Harlequin Romance April 2015 Box Set (60 page)

It felt as if the bottom had fallen out of his world, too. He’d lost something so precious. He knew it was all his own fault; and he really wasn’t sure he was ever going to be able to fix this.

He definitely couldn’t fix it today; he knew he needed to give her time to cool down. But tomorrow he’d call her.
Apologise. Really lay his heart on the line—and hope that she’d forgive him and give him a second chance.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I
T
SHOULD
HAVE
been a night of celebration.

Not wanting to jinx things before the wedding show, Claire hadn’t booked a table at a restaurant in advance; though she’d planned to take her family, Sean, Ashleigh and Luke out to dinner that evening, to thank them for all the support they’d given her in the run-up to the show.

But now the food would just taste
like ashes; and she didn’t want her misery to infect anyone else. So she smiled and smiled and lied her face off to her family and her best friend, pretending that her heart wasn’t breaking at all. ‘I’m fine. Anyway, I need to get the van back to the hire company, and start sorting out all these enquiries...’

Finally she persuaded them all to stop worrying about her, and left in the van on
her own. But, by the time she’d dropped all the outfits back at her shop, delivered the van back to the hirer and caught the tube back to her flat, she felt drained and empty. Dinner was a glass of milk—which was just about all she could face—and she lay alone in her bed, dry-eyed and too miserable to sleep and wishing that things were different.

Had she been unfair to Sean?

Or were
her fears—that he’d be overprotective and stifling in the future, and they’d be utterly miserable together—justified?

* * *

Claire still hadn’t worked it out by the time she got up at six, the next morning. It was ridiculously early for a Sunday, but there was no point in just lying there and brooding. Though she felt like death warmed up after yet another night of not sleeping properly,
and it took three cups of coffee with extra sugar before she could function enough to take a shower and wash her hair.

Work seemed to be about the best answer. If she concentrated on sketching a new design, she wouldn’t have room in the front of her head to think about what had happened with Sean. And maybe the back of her head would come up with some answers.

She hoped.

She was
sketching in her living room when her doorbell rang.

Odd. She wasn’t expecting anyone to call. And she hadn’t replied to any of the messages on her phone yet, so as far as everyone else was concerned she was probably still asleep, exhausted after the wedding show.

And who would ring her doorbell before half past eight on a Sunday morning, anyway?

She walked downstairs and blinked
in surprise when she opened the door.

Sean was standing there—dressed in jeans and a white shirt rather than his normal formal attire—and he was carrying literally an armful of flowers. She could barely see him behind all the blooms and the foliage of delphiniums, stocks, gerberas and roses.

She blinked at him. ‘Sean?’

‘Can I come in?’ he asked.

‘I...’ Help. What did she say
now?

‘I’ll say what I’ve got to say on your doorstep, if I have to,’ he said. ‘But I’d rather talk to you in private.’

She wasn’t too sure that she wanted an audience, either. ‘Come up,’ she said, and stood aside so he could go past and she could close the door behind them.

‘Firstly,’ he said, ‘I wanted to say sorry. And these are just...’ He stopped, glanced down at the flowers
and then at her. ‘I’ve gone over the top, haven’t I?’

‘They’re gorgeous—though I’m not sure if I have enough vases, glasses and mugs to fit them all in,’ she said.

‘I just wanted to say sorry. And I kind of thought I needed to make a big gesture, because the words aren’t quite enough. And I know you love flowers. And...’ His voice trailed off.

‘You’re carrying an entire English
cottage garden there.’ She was still hurt that he didn’t truly believe in her, but she could see how hard he was trying to start making things right. And as he stood there in the middle of all the flowers, looking completely like a fish out of water...how could she stay angry with him?

‘Let’s get these gorgeous flowers in water before they start wilting.’ She went into the kitchen and found
every receptacle she had, and started filling them with water. ‘They’re lovely. Thank you. Where did you get them?’ she asked. ‘Covent Garden flower market isn’t open on Sundays.’

‘Columbia Road market,’ he said. ‘I looked up where I could get really good fresh flowers first thing on a Sunday morning.’

She thought about it. ‘So you carried all these on the tube?’

‘Uh-huh.’ He gave
her a rueful smile. ‘I had to get someone to help me at the ticket barrier.’

He’d gone to a real effort for her. And he’d done something that would’ve made people stare at him—something she knew would’ve made him feel uncomfortable.

So this apology was sincerely meant. But she still needed to hear the words.

When they’d finished putting the flowers in water—including using the bowl
of her kitchen sink—she said, ‘Do you want a coffee?’

‘No, thanks. I just need to talk to you,’ he said. He took a deep breath. ‘Claire, I honestly didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted to help. But I realise now that I handled it totally the wrong way. I interfered instead of supporting you properly and asking you what you needed me to do. I made you feel as if you were hopeless and couldn’t
do anything on your own—but, Claire, I
do
believe in you. I knew your designs would make any of the fashion houses sit up and take notice. But the wedding show was so busy, I didn’t want to take the risk that they wouldn’t get time to see your collection and you wouldn’t get your chance. That’s the only reason I went to talk to Pia Verdi.’

His expression was serious and completely sincere.
She knew he meant what he said.

And she also knew that she owed him an apology, too. They were
both
in the wrong.

‘I overreacted a bit as well,’ she said. ‘I’d been working flat out for weeks and, after the way everything had gone wrong from the first...well, I think it just caught me at the wrong time. Now I’ve had time to think about it, I know your heart was in the right place. You
meant well. But yesterday I felt that you were being overprotective and stifling, the way Dad is, because you don’t think I can do it on my own. You think that I need looking after all the time.’

‘Claire, I’m not your father. I know you can do it on your own,’ he said softly. ‘And, for the record, I don’t think you need looking after. Actually, I think it would drive you bananas.’

‘It
would.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I want an equal partnership with someone who’ll back me and who’ll let me back them.’

‘That’s what I want, too,’ Sean said.

Hope bloomed in her heart. ‘Before yesterday—before things went wrong—that’s what I thought we had,’ she said.

‘We did,’ he said. ‘We
do
.’

She bit her lip. ‘I’ve hurt you as much as you hurt me. I was angry and unfair and
ungrateful, I pushed you away, and I’m sorry. And, if I try to think first instead of reacting first in future, do you think we could start again?’

‘So Ms Follow-Your-Heart turns into a rulebook devotee?’ Sean said. ‘No deal. Because I want a partner who thinks outside the box and stops me being regimented.’

‘You’re not regimented—well, not
all
the time,’ she amended.

‘Thank you.
I think.’ He looked at her. ‘I can’t promise perfection and I can’t promise we won’t ever fight again, Claire.’

‘It wouldn’t be normal if we didn’t ever fight again,’ she pointed out.

‘True. I guess we just need to learn to compromise. Do things the middle way instead of both thinking that our way’s the only way.’ He opened his arms. ‘So. You and me. How about it?’

She stepped into
his arms. ‘Yes.’

‘Good.’ He kissed her lingeringly. ‘And we’ll talk more in future. I promise I won’t think I know best.’

‘And I promise I won’t go super-stubborn.’

He laughed. ‘Maybe we ought to qualify that and say we’ll
try
.’

‘Good plan.’

He arched an eyebrow. ‘Are you going to admit that planning’s good, outside business?’

She laughed. ‘That would be a no. Most
of the time. Are you going to admit that being spontaneous means you have more fun?’

He grinned. ‘Not if I’m hungry and I’ve just been drenched in a downpour.’

‘Compromise,’ she said. ‘That works for me.’

‘Me, too.’ He kissed her again. ‘And we’ll make this work. Together.’

EPILOGUE

Two months later

C
LAIRE
WAS
WORKING
on the preliminary sketches for her first collection for Pia Verdi when her phone beeped.

She glanced at the screen. Sean. Probably telling her that he was going to be late home tonight, she thought with a smile. Although they hadn’t officially moved in with each other, they’d fallen into a routine of spending weeknights at
her place and weekends at his.

V and A. Thirty minutes. Be there.

Was he kidding?

Three tube changes! Takes thirty minutes PLUS walk to station
, she typed back.

And of course he’d know she knew this. The Victoria and Albert Museum was her favourite place in London. She’d taken him there several times and always lingered in front of her favourite dress, a red grosgrain and chiffon
dress by Chanel. She never, ever tired of seeing that dress.

Forty minutes, then.

Half a minute later, there was another text.

Make it fifty and change into your blue dress. The one with the daisies.

Why?

Tell you when you get here.

She grinned. Sean was clearly in playful mode, so this could be fun. But why did he want to meet her at the museum? And why that dress
in particular?

She still didn’t have a clue when she actually got to Kensington. She texted him from the museum entrance:
Where are you?

Right next to your favourite exhibit.

Easy enough, she thought, and went to find him.

He was standing next to the display case, dressed up to the nines: a beautifully cut dark suit and a white shirt, but for once he wasn’t wearing a tie. That
little detail was enough to soften the whole package. Just how she liked it.

‘OK. I’m here.’ She gestured to her outfit. ‘Blue dress. Daisies. As requested, Mr Farrell.’

‘You look beautiful,’ he said.

‘Thank you. But I’m still trying to work out why you wanted to meet me here.’

‘Because I’m just about to add to your workload.’

She frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

He
dropped to one knee. ‘Claire Stewart, I love you with all my heart. Will you marry me?’

‘I...’ She stared at him. ‘Sean. I can’t quite take this in. You’re really asking me to marry you?’

‘I’m down on one knee and I used the proper form,’ he pointed out.

This was the last thing she’d expected on a Thursday afternoon in her favourite museum. ‘Sean.’

‘I’ve been thinking about
it for the last month. Where else could you ask a wedding dress designer to marry you, except in her favourite place in London? And next to her favourite exhibit, too?’

Now she knew why he’d asked her to wear his favourite dress: to make this just as special for him. And why he’d said he was adding to her workload—because now she’d have a very special wedding dress to design. Her own.

She smiled. ‘Sean Farrell, I love you with all my heart, too. And I’d be thrilled to marry you.’

He stood up, swung her round, and kissed her thoroughly. Then he took something from his pocket. ‘We need to formalise this.’

She blinked. ‘You bought me a ring?’

‘Without consulting you? No chance. This is temporary. Go with the flow.
Carpe diem
,’ he said, and slid something onto the
ring finger of her left hand.

When she looked at it, she burst out laughing. He’d made her a ring out of unused toffee wrappers.

‘We’ll choose the proper one together,’ he said. ‘Just as we’ll make all our important decisions together.’

‘An equal partnership,’ she said, and kissed him. ‘Perfect.’

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from THE MILLIONAIRE AND THE MAID by
Michelle Douglas.

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