THE BILLIONAIRE'S GIRLFRIEND

TWENTY ONE

A couple of hours later,  Malora wandered out onto the balcony. The wood was cold under her feet and the night nipped at her with sharp teeth. Beyond the shadowy trees, the city was alive with lights, turquoise and silver and gold, as uncountable as stars. And one of those lights was Titan, working late.

It made her feel so close to him and so impossibly distant at the same time. Like she could have her Zee World moment, and whisper his name, and he would hear her and know she was thinking about him.

Although if it turned out Titan was keeping a mentally ill spouse in his attic she was going to be super miffed.

Anyway, she sent him a text instead. A simple how're things?

She got back: Fine, thank you. Almost done.

Malora's thumb traced I miss you. Then can I come over? Then I miss you. Can I come over? But she didn't hit send on any of them. Instead of bridging the gap between them, his message had made him seem even further away. Because she suddenly realized she had no idea what Titan did when he finished work and wasn't with her. His body suggested an aggressive gym regime but beyond that? How could she know, when she was consigned to One Hyde Park like the Lady of Shalott?

Or possibly Malora was just looking at this the wrong way. She meant she'd told Titan she wanted to see more of him, but she'd taken it as read that he would make it happen. When, actually, she was the one choosing to wait around. Maybe he was really up in the tower. And she was supposed to be fighting through his briars, climbing his hair, breaking his curse, or whatever.

Maybe, in some strange way, he was waiting for her.

Malora's hands were sweaty on the balcony rail. It was scary as hell, trying to break through three years of carefully cultivated…whatever it was. Especially when it had, in its own, unhealthy little way, kept her safe. Or at the very least from having a nervous breakdown.

But it wasn't helping her now. It was holding her back.

After all, if she believed in Titan and Titan believed in her, couldn't she believe in herself? Just a little bit? She took a deep breath and made her way back into this apartment. This Prufrock had at least one peach in his life. And she damn well dared to eat it.

Grabbing the coat Titan had sent her, Malora slipped it on with a giddy little purr because it looked and felt so good. She did the buttons and turned up the collar and fastened the belt, and flicked an enigmatic glance at her reflection in the floor-to-ceiling windows, imagining myself lingering on some misty street corner in Budapest. Surely, nobody could object to an uninvited visitor if they turned up in such a fabulous garment?

It was a shame, really, about everything underneath it. Malora was going to be like Oscar Wilde, unable to live up to her blue china. Except with a coat. Unless…

Oh dear. She was having an idea.

Probably a terrible idea.

But Malora 2.0 embraced terrible ideas.

She stripped. Replaced her casual wear for a black lacy baby doll. And then put the coat back on.

Hmm. The basic idea was certainly sound but the execution was lacking. Her legs, poking out the bottom, looked particularly pale and unprepossessing. But it was fine. She could work with it.