Billionaire's Pursuit of Love: Destiny Romance (8 page)

‘I thought . . . Isn’t it just your sister’s family here?’

‘No. The whole family is, except Mum. She’s away. My three little sisters are here with their kids.’ Blake did a quick calculation. ‘Twenty-two in total. I didn’t mention that?’

‘No.’ Sarah pressed back into the protective cocoon of the car’s leather seat.

‘I did. I said family lunch.’

‘But . . .’ Too many people. Too many strangers. Rich strangers. Old sensitivities nipped at her insides. She glanced down at her outfit. She wore a dazzling floral summer dress from the selection hanging in her wardrobe. She’d felt pretty and confident when they’d left Blake’s apartment, but now . . . Her door opened.

‘Come on,’ Blake said, holding out his hand. ‘They don’t bite.’

The front door of the house opened, and a woman in her mid-thirties strolled towards Blake. She wore white cotton capri trousers and a navy striped top teamed with simple ballet flats but looked chic enough for the Champs-Élysées. A huge smile lit her pretty face, highlighting her stunning blue eyes against her perfect blonde hair.

‘Blakey,’ she exclaimed.

Sarah raised an I’ve-got-one-over-you-now eyebrow. ‘Blakey?’ she teased.

‘Don’t even think about it,’ he murmured.

Jemma pulled Blake into a bear hug. An unexpected jolt of loneliness struck Sarah deep in her belly. She shuffled her feet. She had no relatives besides Daniel. She’d always accepted it was Daniel and her against the world. She and her mother had been the same. Loneliness had been her constant companion growing up, but she’d trained herself to enjoy her own company. She pulled Daniel to her side for protection.

‘Sarah, this is my older sister, Jemma.’

‘Sarah. So lovely to meet you.’ Jemma pulled her into a tight embrace. A genuine hug that said you’re welcome, you’re wanted and something else altogether confusing. It was a hug for a long-lost and cherished friend, not an interloper. When they pulled apart, Sarah didn’t know what to say or where to look. It was as though Jemma had touched a needy part of her soul with her open arms of friendship.

‘And this must be Daniel.’

Jemma hesitated a microsecond before bestowing the same affectionate welcome upon him. Sarah flashed Blake a surreptitious frown.

‘Come on in,’ Jemma said, ushering them up the stone stairs. She glanced back at Daniel, then led them through a hall.

‘You didn’t say anything?’ Sarah hissed to Blake.

‘Not a word.’

Jemma showed them into a living room, which could have featured in a Jane Austen novel. Magnificent antiques dotted the room. Sumptuous fabrics covered the lounge suite and chairs, and lavish drapes framed the windows. Nearly every seat was occupied and every pair of eyes focused straight at Sarah. She held her ground, but only due to her years of training with large wild animals.

‘Blakey.’ A chorus of women’s voices sailed around the room. Three young women bombarded him with hugs. Each eyed Sarah and Daniel expectantly and welcomed them warmly. Sarah noticed they all sent Blake questioning expressions, which Blake diligently ignored.

Blake introduced them to the rest of the family, a seemingly endless supply of in-laws, nieces and nephews.

‘But where’s Lucy?’ Blake asked. Sarah had watched a little girl, no more than three, creep up to Blake and curl around his leg like a baby orangutan.

‘There, there!’ screamed the children, pointing.

‘Where? Where?’ Blake walked around the room with Lucy clinging to this leg, the little girl giggling hysterically. Sarah watched, stunned. She’d never imagined Blake in a family situation. He’d seemed so one-dimensional: work, work, work.

‘There she is,’ Blake said, after a minute. He threw Lucy into the air, caught her and gave her a hug before placing back on the floor.

‘You’re funny, Uncle Blakey,’ the little girl said, running back to her mother.

‘Robert, why don’t you take the kids into the backyard for some cricket?’ Jemma asked.

‘Sure.’ A boy around Daniel’s age rushed forward and grabbed Daniel’s arm. ‘Come on, I’ve got a bat signed by Kevin Pietersen. I’ll show you later.’

‘Cool,’ Daniel said.

Sarah knew Daniel had no idea who Kevin Pietersen was and she watched, amazed, as Daniel skipped out of the door with his ready-made family. She followed.

‘Stay. Sit,’ Jemma said, guiding her to a chair. ‘I’ll keep an eye on them from the kitchen.’ And Jemma left.

One sister thrust champagne into her hand, while another drew her chair up closer. In a matter of seconds, Sarah found herself surrounded by Blake’s three younger sisters, who mounted an ill-disguised interrogation about her and her relationship with Blake. She shrank as far into the chair as possible, but no amount of wishing could make her disappear.

Blake didn’t notice her discomfort. His phone buzzed. ‘I’ve got to take this,’ he said. No apology. No ‘are you going to be okay with a crowd of people you’ve never met’. No salvation from the questions that probed so close to her secret.

‘So, you’re staying at Blake’s apartment?’ All three sisters leaned in close.

‘Yes. For a short time,’ Sarah said, hoping her dismissive tone would throw them off the gossip-hungry scent. ‘Hotels in London are so expensive. Ah, could you excuse me for a moment and point me in the direction of the bathroom?’

The sisters didn’t hide their frustration at the interruption to their investigation into Blake’s love-life. It seemed an eternity before one reluctantly answered. Sarah half expected the youngest sister to follow her. She’d been sitting so close, an inch closer and Sarah would have been hosting her on her lap.

Sarah closed the bathroom door behind her, leaned back and closed her eyes. She wasn’t used to small, enclosed spaces filled with very chatty people. Let alone people who made no secret of wanting to know every intimate detail about her. Damn Blake for leaving her alone like that. He must have known his sisters would pounce.

She hid in the bathroom as long as she thought acceptable then tentatively stepped into the hallway. She could hear kitchen sounds coming from down the hall. She tiptoed towards the welcome bouquet of enticing smells.

Jemma stood at the sink washing lettuce. She smiled at Sarah when she spotted her. ‘They’re a bit intense.’

‘You can say that again,’ Sarah said, plonking herself on a bar stool. Five minutes with the Huntington-Fiennes sisters and exhaustion tugged harder than if she’d completed a day’s work during the monsoon.

‘You can’t blame them. Blake has never brought a woman over for a family lunch.’

Sarah’s spine jerked straight. ‘Never?’ The word tumbled out before she could catch it.

Jemma flicked the excess water from the lettuce and placed it in a bowl. ‘Never,’ Jemma said, favouring Sarah with a look that said,
want to talk about it?
‘He said you were someone pretty special.’

It was as though the summer’s sun had turned its glow directly on Sarah’s skin. Her chest flushed warm and her pulse spiked. Blake’s hamper sat on the kitchen bench.

‘Do you want me to help you with this?’ Sarah asked, fumbling with the satin ribbon constraining the bulging gourmet feast.

‘If you can be bothered,’ Jemma said, laughing, dismissively waving her hand. ‘He does that every time. Brings excessive, expensive gifts. You should see him at Christmas. It’s hard enough not to spoil the kids without their uncle indulging them beyond belief.’

Sarah crinkled her brow. ‘Um, why don’t you tell him?’

‘Oh, we could never tell him,’ Jemma said, as if Sarah had uttered something shocking.

‘Why?’ Sarah had been brought up on a regime of honesty, strict and brutal. Your father’s left, get used to it. Your favourite orangutan died overnight, we have to bury him. Photography’s for dreamers. You had a one-night stand, you’re pregnant and you’ll be a single parent, welcome to the club.

‘It’s complicated.’ Jemma wiped her hands on her apron before pulling a bag of carrots from the fridge. Sarah knew she’d stumbled onto something intensely personal. Imagine, sisters protecting the great and mighty Blake Huntington-Fiennes. Sarah waited, wondering if Jemma would provide further insight into Blake’s personality. All she’d seen so far was a workaholic bully with a propensity for taking hostages.

Jemma slid the carrots from their packet and paused. She seemed to make a decision before looking up and meeting Sarah’s gaze.

‘Since Dad died, Blake feels responsible for all of us. As you can see, we’re fine, but since we lost Dad, Blake has been driven to put everything right. For some insane reason he feels responsible.’

‘Put things right?’ Sarah asked.

Jemma shrugged in a manner that said,
this is tough to explain
. ‘As I said, it’s complicated.’

‘I’m so sorry about your dad’s death. Was it long ago?’

Jemma stopped chopping. ‘Blake hasn’t told you?’ Her tone told Sarah something bad was coming. Very bad.

Sarah shook her head slowly. ‘No.’ She stopped unpacking the hamper to give Jemma her attention.

‘Dad took his own life ten years ago.’ She said it in a matter-of-fact way, as if any other tone would open her heart and pour out her soul.

Sarah’s pulse ripped and stumbled. ‘Oh, Jemma, I’m so sorry.’ She knew what to say when someone was lost to cancer, but suicide . . . ‘Why?’ she blurted out before she could stop the question. ‘God, I’m so sorry . . . don’t answer that.’

‘No, it’s fine.’ It sounded like the topic had been deeply analysed. ‘Dad received some poor advice and invested in a number of financial instruments he didn’t really understand. The market went bad and so did the company. Within a week, Hunt-F Tech went from one of Britain’s top technology companies into receivership. We lost everything, including this house. This is our original family home.’

‘Oh my God.’ Such a trite, inadequate response, but was there a suitable way to acknowledge such a tragedy?

‘There were days when I couldn’t get out of bed,’ Jemma said, as if the only way to discuss the topic was in short, factual sentences. Sarah was familiar with that way of speaking. Anything more in-depth might scratch at the walls built to lock in the pain.

‘But not Blake,’ Jemma continued, attacking the carrots. ‘He worked nearly every hour of every day until he saved the company. Two years after we lost the house, Blake bought it back again. My family lives here with Mum. We couldn’t leave her here on her own. She loves this house, it holds all her memories.’

‘But . . .’ Sarah ran a quick calculation. ‘But Blake would’ve been only about twenty-five.’

‘Yes. That’s right. He convinced the receivers to let him have six months to turn things around.’ Jemma opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine. ‘He moved into computer games. A couple went global and he single-handedly saved the business. He works like a dog. He won’t stop until he’s convinced himself he’s absolutely safeguarded the business from any future disaster.’

‘But . . . But why would Blake feel responsible for your father’s death?’

Jemma filled two glasses with sauvignon blanc from Bordeaux. ‘Because he believes if he hadn’t been so distracted, he could’ve saved him. Dad’s last phone call had been to Blake. He’d cut Dad short as he’d just arrived at the airport and was running late for his flight.’ She handed a glass to Sarah and waited until she’d tasted the chilled wine. ‘He was on a flight to Brunei when Dad was found.’

Icy fingers of dismay trailed down Sarah’s spine. The air froze in her lungs. She only just managed to swallow her wine.
To Brunei?
Had Blake really been trying to find her? Her heart beat a fast tattoo. She tried to process the information. She hadn’t believed any of his assertions.

Shrieks from the garden filtered through to the kitchen. Sarah walked distractedly to the window, her mind churning. Of course she wasn’t the reason for Blake’s trip. His company had offices all over the world. But . . . Daniel bowled a ball that sailed wide of the wickets.

‘They’re having such a good time out there,’ she said, forcing the conversation into safer territory more suited to an I-just-met-you conversation.

Jemma joined her and together they watched the magical summer family scene. Blake stood close to Daniel, demonstrating how to bowl. Daniel mimicked the action with an idolising grin on his young face.

‘I don’t know what you’ve done to my brother,’ Jemma said, shaking her head and sipping her wine.

‘What do you mean?’ Sarah hoped Jemma didn’t pick up on the eagerness with which the words flew from her lips.

‘We have family lunch once a month and Blake never misses it,’ Jemma said. ‘But he’s never really here.’

Sarah dragged her eyes from the game to search Jemma’s expression.

‘He always has one eye on his phone,’ Jemma said. ‘Checking texts, watching markets, slipping off to make phone calls. Now look at him.’ She gestured to the garden. Blake hunched with Daniel behind the wickets, showing him a keeper’s stance.

‘Daniel’s never played cricket before.’ Robert bowled and Daniel caught a tricky catch.

‘Really? Looks like you have a natural on your hands.’

A natural at cricket? Where did that come from? Her family was hopeless at sport.

‘He’s got a great teacher,’ Jemma continued. ‘Blake was cricket captain at secondary school.’

Sarah felt as though a cricket ball had been shoved down her throat. Stupidly, it hadn’t occurred to her that any of Daniel’s funny little traits could be down to Blake’s genes. ‘Do you mind if I go out and watch?’

‘Sure. If you could call everyone in five minutes, that’d be great.’

Sarah drifted out onto the back terrace. Jemma’s enormous garden could have featured in a Beatrix Potter book; all lush green lawns and flowerbeds marbled with brilliant summer blooms. A small brook edged the back of the garden and trickled musically. The cricket pitch angled across the middle of the garden. The scent of freshly mown lawn mingled with a light breeze. One of Blake’s brothers-in-law lifted cooked steaks from a barbecue off to the side of the house.

Blake threw Daniel the ball and Daniel bowled like a professional. Robert cracked it, but Blake caught the ball on the full. Father and son whooped like five-year-olds. Blake put his arm around Daniel and mussed his hair.