Take a Chance on Me: Blind-Date Marriage / Saying Yes to the Millionaire

‘Have I what?’

‘You know.’

She took a large bite of cake and shook her head. Chewing and swallowing was a great way to stall, but regrettably her mouth was soon free again. ‘You know I vowed it would take a ring on my finger as a guarantee of intentions before … that. I’ve been foolish too many times in the past where men are concerned. My creep-radar is completely defunct.’

Cassie nodded. ‘I know. Every loser carrying a guitar pick was the one.’

‘You’d think I’d know better, wouldn’t you? I mean, I’ve been around musicians all my life. I know exactly how reliable they are. But there’s something about arty types I can’t resist. I’ve tried to fight it, but every time I end up getting hit with a sucker-punch and I’m totally gone.’

‘Knocked out and down for the count. It’s never pretty,’ said Cassie, screwing up her face.

Serena rested her chin on her hand and stared out of the window. ‘I’ve tried to analyse it. It just doesn’t make sense. The best I’ve come up with is that it’s something to do with those wild imaginations that make every day a surprise, that passion for life—’

‘The attention span of a gnat,’ added Cassie, finishing with a huge bite of cake.

‘You’re so right. And that’s why I’ve sworn off men like that.’

Cassie mumbled through a mouthful of crumbs. ‘And why I’m doing the vetting from now on.’

Serena sat back in her chair and wondered if the reason she fell so hard and fast was simpler than she allowed herself to believe. Maybe her childhood had left her so desperate for someone to love that she grabbed anything that vaguely resembled the real thing with both hands. Of course it was invariably a mirage—looked good at the time, but ultimately left her feeling dry and unsatisfied.

That was why she was pacing herself this time, taking it slow. Jake was different from anybody else she’d been out with, but it was still early days. She wanted him to be the one, but it was too early to tell.

She took another bite of cake. The ever-present butterflies did a little waltz as she imagined the fireworks that could happen once ‘Prince Charming’ had been well and truly stamped on Jake’s forehead.

Jake couldn’t walk past the painting without having a third go at getting it straight. He nudged the left corner a little. There. He took three steps back and tipped his head slightly.

Blast! It had looked better before he’d started messing around with it.

It was just that he wanted everything right. Tonight he was cooking Serena dinner, playing on home turf—a departure from his normal routine. Now he had the money to enjoy such luxuries, he liked to wine and dine his girlfriends at good restaurants. They seemed to appreciate it too.

The perfectionist side of his nature urged him to pull out all the stops when he took a woman out, and his competitive spirit made him want to do that little bit better than the next guy. Even if his relationships didn’t last, he wanted his old flames to remember him as the perfect gentleman. It was a little vain, perhaps, but he liked to think at least one or two of his ex-girlfriends thought of him occasionally and let out a little if only sigh.

He lifted his hand to tap the frame again, but pulled it back before it made contact. What was wrong with him? He wasn’t usually this jumpy before a date. Perhaps it was because Serena was so totally different from the type of woman he was normally attracted to.

Ever since he’d had hormones in enough quantities to notice girls, he’d pined after cool, sophisticated types. Like the girls from St Bernadette’s, the exclusive private school only a mile or so from Ellwood Green.

It had never seemed odd to him that such a bastion of old money was so close to his home. The school had probably been built for the daughters of wealthy merchants when Deptford had been a bustling port. Now the docks were miles downstream, and Deptford was no longer the prosperous suburb it had once been, but the evidence was still visible if you walked the streets. You could be walking past boarded-up shops one minute and down leafy roads with ornate Victorian masonry the next. Little pockets of poverty and privilege, side by side, but worlds apart. London was like that.

He smiled. The girls from St B’s had looked so good in their crisp white blouses and pleated skirts. He’d bet they’d smelled good too. Not that they’d let a grubby little oik like him close enough to find out. Perversely, the way they’d lifted their noses when they passed him in the street had only made him want them more. Probably because they represented everything he’d ever craved—class, style, money—although he hadn’t analysed that feeling at the time.

Then, one day, when he hadn’t reeked of the council estate any longer, the snooty noses had lowered and they’d given him sidelong glances from beneath their lashes.

How stupid of him not to have seen it before. He’d been dating St Bernadette’s girls in one shape or form ever since he’d owned his first Rolex. Except Chantelle. She was the one exception—and his biggest mistake.

He glanced down at his watch. Scratches marred the surface in a few places, but he would never replace it. He’d saved every penny he could from his first pay packets at Jones and Carrbrothers until he could strut into the jewellers and slap down a wad of cash for it. It had been an important symbol. One that shouted, I’ve made it!

Once it had been paid for, he’d rented a shoebox bedsit and started the process of erasing his past—from the chain-store clothes to the flat vowels of his cockney accent. Nobody who met him now would ever suspect. He took great pains to ensure his rich clients would never guess their family money was being looked after by the son of a petty criminal.

He’d surprised himself by telling Serena his history. Okay, he’d left out some pretty major details, but he’d also let slip more than he usually did. Somehow it didn’t matter if she knew. She wasn’t impressed by his money in the slightest, which, after the initial dent to his ego, had been a huge relief. He was tired of women who earmarked him as a good prospect.

But it was more than that. Despite all their differences, they had a common bond. She knew what it was like to be an outsider too.

He walked out into the hall and headed back to the kitchen. The sight of the crease-free bedcovers through the bedroom door made his insides clench. An image flashed in his mind: he was standing holding a tray while morning sun filtered through the curtains onto a tangle of arms and legs in the duvet. Dark, silky hair sprawled on the pillow.

Abruptly, he reached for the doorknob and pulled the door shut. He had to get a hold of himself. Rushing ahead was definitely not the way to go with Serena.

He was courting her. It was an old-fashioned idea, but it fitted, nevertheless—and it was delicious. A tantalising game. They circled round each other, prolonging the inevitable, but the circles were getting smaller and smaller. Sooner or later there would be an explosive impact.

He would just have to keep himself on a tight leash until then. But that should be no problem. He was used to keeping control when it came to relationships. Women in his past had tried to push and prod him into doing what they wanted, but he’d always remained firmly anchored. He called the shots. He took the lead in pursuing his quarry at the start of the relationship, and he always decided when it was time to end it—normally the instant he saw the glitter of diamond rings in her eyes.

Mel said he was heartless, but he told himself it was for his ex-girlfriends’ protection. There was no point giving them hope of a happy-ever-after. It wasn’t in his genes.

Just as well he didn’t have to worry about all that with Serena. Her heritage was flower-power and free love. As she’d said on their first date, they didn’t need to tie themselves down. They could take the relationship one day at a time and see where it took them, which was great. He felt freer to be himself if he didn’t have to worry about her getting the wrong idea.

He reached the kitchen and hunted for the corkscrew so he could open a bottle of Pinot Noir. He’d just pulled it out of the drawer when the telephone whined.

Please don’t let this be Serena, ringing to cancel!

‘Hello?’

‘Hi, big brother.’ Mel was trying to be chirpy.

‘What’s up?’

There was a pause and a heartfelt sigh.

‘Mel?’

‘It’s Dad.’

Jake’s back straightened. ‘What about him?’

‘There’ve been a few sightings lately.’

‘On the Costa Blanca?’

‘No, not in Spain—here.’

Jake marched across the kitchen and yanked the fridge door open, although when the blast of cold air hit his face he had no idea what he’d come to fetch, if anything. ‘I’ve told you before. I don’t care what that man does, as long as he doesn’t come within fifty feet of me.’

‘It’s been ten years. Aren’t you even curious?’

‘No. He won’t have changed. Don’t fall for his flannel, Mel.’

Her tone was defensive. ‘What makes you think I’m going to see him?’

‘I didn’t say you were. Are you?’