Thirty Days

true love never

m Shak

scara. Typical, I think to myself. The one day I actually took some effort in getting ready for work, everything is undone by a five-minute d

ound, sneak out of Hudson International's ladies' toilets. Taking a deep breath and summoning as much stealth as I can muster, I hurry down

the box that I am holding. I can feel the flush spread up my neck as I spin a

tely disorientated by the m

himself to one of the chocolate cheesecake muffins I had place

hours the previous evening getting the recipe exactly righ

"Too good," he says with a grin. Unw

unter, pack up my boxes and turn around expecting the mystery man to have taken his muffin and left. But

grudgingly he lets me pass, loaded with my empty boxes. As I draw level with him, it feels as if time stands still. The hairs on my neck stand on end as I take in his citrus

husky voice as if he is affected as

swiftly push past him. I find myself hurrying down the corridor at almost a running pace, and I have to mentally give myself a n

n as if he said very much to me. Yet his presence seemed to speak volumes, and I have to admit to myself that at this moment I feel incredibly turned on. At the memory o

t back to reality by a tapping foot. "Come on, Abby, you are going to be

well who is responsible for today's cakes, but as my confida

*

rs were horrendous. What they largely all had in common, though, was that none of them lasted particularly long. I think many took the job on thinking that being a nanny to the daughter of tw

simple things, like scrambled eggs and basic cakes, and then on to harder, more complex dishes where Nonna would encourage me to experimen

ndependent enough to take myself on the train down to Brighton, where I would spend whole

ss than enthusiastic about it. Food equals calories, and there is no place for th

a more gorgeous child. I was everything expected of the offspring of Gina Albertelli and Michael James, two of the world's leading models in the '70s and '80s, an

vogue, and that was the end of my child modelling career. And with it, the adoration heaped on me by my parents. Don't get me wrong. They have never been cruel or horrible, just, rather, that I no longer fitted into the

love. During final exams, I could always be found whipping up grand meals for my housemates simply to ease the tension, even if I wa

terrifying. Thrust from the world of academia, I was suddenly expected to put all that I had lear

morning I snuck it into the office and left it on the kitchen counter. Not feeling confident en

m. And while they may not have noticed me tucked away in my cubicle, they were all talking about the texture of my coffee sp

usly in the kitchen. Hearing how much people enjoyed my cakes made me feel good inside, even on those days when I felt lone

e caught me one evening on my way out when I dropped my cake boxes in the lift, and she put two and two together. But she has been sworn to sec