Chapter One
The first night…
Neiri flicked her tongue out and peeled off the single hair that had tickled the back of her throat. Resting an arm on the side of the swimming pool, she lifted her goggles to the top of her head and squinted at the hair. Fine. Silver. Flecks of black. The hell? The actual hell? She rolled it between her fingers; the texture felt the same as cat hair. Wincing, Neiri heaved herself out of the pool and sat on the side. The whole building was pet-free. It was in the covenants of her deeds. No pets. Especially cats. Oh, good God, was her throat closing? Antihistamine. Now. Now. Now. Rushing to the changing rooms, Neiri grabbed her sports bag and flung through the belongings for the tablets she kept with her at all times.
So she couldn’t swim at all now? Her leisurely evening swims had become tense, early morning exercise all because of the new owner. Again Neiri cursed the existence of her smart-arsed ex-husband who was dragging out their divorce finances to avoid bankruptcy. All his scheming and planning meant Neiri was stuck in this building. Unable to sell, unable to move until they either went to court for the last time or Adil could smarm his way into an agreement, she was now suffering the indignity of swallowing cat hair in her own pool. Well, the pool inside the building. Everyone else had sold up to the new owner, who’d made an absolute nuisance of himself by converting the top floor of the eight-storey building into his own flat level mansion. She had a brief vision of that blinding grin he flashed almost every time they saw each other. Okay, she conceded. Not that much of a nuisance of himself.
Roshan Ahsani was so ridiculously good looking, the day he’d turned up at her flat with a box of her favourite truffles from Belgium and an apology for the building work, she’d looked up into his face – his genetically perfect, symmetrical, God-touched face – and laughed. Horrified by the reaction, she laughed even harder when a frown furrowed his smooth, dark olive brow. He’d been the one to sit her down while he poured her a stiff drink, showing up her lamentable hostess skills. The drink didn’t really help. She had a giggling fit every time they ran into each other and it was embarrassing every time.
The man was lavish and extravagant but generous with her. She supposed he had to be since she was the one in the way of his establishing Ahsani Towers. But he’d recommended the solicitor she used. He’d wrangled a lower council tax bill (actually he’d lowered all her bills) and beautifully redecorated the basement pool. She had fresh flowers delivered to her flat every single day. The variety and volume of flowers astounded her, and she had no idea what to say to him in thanks.
The building had all the convenience of a hotel and none of the irritations. If she sold up, that would be it. No more cosy little lift chats with Mr Ahsani. No more muted enjoyment of that cologne he wore. Whatever it was, she’d needed to stop trying to rub herself against him like a cat in heat. No more faux arguments about the pool use. Really, it was about putting her bikinied body in his view to convince him otherwise. He gave her leeway on everything, like a favourite uncle. But the pool? His playpen. He’d given her figure a lingering and appreciative glance before he actually tapped her on the nose, as if chiding a naughty kitten and said, “No. Nice try, though.”
The tablet felt stuck in her throat. She poured herself some filtered water and thought about her family. All of them. Sunning themselves in Sharm el-Sheikh for a beachside Christmas while she, since all her assets had been frozen as part of the litigation, had to stay in London, watching people get excited and stressed. A-freaking-lone. Her grandmother had given Neiri good warning. Marry that man and regret it. And how.
The next hearing was crammed in between Christmas and the New Year. She needed Adil to give
The first night…
Neiri flicked her tongue out and peeled off the single hair that had tickled the back of her throat. Resting an arm on the side of the swimming pool, she lifted her goggles to the top of her head and squinted at the hair. Fine. Silver. Flecks of black. The hell? The actual hell? She rolled it between her fingers; the texture felt the same as cat hair. Wincing, Neiri heaved herself out of the pool and sat on the side. The whole building was pet-free. It was in the covenants of her deeds. No pets. Especially cats. Oh, good God, was her throat closing? Antihistamine. Now. Now. Now. Rushing to the changing rooms, Neiri grabbed her sports bag and flung through the belongings for the tablets she kept with her at all times.
So she couldn’t swim at all now? Her leisurely evening swims had become tense, early morning exercise all because of the new owner. Again Neiri cursed the existence of her smart-arsed ex-husband who was dragging out their divorce finances to avoid bankruptcy. All his scheming and planning meant Neiri was stuck in this building. Unable to sell, unable to move until they either went to court for the last time or Adil could smarm his way into an agreement, she was now suffering the indignity of swallowing cat hair in her own pool. Well, the pool inside the building. Everyone else had sold up to the new owner, who’d made an absolute nuisance of himself by converting the top floor of the eight-storey building into his own flat level mansion. She had a brief vision of that blinding grin he flashed almost every time they saw each other. Okay, she conceded. Not that much of a nuisance of himself.
Roshan Ahsani was so ridiculously good looking, the day he’d turned up at her flat with a box of her favourite truffles from Belgium and an apology for the building work, she’d looked up into his face – his genetically perfect, symmetrical, God-touched face – and laughed. Horrified by the reaction, she laughed even harder when a frown furrowed his smooth, dark olive brow. He’d been the one to sit her down while he poured her a stiff drink, showing up her lamentable hostess skills. The drink didn’t really help. She had a giggling fit every time they ran into each other and it was embarrassing every time.
The man was lavish and extravagant but generous with her. She supposed he had to be since she was the one in the way of his establishing Ahsani Towers. But he’d recommended the solicitor she used. He’d wrangled a lower council tax bill (actually he’d lowered all her bills) and beautifully redecorated the basement pool. She had fresh flowers delivered to her flat every single day. The variety and volume of flowers astounded her, and she had no idea what to say to him in thanks.
The building had all the convenience of a hotel and none of the irritations. If she sold up, that would be it. No more cosy little lift chats with Mr Ahsani. No more muted enjoyment of that cologne he wore. Whatever it was, she’d needed to stop trying to rub herself against him like a cat in heat. No more faux arguments about the pool use. Really, it was about putting her bikinied body in his view to convince him otherwise. He gave her leeway on everything, like a favourite uncle. But the pool? His playpen. He’d given her figure a lingering and appreciative glance before he actually tapped her on the nose, as if chiding a naughty kitten and said, “No. Nice try, though.”
The tablet felt stuck in her throat. She poured herself some filtered water and thought about her family. All of them. Sunning themselves in Sharm el-Sheikh for a beachside Christmas while she, since all her assets had been frozen as part of the litigation, had to stay in London, watching people get excited and stressed. A-freaking-lone. Her grandmother had given Neiri good warning. Marry that man and regret it. And how.
The next hearing was crammed in between Christmas and the New Year. She needed Adil to give
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