “Now, just because there’s a freezer full of Chunky Monkey by the bed does not mean you should eat all of the Chunky Monkey.”

  “Shut it, Oxford.”

  He grabs my arm and kisses me. I may have heartburn, but my need for Gavin supersedes. I fall backward onto the bed, and our kissing intensifies. His hands roam down my back and over my ass. I caress his amazing rock-hard abs and run my finger along the top of his jeans.

  He pushes himself away and jumps off the bed, panting.

  “You’re a temptress. We’re supposed to be avoiding anything that will elevate your heart rate.”

  I sit up and lean back on my hands. “Well then how the hell am I supposed to stay with you? Just being in the same room with you gets my heart rate elevated.”

  Gavin locks his fingers behind his head and paces the room. “Okay, why don’t you go try out the bathroom? I think the tub will help you get your heart rate down. I’m going to go for a run.”

  “A run? Now?” I run my finger along the collar of my V-neck sweater and bat my lashes at him, hoping to lure him back. “Wouldn’t it be more fun if you joined me in the tub?

  He walks into the closet, ignoring my question. Minutes later he returns in running gear. He kisses my forehead. “Take a bath and stop trying to torture me. I’m going for a run.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head while he pushes out a deep breath. “I have some tension to release.”