I watch him disappear out of the store, Miss Flirty standing to my side, all dumbstruck but still dribbling. ‘Um, thanks.’ I smile and go after my uptight, ill-mannered part-time gentleman.

‘That was so rude!’ I exclaim when I find him outside, securing the last button.

‘I bought a shirt.’ His arms fall to his sides, obviously flummoxed by my scorn. It worries me that he’s so unaware of his odd ways.

‘It’s the way you bought it,’ I retort, dropping my head back to look to the heavens for help.

‘You mean I told the assistant what I’d like, she found it, I tried it on, and then paid for it?’

My head drops tiredly and I find a familiar impassiveness. ‘Smart-arse.’

‘I’m merely stating the facts.’

Even if I had the energy to argue with him, which I don’t, I wouldn’t win. Old habits die hard.

‘Do you feel better?’ I ask.

‘It’ll do.’ He brushes down the checked shirt and tugs at the hem.

‘Yes, it’ll do,’ I sigh. ‘Where to next?’

His palm finds its favourite place on my neck and he turns me with a slight twist of his hand. ‘The Brilliant Building. Time for your challenge.’

‘It’s the Brill Building,’ I laugh. ‘And it’s this way.’ I divert quickly, causing Miller to lose his hold, and take his hand. ‘Did you know that many famous musicians wrote many hits in the Brill Building? Some of the most famous in American music history.’

‘Fascinating,’ Miller muses, looking fondly down at me.

I smile, reaching up to feel his dark stubbled jaw. ‘Not as fascinating as you.’

After a few hours roaming Manhattan and giving Miller a history lesson on not just the Brill Building but also St Thomas Church, we begin to stroll down to Central Park. We take our time, both of us silent as we amble leisurely down the centre of the tree-lined path, benches flanking both sides and peace engulfing us, leaving the concrete chaos behind. Once we’ve crossed the road that cuts the park in half, dodged all of the runners, and descended the giant concrete stairs to the fountain, my waist is circled with his palms and I’m lifted onto the edge of the giant water feature. ‘There,’ he says, smoothing down my skirt. ‘Give me your hand.’

I do as I’m bid, smiling at his formalness, and let him start leading me around the fountain, Miller still on the ground, his hand lifted to maintain our connection, while I tower above him. I take small paces and watch as he slips his spare hand into the pocket of his jeans. ‘How long do we need to stay here?’ I ask quietly, returning my eyes forward, mainly to ensure I don’t slip off the wall and a little to avoid what I know will be a torn face.

‘I’m not sure, Olivia.’

‘I miss Nan.’

‘I know you do.’ He squeezes my hand, his attempt to reassure me. It won’t work. I know William has taken on the responsibility of seeing to her welfare in my absence, something that is a worry for me because I still have no idea what he’s told my grandmother about his history with my mother and his history with me.

Looking up, I see a little girl skipping towards me on the fountain wall, doing a far better job of looking stable than I am. There’s not enough room for both of us, so I make to slip down but gasp when I’m seized and swung around, allowing her to skip on by, before I’m placed back on the raised edge of the fountain. My palms rest on his shoulders while he spends a few quiet moments straightening out my skirt. ‘Perfect,’ he says under his breath, taking my hand and leading on again. ‘Do you trust me, Olivia?’

His question throws me, not because I doubt my answer, but because he hasn’t asked this since we arrived. He hasn’t spoken about what we’ve left behind in London, and that has been fine by me. Immoral bastards, someone following me, Cassie going all lunatic on Miller, Sophia warning me off, chains, sex for money . . .

I’ve surprised myself how easy it has been to bury that somewhere deep within me since being immersed in the chaos of New York – a chaos I’m finding soothing compared to what I could be torturing myself with. I know Miller has been a little baffled by my lack of pressing, but there is something I can’t seem to cast aside so easily. Something I can’t bring myself to voice, to Miller or even out loud to myself. The only reassurance I needed was that Nan is being taken care of. I’m sensing now is the time that Miller’s quiet acceptance of my silence changes.

‘Yes,’ I answer assertively, but he doesn’t look at me or acknowledge my answer. He remains focused forward, holding my hand gently while I follow the curve of the fountain.

‘And I trust you to share your troubles with me.’ He halts and turns me into him, taking both of my hands and gazing up at me.

I clamp my lips together, loving him more for knowing me so well but hating that it means I’ll probably never be able to hide anything from him. I also hate that he feels so obviously guilty for dragging me into his world.

‘Tell me, Olivia.’ His tone is soft, encouraging. It’s desperate.

My eyes drop to his feet, seeing them move in closer. ‘I’m being silly,’ I say quietly. ‘I think all of the shock and adrenaline was playing games with my mind.’

He shifts his hands to my waist and lifts me down, making me sit on the edge of the fountain. Then he lowers to his knees and secures my cheeks in his hands. ‘Tell me,’ he whispers.

His need to comfort me fills me with the courage to spit out what’s been tormenting me since we’ve been here. ‘At Heathrow . . . I thought I saw something, but I know I didn’t, and I know it’s stupid and impossible and absolutely absurd, and my vision was obstructed and I was so stressed and tired and emotional.’ I draw a breath, ignoring his wide eyes. ‘It couldn’t have been. I know that. I mean, she’s been dead for—’

‘Olivia!’ Miller breaks through my verbal vomit, his blue eyes wide and with a look of alarm on his perfect face. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

‘My mother,’ I breathe. ‘I think I saw her.’

‘Her ghost?’

I’m not sure if I believe in ghosts. Or maybe I do now. With no obvious answer, I just shrug.

‘At Heathrow?’ he pushes.

I nod.

‘When you were exhausted, emotional, and being kidnapped by an ex-escort with a terrible temper?’

My eyes narrow on him. ‘Yes,’ I push through clenched teeth.

‘I see,’ he muses, glancing away briefly before returning his eyes to mine. ‘And this is why you’ve been so quiet and cagey?’

‘I realise how stupid I sound.’

‘Not stupid,’ he argues quietly. ‘Grief-stricken.’

I frown at him, but he continues before I can question his conclusion.

‘Olivia, we’ve been through so much. Both of our pasts have been very much present in recent weeks. It’s understandable that you’d be feeling lost and confused.’ He reaches forward and rests his lips on mine. ‘Please confide in me. Don’t let your troubles weigh you down when I’m here to ease them for you.’ Pulling away, he smoothes his thumbs across my cheeks and melts me with the sincerity that’s shining from his extraordinary eyes. ‘I can’t see you sad.’