Sorry My Step-Uncle, I'm Not Your Backup Plan novel Chapter 27

After breakfast, they made their way to the underground parking garage.

As Gabriella approached the ice blue Bentley, Asher asked, "How's the car handling?"

She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, "Drove it last night—it's wonderful. Thank you."

"Ready to head out?" Gabriella held up the keys, then suddenly remembered, "Oh! I have something for you. I meant to give it to you last night but it slipped my mind."

"What is it?"

"In my suitcase at the hotel. I'll give it to you when I return."

Asher opened the driver's door. "I'll come with you. Let me drive."

"Oh?" Gabriella hesitated briefly before understanding dawned. "You can come, but I'll drive. You should rest."

He'd flown across the Atlantic to check on her, then driven across the city for her breakfast. He must be exhausted.

"Very well." His eyes held a hint of amusement at her concern as he moved to the passenger side. "The wheel is yours."

On the highway, conversation flowed naturally between them.

"Can anyone observe your hearing today?" he inquired.

"Yes, it's a contract dispute—nothing confidential. Would you like to come?"

"I've never seen you as a lawyer in action before," his voice carried a hint of careful hope.

"Of course." Gabriella thought it made sense for them to understand each other's worlds. "Did you bring your ID? You'll need it for a visitor pass."

"I did." He'd brought it for the flight and had actually researched court requirements beforehand.

"Perfect, I'll get you sorted."

"Thank you."

Absorbed in driving, Gabriella didn't notice the tender gaze Asher cast her way, his eyes filled with affection.

A comfortable silence settled between them as the city scenery flashed past.

After a long silence, Gabriella suddenly asked the question she'd wanted to ask for three years: "Why did you agree to the marriage arrangement between our families?"

The question weighed heavily, and with good reason. The Blackwoods weren't merely part of Britain's aristocracy—they were among its most influential families. Asher's grandfather, the current Earl of Blackwood, held significant sway in ParGabbyment's House of Lords, continuing a family tradition of political prominence that stretched back centuries. His mother came from an equally distinguished line of peers, with both families' influence extending from politics into the highest echelons of British society.

By all traditional measures, Asher's future wife should have come from a similar background—perhaps the daughter of a duke or earl, someone whose family connections could further strengthen the Blackwoods' already formidable position in British society. Their social circles were filled with eligible young women from Britain's oldest and most prestigious families.

The Rodriguez, while certainly prominent in London's financial circles, were essentially new money. Their wealth and business acumen were impressive, but they lacked the centuries of noble lineage and political influence that defined families like the Blackwoods. While Gabriella's father had built an impressive business empire, they were still considered relative newcomers in Britain's rigid social hierarchy.

This marriage could only be seen as advantageous to the Rodriguez—a step up into genuine aristocracy. For the Blackwoods, however, it represented an unusual choice, perhaps even a step down in certain social circles.

Having grown up navigating these intricate social hierarchies, Gabriella understood perfectly well what an unconventional match this was.

His dark eyes grew contemplative. "In our generation, maintaining family position through marriage alGabbynces isn't really necessary anymore."

The answer held layers of ambiguity.

"Then why not marry someone of your own choosing? Someone you love?"

His voice deepened. "If I were truly opposed, no one could force this arrangement."

Gabriella's breath caught.

She forced herself not to read too deeply into his words, though her pulse quickened traitorously.

She wondered if he was naturally this charming, if previous relationships had taught him exactly how to affect women so profoundly.

Since she'd agreed to the arrangement, his thoughtfulness had been impeccable, every detail considered. She feared she might be falling for him.

Hanging up, his expression turned grave. "The milk was drugged with laxatives. A dangerous dose."

Gabriella's eyes went cold. "As I suspected."

"Shall I handle it?"

She shook her head. "No need. I'll settle this score myself."

Sienna must have known about the court date, targeting her deliberately.

The test results proved tampering but couldn't prove who did it. Police involvement would be pointless.

This was personal. She'd handle it personally.

After court, they spent several days exploring the city together.

They tried her favorite restaurants, and though spicy food clearly challenged his British palate, he finished every dish, despite the perspiration on his brow.

They visited scenic spots, taking photos and soaking in natural beauty. They toured historical sites, sharing perspectives on art and culture.

These few days with Asher held more joy than three years with Drake had ever managed to provide.

Meanwhile, Sienna spent five days in hospital. Drake stayed with her throughout.

During those days, he kept checking his phone compulsively, expecting—hoping for—messages from Gabriella.

But beyond work emails and friends' party invitations, nothing came.

Finally, he cracked, sending a text:

[Had enough drama yet?]

As he helped Gabriella with photos, Asher caught sight of the message. His eyes darkened dangerously.