The Unexpected Consequences of Love (32 page)

“Shouldn't we stay with her?” Tula asked when the lift had closed, whisking Marguerite up to her room on the third floor. “Will she be okay?”

Riley nodded and indicated his phone. “She's fine. I'll check on her later.”

“Good.”

“Shall we get out of here?” He gave her a nudge in the direction of the revolving doors. “Come on, let's go.”

They left the hotel and headed along the Strand, then turned down a narrow street and reached Victoria Embankment Gardens. Tula paused, the Thames glittering before her, the ripples in the water reflecting the setting sun.

At her side, Riley said, “What are you thinking about?”

Tula shook her head. “I just can't believe it. Any of it. I mean, I know it has to be true because Marguerite said it was. But is it
really
true?”

“Yes.”

“You actually write the books?”

He nodded. “I actually write the books.”

“I mean, not being funny…but it's kind of like me saying Stephen Hawking's been having trouble with his latest thesis on black holes so I've been helping him out with the tricky bits.”

Riley shrugged. “I know. It is like that.”

“It's like Darcey Bussell twisting her ankle just before the start of
Swan
Lake
and me going on instead.”

“Well, Darcey Bussell's retired now, but—”

“Or Beyoncé getting stage fright and not being able to sing at the Super Bowl, so I have to jump up on the stage and—”

“Okay, I get the message,” said Riley. “It's pretty unlikely. But it's the truth.”

“And Marguerite's always gone on about how hard she works, how many words she's written.”

“That's the way she always used to be. She just carried on saying it. Otherwise people would have wondered why she'd stopped.”

“And all this time you've been doing her job for her.” Tula paused, the implications beginning to fully sink in. Up until now, her concerns had been for poor, guilt-ridden Marguerite. “I had no idea.” She experienced a jolt in her chest. “You should have told me.”

Oh, you really should…

“I couldn't tell anyone,” Riley said simply. “It had to be a secret.”

“You could have told me.”

“You don't like having to keep secrets, remember?”

“I don't
like
having to keep them. But I would have.” She raised her arm, lifting her hair away from the suddenly overheated nape of her neck.

“You told me you always end up accidentally letting things slip,” said Riley.

“
What?
Well, I don't know why I'd have said that, because it's just not true,” Tula said indignantly. “I'm brilliant at keeping secrets if they're important enough.”

“And if I had told you, what kind of difference would it have made?”

It was a rhetorical question, surely; he knew perfectly well how she felt. A lump sprang into her throat as a whoosh of emotion surged up. Out of nowhere, Tula was suddenly terrified she might burst into tears.

“Well?” Riley was watching and waiting for her reply.

“It would have made all the difference in the world,” she blurted out. “You know it would. And it's nothing to do with money either. The way I felt about you… God, didn't I tell you enough times? There you were, perfect in every way except one. I couldn't handle the fact that you were a lazy bum with no ambition, too idle to even be interested in holding down a job…like all the men who wrecked my mum's life.”

His gaze was unwavering. “And now?”

“And now…” Tula took a deep breath. “Well, it turns out you aren't a lazy bum after all.” Adrenaline was zapping around her body. All this time she'd worked
so
hard to ignore her attraction to him, had refused to allow herself to weaken because he was so incontrovertibly off limits.

“Right.” Riley nodded. “Well, just so you know, I used to be.” He shrugged. “And I might have carried on being a lazy bum—playing around, having fun, and not worrying about the future—if the thing with Marguerite hadn't happened. But it did. And I suppose that's when I grew up.”

Tula remembered something else he'd said to Jon and Jackie on the show. “And you do most of your writing at night. How many hours?”

“Between eight and twelve. It varies.”

“Every night?”

“Pretty much.” He raised an eyebrow. “So it makes a difference then, does it? To my prospects?”

He was attempting to make a joke of it, but Tula sensed the tension beneath the surface. The handsome, hopeless case she'd tried so hard not to fall in love with was a hopeless case no more. She didn't have to hold back anymore; the reason she'd held back no longer existed.

Oh
God
.
He
was
perfect.

“It could make a difference.” She nodded fractionally in agreement.

“You don't have to be polite. Only say it if you mean it.”

Up this close, she was able to see the darker flecks in his sea-green eyes. His lashes were thick and long, tipped with gold, his skin poreless and caramel-tanned. He had possibly the most perfect mouth she'd ever seen on a man…and as for the golden stubble on his chin…

Without even realizing she was doing it, Tula reached up and ran her hand lightly over his jawline. The sensation of warm skin and the gentle rasp of stubble against her fingertips caused the breath to catch in her throat. She brushed her thumb across his lower lip and inched closer.

Then waited.

After a while, Riley said in a low voice, “In case you were wondering, this is killing me.”

“Shhh.” Tula rested her hands on his shoulders. “This is the best bit.”

“Sure about that?” His smile was crooked. “Oh God, don't tell me you're into that tantric malarkey.”

“Don't make fun of it. We're going to be standing here for the next six hours.” Moving closer still, so their faces were almost but not quite touching, she whispered, “Like this. It'll be worth it.”

“Sod that.” Riley's arms encircled her waist and he pulled her properly against him, his mouth closing over hers. Tula's insides dissolved. This was it; this was what she'd longed for and denied herself for so long.

And
if
this
is
just
a
kiss, imagine the rest…

When they finally came up for air, Riley said, “So does this mean you like me now you know the truth?”

Tula ran her fingers down his forearms. “I liked you before. That was the whole problem.”

“You mean I wasn't suitable then.” His mouth twitched. “But I am now.”

“You are.” She tipped her head back, gazing at the cloudless blue sky, the birds wheeling overhead, the slowly revolving Millennium Wheel on the other side of the river. “I keep thinking I'm dreaming. I still can't believe this has happened. It's like you were a toad before and now you've turned into a prince.”

“Thanks. You definitely have a way with words.”

“We're here in London,” Tula marveled, “and you're not the man I thought you were. God, and I don't even know why you like me so much, when you could have all the blond model types you want.”

“I don't know either,” said Riley. “I just know I do. You're beautiful.”

“I'm no model.”

“You're more fun than any other girl I've ever met. I like everything about you.” He shrugged helplessly. “Every single thing.”

“You're so smooth,” said Tula. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”
Oh
God, what if he did?

“That's where you're wrong. I've never felt this way about anyone.” Riley was shaking his head. “And I never want to feel it again. I don't like being turned down one bit.” He kissed her again, lingeringly, then gazed deep into her eyes. “I'm telling you now, you're stuck with me.”

Two teenage boys, zigzagging their way along the path on skateboards, whistled loudly, and yelled out, “Oi! Get a room!”

“Actually,” said Riley when they'd whizzed past, “that sounds like a pretty good idea.” He stopped and looked embarrassed. “Sorry, is that crass? I shouldn't have said it out loud.”

“But it was in your head?”

“Of course it was in my head.”

“I was thinking it too.” Tula laced her fingers through his, feeling deliciously wanton. “And the good thing is we already have a room. Maybe we should do as they say.”

“Great idea.”

“I'm full of great ideas.” Still holding his hand, Tula swung around and turned to the right.

Riley stayed put. “Where are you going? The hotel's in that direction.” He pointed over his shoulder, to the left.

“Yours might be. Mine's this way.”

“Mine's closer,” said Riley.

“Let's go to mine.”

“How many stars has yours got?”

“Two,” said Tula. And the owner had presumably stolen them from somewhere.

“And you'd really rather go there than to the Savoy?”

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

His expression softened. “Not at all. I just think you're mad. I've got one of the most fantastic hotel rooms you could possibly ask for, but you'd rather we went to yours.”

“Yes,” said Tula.

“In that case, what are we waiting for?” Riley slid his arm around her waist and gave it a squeeze. “This is still turning out to be the best day of my life. Let's go.”

***

The look on Riley's face was a picture when he saw her room. “Wow. This is…quite something.”

“Forty-three pounds,” Tula reminded him gaily. “Can't say that about the Savoy, can you?”

“This is true. And they can't even begin to compete in the swirly-carpet stakes.”

He had a point; this was possibly the swirliest swirly carpet ever. There was also paint peeling from the ceiling, the seventies paisley wallpaper was curling at the edges, and the view from the window was of an assortment of bins against a grimy brick wall.

“The bed takes up most of the room,” Riley observed.

“I know. It's all part of their fiendish plan to hide as much as possible of the carpet.”

He smiled and began to undo the buttons on her shirt. “I know why we've come here, by the way.”

“You do?” Tula's skin tingled at his featherlight touch.

“Oh yes.”

“Bet you don't.”
Not
long
now
. She quivered in anticipation as he slid the shirt off her shoulders.

“You'd be wrong.”

“Tell me, then.”

Riley's green eyes glittered with amusement as he trailed an index finger lazily along the line of her collarbone. “I'll tell you later. Right now there's something else I'm far more interested in doing…”

***

“Okay,” said Riley. “If it makes you happier, you were right and I was wrong.”

Had she
ever
been happier? Tula lay on her side, half covered by the white sheet, and said, “Get used to it.”

“Basically, if you're with the right girl, it doesn't matter where you are.” He pulled her closer into the crook of his arm and kissed her again for about the millionth time. “You're amazing. I can't believe we're here. I thought this was never going to happen.”

“You're not so bad yourself.”

Riley checked his watch. “It's ten o'clock. Does this place do room service?”

“No, but there's a vending machine downstairs.”

“Fantastic.”

“Actually, it is pretty fantastic. It has Reese's Pieces,” said Tula. “I've never seen Reese's Pieces in a vending machine before.”

“Do you know what they have at the Savoy?”

“Tell me.”

“Everything. Everything you could possibly ask for.” Riley paused. “But it looks like we're staying here.”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Because you wouldn't feel comfortable having Marguerite in the room next door.”

Tula burst out laughing because he'd known all along. “Exactly that reason.”

“It is the Savoy,” Riley pointed out. “The walls are thick, the beds don't creak. She wouldn't be able to hear anything.”

Except once you'd pictured Marguerite with an upturned glass pressed to the wall, there was no way of unthinking it.

Tula said, “It just wouldn't feel right. She'd still
be
there. I couldn't relax.”

“Okay, I get it. But she's going to be so pleased about this. Her plan worked out. You do know, don't you, how much Marguerite wanted this to happen?”

“I had an inkling. She was pretty miffed when I told her you weren't my type.” Hastily she amended, “That was before I knew you
were
my type.”

“It's why she invited you up here. Well, she can relax now; it's happened. Job done.” Throwing back the sheet, Riley jumped out of bed and pulled on his shirt and jeans.

“Where are you going?”

“If we're staying here tonight, I need to buy a toothbrush.”

“And a bottle of wine.”

“Good idea. Let's make it champagne to celebrate.” Reaching down to give her another kiss, he said, “Anything else you want?”

“I can't believe you're even asking that question,” said Tula. “Hello?
Reese's Pieces
.”

He didn't snore. That was good. Then again, the way she was feeling right now, Riley could probably get away with snoring like an angry tractor.

Tula smiled to herself, giddy with wonder and joy. Last night had been, hands down, the single most perfect night of her whole life. This was the happiest she'd ever felt; the connection between Riley and herself was just magical. For the first time she understood what people meant when they said
when
you
know, you know
.

And now, amazingly, she knew too.

A muffled
ting
announced the arrival of a message on Riley's phone, wherever it was. Following the sound, Tula reached over the edge of the bed and located it on the swirly carpet beneath randomly discarded clothes.

She wasn't being nosy; it was just normal human instinct—if there were words on a screen it was hard not to glance at them. Especially when they came from Marguerite.

Mission
accomplished? Result! Makes it all worthwhile. Xx

Amused, Tula put the phone on the rickety bedside table. Honestly, what was Marguerite like? Once she had her mind set on something, there was no stopping her.

It was almost seven in the morning. Riley was still fast asleep, hardly surprisingly after the night they'd had. The only reason she'd woken up was because she was bursting for the bathroom.

Maybe she'd have a shower too, while she had the chance…

The thought occurred to Tula halfway through her shower.

Mission
accomplished? Result! Makes it all worthwhile
.

Around midnight last night, Riley had admitted that it hadn't only been her guilty conscience that had prompted Marguerite's shocking confession. She'd done it for him. Which had been a pretty major deal to come to terms with, but at the same time it did make sense that she should have come clean. It was only right that sooner or later the truth should come out.

Last night it hadn't occurred to Tula to question it. Now, her brain buzzing with fresh doubt, she stood motionless and let the water stream over her as an alternative scenario presented itself.

Oh God, oh God.
Sick with fear, she examined the possibility.
Please don't let it be true.

Surely it couldn't be.

But when you were up against someone as determined and unstoppable as Marguerite Marshall, nothing was beyond the realms of possibility.

Because Marguerite adored her beloved nephew; everyone knew that. Basically she worshipped the ground Riley walked on. So…what if she were only
pretending
to have lost the ability to write her books? Had they cooked up this whole charade between them purely in order to make her, Tula, believe that Riley Bryant wasn't a world-class shirker after all?

Tula was seized with panic.
Okay, breathe slowly, get a grip
. It was, she knew, a far-fetched and completely ridiculous idea. But the trouble was, now she'd thought of it, there was no way of
unthinking
it. As mad and out-there as it might seem, it was now lodged in her brain.

Needing time to think, and desperate not to wake Riley, Tula dressed, let herself quietly out of the bedroom, and ran downstairs. Out of change for the vending machine, she left the hotel and picked up bottled water and a packet of cookies from the newsagent's next door.

Too confused to go back to the room, she began to walk. Okay, there didn't appear to be any way of finding out the truth. If she asked Riley, he would only reiterate what he'd already told her.

As would Marguerite.

And they'd already announced that no one else had been aware of their deception. Which meant, basically, that there was no way in the world of proving that they weren't lying.

And if this sounded like a wild hypothesis… Well, it actually wasn't as far-fetched as the idea that Riley had been writing Marguerite's books in the first place.

The trouble was, short of physically tying him to a chair and standing over him
forcing
him to write…

Tula felt sick. Oh God,
had
it all been a ruse? Please don't let this be true…

She'd been wandering in a daze and had now reached Westminster Bridge. It was seven forty and the height of the rush hour. Traffic clogged the road across the bridge and the walkways on either side were full of people in smart business suits hurrying to work. Everyone was preoccupied, in commuter mode, either concentrating on their cell phones or lost in the music feeding into their brains via headphones.

With her wet hair, white lacy sundress, and lime-green flip-flops, Tula realized, she wasn't dressed like anyone else. As always, she was the odd one out. Where was she even headed, anyway? How was aimless wandering going to help? All these busy people surrounding her, tutting with annoyance because she'd now stopped walking and was getting in their way—were any of them as muddled and conflicted as she was? And what was that? Oh God, her phone… Was this Riley calling to find out why she'd done an early morning runner?

Tula fished the phone out of her bra, earning herself a look of disgust from an immaculate brunette with a brown leather briefcase that exactly matched her sensible hair and shoes.

Then she exhaled with relief, because the incoming call was from Sophie.

Tula moved out of the way of the steamroller tide of commuters, leaned against the bridge's green-painted balustrade and said, “Hi, you.”

Because Sophie was good to have around in a crisis. Maybe she'd be able to help and advise her, even though there was obviously no way of answering the unanswerable question about whether or not Riley had—

“OH MY GOD,” Sophie bellowed down the phone from Cornwall. “I was out working last night and I completely missed the show! Hazel from next door just called in to borrow some milk and she told me all about what happened! Were you there in the studio when Marguerite said it? Can you believe it's been going on for so long? Isn't it just completely brilliant?”

Hmm. Brilliant if it's true.

Tula gazed across the river at the London Eye. Prevaricating, she said, “In what way?”

“Because Riley's crazy about you and you really like him too but you didn't want to be stuck with a no-hoper…except he
isn't
,” Sophie exclaimed triumphantly. “He's been working his socks off all this time, just to help Marguerite out. Which makes him even more perfect. Just think, slogging away, putting in all those hours, and getting none of the recognition.”

“I suppose so…”

“Oh, come on! Don't you see? It's like a dream come true for you!”

Oh God, and now she was going to have to confide her doubts to Sophie, like the world's biggest spoilsport. Tula pressed the phone to her ear, gazed up at the Houses of Parliament, and said miserably, “I know, but the thing is, what if—”

“And it's a relief for me too,” Sophie blurted out. “Now I don't have to feel guilty anymore about not telling you!”

A fat businessman shoved past, almost sending Tula flying. Regaining her balance, she said, “Not telling me about what?”

“I knew! I found out two weeks ago! And I knew it was a secret and I couldn't breathe a word to anyone, but I really wanted you to know because it would make all the difference. But now it's okay; everyone knows!”

Sophie had what? She'd
known
the truth? Tula's head swam with disbelief. Stunned, she said, “How…but
how
did you find out?”

“It was when Marguerite asked me to take photos of that mystery bird in her garden. Riley didn't know I was there. He was working on the computer in Marguerite's office… I had a long lens on my camera and I saw what he was doing. Well, obviously I thought at first I was having some sort of hallucination, but I wasn't. It was actually true. What's that noise?” Sophie said abruptly. “Are you sniffing? Have you got a cold?”

On Westminster Bridge, with no tissue to wipe away the tears streaming down her face, Tula had to do the best she could with her free hand. “I'm fine. Just…h-happy. So happy you can't imagine.” Oh help, and now her nose was running too; talk about the epitome of glamour.

“Good, I'm glad.” Sophie sounded as if she was smiling now. “If anyone deserves to be happy, it's you.”

***

“You went away.” Riley was sitting up in bed when she arrived back at the hotel ten minutes later.

“And now I'm here again.”

“I woke up all on my own and didn't know where you'd gone.” He drew her onto the bed beside him. “Never do that to me again.”

Tula breathed in the scent of him. “I won't.” Oh God, his skin smelled irresistible.

“Where were you?”

“I went to buy us some water and biscuits for breakfast. And then I ate them. Sorry.”

“This is a terrible hotel. I don't want to stay here anymore.” Riley kissed her. “Let's check out and go and see how Marguerite is this morning. Then once she's gone downstairs to breakfast…”

There followed a meaningful pause. Tula looked at him and said innocently, “Catch up on some sleep?”

“Hey, it's the Savoy.” Riley's smile was equally innocent. “And the beds don't creak. We can do whatever we like.”