London Liaisons: Offshore, #4

By Gretchen Wolf

A love story written in the stars…

Returning to London with her frail husband, Amira is slowly accepting what will be, will be. But she is living a half-life. Part of her watches as her Ben slowly fades away, and there is nothing she can do about it. And with the other half of her heart still in pieces after her breakup with Cillian, she is barely existing.

Her heart breaks for the life she had with Ben. But it also aches for the love she has for Cillian. How can fate be so cruel as to bring two people together, let them build a beautiful life together, only for it to end in pain and suffering? How can fate be even more cruel as to bring two people together, let them fall so hard for each other and then rip them apart?

Where is the fairness in that?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gretchen Wolf
• Release date: May 5, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224360758

Book preview

Prologue

Ben…

Isee her standing at the other end of the room, admiring the enlarged black-and-white photograph. A glass of champagne in one hand, a black clutch purse in the other. Her head cocked to one side, the tanned skin on her bare shoulder alluring. She’s wearing an ivory silk off-the-shoulder top, tailored black slacks and high heels. And she is by far the most beautiful woman in the gallery.

She turns then as the photographer makes his way over to her. Her eyes remind me of a film I once saw as a young boy. What is it again? Pocahontas? No, Mulan? The name is lost on me when her face breaks into a broad smile. It lights up her entire face, and I can’t help but stare. The photographer says something else, and the woman brings a hand over her mouth, hiding a chuckle. I notice her folding one ankle behind the other, yet she is still completely balanced on those stiletto heels.

She’s way out of your league, mate, I feel a hand on my shoulder, and I’m pulled out of my reverie.

Thanks, Emily, I reply sarcastically.

She’s right, of course. Here I am, in a bow tie and suit, standing behind the bar, serving expensive champagne in even more expensive flute glasses to investors and Wall Street moguls. Not only would this beautiful woman not be interested in someone like me, but she probably won’t be looking my way at all tonight.

Ben, we need ice. And can you get another bottle of The Macallan 12?

I gawk at my manager and friend, Grant. Are you serious?

He smirks, Just you watch; we will run out of the good stuff before the night is out. These, he pushes out his chin to the crowded room, people only drink the best. And they paid a fair penny, too. Just keep it flowing, okay? He hands me the key to the small storeroom.

Emily winks at me, And I hear they tip well at the end of the night, too.

Shaking my head at them both, I walk around the bar and push through the door to the back-of-house area. Grant wasn’t kidding. When I unlock the storeroom, there is a shelf full of Macallan bottles, ten rows and at least seven bottles deep. I grab two bottles, lock the door behind me and head to the big ice machine. It’s only eight-thirty, and it looks like it’s going to be a long night.

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I can’t say just how many people attended the gallery tonight. This new photographer is very popular, thanks to social media influencers who have been raving about his work for the last six months. I know this only because my flatmate is currently dating one of those influencers. And one would almost go as far as to say she was more enamoured with this photographer than her boyfriend.

But tonight is not open to those influencers. No, tonight is ‘by invitation’ only, hence the expensive booze. I’m back in the storeroom nearly three hours later, getting more whiskey when my phone buzzes in my back pocket. We are technically not allowed to have our mobiles on our person when working, but I am waiting for a very important email. And yes, it may be nearly midnight, but the sender of said email is currently in Boston, where it is about seven o’clock in the morning.

My hand trembles as I unlock the home screen on my phone, sweat on my brow. I open the email app and there is one unopened email—received a minute ago. Hesitating a moment, I click on the email, inhaling deeply.

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Could I bother you for a glass of water?

My heart leaps out of my chest and is beating somewhere on the floor; and I’m starting to feel lightheaded. My mouth goes dry, and my palms are sweaty. It’s her. The woman I was staring at hours before. She smiles at me and cocks her head slightly, her eyes glistening.

Forgive my friend. He hasn’t taken his meds tonight. I hear Emily say next to me, already grabbing a bottle of Perrier from the fridge under the bar, opening it and pouring the liquid into a glass.

Thank you, she says, accepting the glass and returning her attention to me, Eton? I’m taken aback, and she chuckles, You look like an Eton man.

Emily gives me a sly smile and moves to my left to serve another guest.

Cardiff, actually. I finally find my voice, but it sounds croaky in my ears.

Her eyes dart down my body, and I’m momentarily paralysed. Oxford. She replies when her eyes finally meet mine again. Without breaking eye contact, she slips her hand into her clutch purse with such finesse I think she must have done it several times tonight. She puts a card on the bar top, and I look down at it. In case you ever want to serve me something stronger than water, Cardiff. And then she walks away.

I’m still staring after her when I feel Emily slide the card out from under my fingertips, Now I’m curious.

Give that back.

She smirks at me and then watches the woman’s retreating form, Seriously, though, mate: Oxford?

Well, she must have come to her senses since she’s in Durham now. I look at her card and smile: Amira Stevens – Postgrad Biosciences. On the back is her mobile number.

Two very important things happened that night: I had been invited to interview for a spot in a university program at a prestigious university in Boston, and I met the love of my life. The woman I would die for. Little did I know, as I made my way back to my flat in the early hours of the morning, that I would one day decide to die. And that it would be for her.

Chapter 1

The woman sitting opposite him is very beautiful. Her dark, flawless skin reminds him of his time in the Caribbean in his early twenties, where the women were gorgeous and feisty. She has the most mesmerising hazel eyes and her black ringlet curls frame her round face. And when she smiles, the whole room lights up.

He had doubts about the dating app Mark had forced him to download. And after two failed attempts at meeting his ‘match’ in person, Cillian had given up. He had not opened the app for three days. And then he got a notification two weeks ago that someone had liked his profile. When he checked out her profile, he again doubted that this was real—she, Crystal, was far too beautiful to be using a dating app. But Mark had insisted the third time would be a charm. It was Mark who had messaged her on the app. She had taken her time replying, though. And when she did, she apologised for her tardiness—being an Air Traffic Controller, she had been on night shift for the week.

They chatted on the app, quickly exchanged numbers, and moved over to WhatsApp. Three days ago, it was Crystal who proposed they meet for drinks. She would be off night shift for the week and would love to meet him in person. And so, tonight after work, Cillian headed into London, where he met her outside the Tottenham Court Road tube station. Together, they walked to a swanky bar in Soho and had a few drinks. Things were going so well that Cillian asked if she was hungry. And that is how they came to be in a restaurant, eating curry and drinking more wine.

So, you said your mum is from Nigeria? he says, picking up another piece of naan bread to dip in his butter chicken.

She puts down her glass of wine, Yeah. Mum was born in Nigeria and came to England when she was fourteen. She and Dad met in college. How about you?

Oh, my lineage is very boring. Both my parents are Irish. Both their parents were born and bred in Dublin. I do have an uncle who lives in Morocco, though. At this, Crystal laughs. He likes her laugh. This girl is almost too perfect.

She catches him watching her and picks up her glass again, I know what you’re thinking. She says, taking a sip.

Go ahead then, he challenges her, arching his brow.

You’re wondering what baggage I have. Because surely, I must be damaged somehow to be on a dating site. Her eyes widen when she says this.

Well, that would make me damaged too, then.

Okay, let’s put all the cards on the table then, she proposes, finishing the wine and putting the empty glass back on the table, then leaning forward. I was in a serious relationship for four years. We shared a mortgage and had joint bank accounts. His daughter from a previous relationship called me ‘mum’. And then, one day, he decides to make things work with her mother. Took me eighteen months to finally pull myself together, and my girlfriend signed me up for this dating app. She picks up her fork, Bet you can’t top that.

Their server is at their table refilling her wine glass.

Cillian isn’t sure what he had expected when he let Mark answer Crystal’s message. What exactly did he want from this? Did he want to just take someone home to shag? Or did he want to find someone he may want to get serious with? He told Emily and Mark that he was ready to move on. But deep down, he knows he hasn’t yet healed. He still thinks of Amira. Her silky skin next to his, her hair tickling his face, her infectious laugh and those beautiful brown eyes. Though thoughts of her no longer invade his waking mind, she still comes into his dreams sometimes. And when she does, he wakes up with an ache in his heart.

He looks at Crystal now. He should be upfront with her. Just like she has been with him. I’m still very much in love with a married woman.

Crystal smiles at him sympathetically and picks up her full glass, You win. She cocks her head to the side and waits for Cillian to pick up his glass. They bring their glasses together and drink their wine. If you ever need someone to talk to. Or, she licks her lips, you know, someone to take home. You have my number.

He smirks and finishes his wine.

Later that night, lying on his back in bed looking up at the ceiling, Cillian thinks about his dinner date with Crystal. She was so easy to talk to. The conversation had flowed, and he had enjoyed their