‘You’ve done such a great job here, Célia.’
‘And you’ve done such a great job with the clients,’ Célia replied, smiling and leaning back into Ella.
Ella couldn’t, wouldn’t, disguise the little squeal of delight, the little jump of joy, nor the smile when she caught Célia rolling her eyes.
‘Are you sure you didn’t have a drink at lunch?’
‘Not a drop.’
‘Then you’re high on hormones and happy ever afters,’ Célia almost groaned.
‘I’m high on success,’ Ella said, pulling on Célia’s arm. ‘After Loukas, I thought we might have some client interest, but three secured, and four more speculative?’ Ella let out another childlike exclamation of glee before sweeping a hand over the now definitely visible bump beneath her loose shirt.
Célia’s eyes caught the gesture, and Ella felt just a little bit of guilt. ‘Are you sure you’re going to be okay taking on the client-facing work while I’m…’
‘On maternity leave?’ Célia smiled. ‘I will be. I have to be,’ she concluded somewhat ruefully. Ella knew how much Célia disliked being the centre of attention, had witnessed more than once the panic that would descend over her shy friend.
‘Please know that you can call me at any time.’
‘Hmm, except when you’re breastfeeding, changing nappies or gazing adoringly at your husband and child,’ Célia joked then rolled her eyes again when Ella descended into another happy squeal. ‘You’re incorrigible! I still have to get the figures to the accountants by end of play today, and—’
‘And, and, and. I know. Off you go. I’m just going to sit here for a moment and admire all the amazing work you’ve done getting the offices in such beautiful shape before I head back to Puycalvel.’
Ella sank into the swivel chair and swept back around to face the desk that looked out onto the offices, her heart leaping at the sight of Roman striding across the parquet flooring as if nothing else existed other than her. He was so focused that he clearly hadn’t even seen Célia’s awkwardly raised hand in greeting, but any slight Ella might have felt on her friend’s behalf was buried under the happiness she felt at his unexpected visit.
She had risen and crossed the length of her new office by the time he had reached the doorway. She couldn’t help but reach for the lapels on his jacket to pull him closer to her, smiling at the sense of decorum he had in her office space, while she had none. She went to kiss her husband, but he held back.
Finally looking at him closely, she could see signs of strain at the corners of his eyes and mouth, the clench of his jaw.
‘Is everything okay?’
His reply was a slight inclination of his head—one that suggested, maybe not so much.
‘Come. I have something to discuss.’
Frowning and knowing better than to push Roman until he was ready, she picked up her large cream leather handbag and followed him from the office.
He led her out onto the Parisian street, where a limousine was waiting and whisked them a short distance before stopping.
‘Where are we—?’
As she exited the limousine, Roman holding the door to the vehicle open for her, she stepped out onto a street in front of Comte Croix, a three Michelin starred restaurant that reputedly took bookings half a year in advance. For a moment she was speechless—she had always wanted to come here—and Ella warned herself not to inform him of her recent lunch with Célia. Of course, now that she was eating for two, she determined to enjoy every single minute of the treat Roman had organised for her.
As they walked through the two majestic wrought-iron gates into the restaurant, Ella was distracted from her brooding husband for a moment by the incredible French-English classical style of the establishment. Louis XIV furniture greeted them as they passed large regency mirrors and the gold and grey colours of the room soothed nerves Ella didn’t realise she had. It was only as they reached the main seating area that she realised they were the only people in the whole restaurant.
She looked up, confused, at Roman.
‘We have the place to ourselves.’
She laid a hand on his arm as if to convey some sense of the awe that she was feeling in that moment, the sheer magnitude of his power and wealth on full display. If she thought it odd that he was the one who directed her to a table nestled within a sea of others, each covered in crisp white tablecloths and ready to serve no other customer, she didn’t think on it too much. At that moment, she was staring up at her husband with moon-eyed love and couldn’t help but laugh at the situation.
‘I can’t work out whether this is incredibly romantic or incredibly unnecessary,’ she said, her stomach turning slightly under the still firm set of Roman’s features.
‘I have a few things I want to discuss,’ he said, pulling two thick envelopes from the inside of his jacket and placing them before her on the table. He pushed one closer towards her with his forefinger. ‘I need your signature on some documentation.’
Ella, trying to shake off the feeling that something was terribly wrong, retrieved the envelope and slipped out the paperwork.
‘It is a trust fund for your child.’
As she scanned the documents, the sheer amount that Roman had secured in trust for their child shocked her enough not to realise the oddly chosen words from her husband.
‘It secures that amount in place until their twenty-fifth birthday—or their marriage, whichever comes first. Until then, you will be the sole trustee.’
She came
