Picnics in Hyde Park. Nikki Moore
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Название: Picnics in Hyde Park

Автор: Nikki Moore

Издательство: HarperCollins

Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература

Серия:

isbn: 9780007583249

isbn:

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       Chapter 11

      

       Chapter 12

      

       Chapter 13

      

       Chapter 14

      

       Chapter 15

      

       Chapter 16

      

       Bonus Material

       Skating at Somerset House

       Author Note

       Author Q&A with Nikki Moore

       Reader Q&A

       Also by Nikki Moore

       Nikki Moore

      About HarperImpulse

       About the Publisher

       #LoveLondon Series

       Skating at Somerset House

       New Year at the Ritz

       Valentine’s on Primrose Hill

       Cocktails in Chelsea

       Strawberries at Wimbledon

       Picnics in Hyde Park

       1

      Matt Reilly is a complete, unbelievable bastard and I’m going to make him pay, Zoe Harper vowed as she pounded the gold lion-head knocker against the door of his exclusive Knightsbridge residence.

      When there was no response, she switched to thumping the glossy black wood with the side of her fist.

      Thud. Thud. Thud.

      Answer. The. Door.

      Utter fury was squeezing her chest so tight it felt like her ribs were suffocating her lungs and a horrible pressure was building behind her eyeballs, the sure sign of a tension headache.

      Where the hell was he? She stepped back to gaze up at the impressive facade of the town house, which had to be at least four storeys tall including the basement area below her. The top two floors were exposed brickwork but the ground and lower floors were painted white, decorated with manicured window boxes. The property screamed refined wealth, as did the beautiful leafy communal garden area in the middle of the square. He must have paid extra for the property, which sat back from the road slightly. It was one of the only houses with off-road parking.

      She turned to look at the gravel driveway. Someone had to be in, there were three cars parked up; a garish, canary-yellow convertible sports model, a sexy low-slung black supercar and a more modest silver Prius hybrid.

      Thudding the door again, there was still no answer.

      If she was some kick-ass action movie heroine she could bust the door down, flatten whichever of the selfish idiots was inside (although both at the same time would be preferable) and just be done with it. But at five foot seven, as well as pounds lighter than she’d been in years, she hardly looked or felt the part. Still, if there was anything guaranteed to bring out her fighting side it was protecting her younger sister Melody. She was her only proper family left apart from their Great Aunt Ruth, who’d always been distant and had all the affection of a watermelon.

      What it came down to was that anyone who hurt Melody deserved justice. But she didn’t really believe in violence, and ruining her beautiful nails with their miniature stars and stripes design on every tip didn’t appeal either. The manicure was a present from her ex-boss Liberty, named after the statue of. It was something to remember New York by, a city she’d come to love. But better not to think about that, or what else she’d loved and lost.

      Where the heck was Mr. High and Mighty Reilly, or for that matter, his younger brother Stephen? Surely they had enough staff to answer the bloody door for them. A girl could die of heatstroke out here. The midday sun was ferocious and prickling heat along the back of her neck. It was sure to be scarlet by dinner time.

      Thud. Thud. Thud.

      Her hand was never going to be the same again. Then she’d be suing the sods for personal injury as well as emotional trauma for Melody. Her sibling had been crying so hard at Jemima’s flat in multicultural, packed Holloway that Zoe hadn’t been able to get the full story on arrival from Heathrow. There’d just been a lot of mumbling and sobbing around swollen red eyes and handfuls of soggy tissues. Still, what she’d figured out had been enough to instantly trigger her big sister reflexes. The stale, stuffy black cab had made for a nightmare journey across London but the sunlight glinting off the windows had matched her heated, murderous thoughts perfectly. She’d avoided direct eye contact with the chatty driver, jaw clenched as she replayed the fragments of her sister’s story in her head.

       Fell in love with Stephen…Matt ended it, fired me…kicked me out without notice… never see the kids again… looked after them for three years!

      How dare he? It was bloody outrageous and unbelievably unfair. How could anyone be so uncaring that they’d do someone who trusted them out of a relationship, job, home and salary all on the same day? So here she was outside of his posh, rich-guy’s, I’m so fabulous home, fully intending to grab her sister’s belongings as well as telling Matt Reilly exactly what she thought of a guy who’d treat a naïve twenty-two year old like dirt. If she could grab his brother by the scruff of the neck at the same time and give him a good shake for helping break her sister’s heart, she’d do that too. He had a lot of explaining to do as to why he wasn’t answering Mel’s calls.

      Bloody men. They were a faithless lot at the best of times, the reason she’d left the States after five long years. But her sister’s boss had reached new levels of bastardom, if that was even a word.

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