I stepped out of the private plane and onto the stairs, looking around me. The plane was a wedding gift from my old boss, Brooks Barry, to my new boss, Lord Frédéric Bingham, Earl of Avonlea, and I had been tasked with delivering it, not that it was a hardship. I would much rather spend the twenty-six hours of flight time in the comfort of a luxury private aircraft rather than a commercial flight. Been there, done that, never wanted to do it again.

I took a moment to enjoy the view. It had been three months since I had been in Merveille; three months of tying up loose ends and packing up my stuff. Immigrating to a new country was more complicated than I had thought, not to mention the issues I had with my mother. The woman simply refused to believe that this was what I wanted and had thrown roadblocks in my way at every step.

I took a deep breath of the crisp air and reminded myself not to think about her or the things she had yelled at me before I left. She had been mad and my mother was not one to hold her tongue or her emotions in check.

I buttoned my suit coat and was glad I had decided to wear it. It was currently winter in my home town of Bundaburg, Australia, but even winter there was warmer than today’s summer day in Calanais, Merveille, which I didn't mind so much. Growing up in the tropical climate of Queensland meant that there were really only two seasons - summer and not summer - and all the rest just blended into one. Don't get me wrong, I loved the warm days and balmy nights, I loved the white, sandy beaches and the perfect surfing waves of some of the most beautiful beaches in the world. I loved my sunburnt country… yada, yada, yada. But I was looking forward to living in a place that actually had four distinct seasons. When I had been here in April for the royal wedding, it had been spring and it had been an experience to watch nature come alive after a long, cold winter. Now it was the middle of summer and I wasn't melting with the heat or sweating profusely from the humidity. I could wear a suit comfortably and not feel like I was dying of heat exhaustion. I could get used to this.

A black BMW drove onto the tarmac and stopped at the bottom of the stairs, where I still stood, gawking like a tourist. The driver got out and opened the rear door and Lord Frédéric Bingham stepped out, lifting a hand to wave at me. I waved in return and began my descent, meeting him at the bottom.

“Nice ride,” he said to me, looking up at the jet. Brooks was friends with a man who owned a fleet of private planes and he knew that Freddie was in the market for one.

“It’s yours,” I replied, handing over the ownership papers and contract with a note from Brooks. “A wedding present from Brooks.”

His eyes widened and he laughed. “Oh Alex is going to love this,” he said, “So far we've been gifted so many useless antiques that she is pulling her hair out. A private plane? That is going to make my beloved smile.” He slapped me on the back, “Come on, let's get you settled.”

I got into the car beside him and the driver closed the door. It was odd to be chauffeured around; I was used to driving myself, or riding my bike more accurately. My bike that I'd had to leave behind. A beautifully restored 1972 Moto Guzzi 850GT El Dorado that rode like a dream. The plan was to bring it over eventually, but for now it was locked away in a climate controlled storage facility.

“How's the jet lag?” Freddie asked.

“It kind of feels like it's late afternoon, but it's really only nine o'clock in the morning.”

“It will take a few days for you to acclimatise. The best advice I can give is to try and get into a normal routine as soon as possible.”

“In other words, try to stay awake?”

He laughed, “Something like that.”

“I didn't expect you to come and pick me up,” I said. “You could have just sent a driver.”

“Not my style,” he said. “Alex wanted to come too, but she has a dress fitting and a schedule full of other wedding preparations. Besides, it gives me a chance to show you around. If you're up to it, I'd like to introduce you to the staff.”

“That sounds good,” I said, stifling a yawn.

“A quick tour of the office and then I'll show you your new digs.”

The car ride was smooth and thankfully short. Too much longer and I might have fallen asleep, not a great first impression to make on my new boss.

He took me through the lobby of the Monticorp head office and up to the top floor. My office had a large window that overlooked the shimmering lake that dominated the landscape of the town, and the mountains that stood as a silent, snowcapped backdrop.

I was introduced to my assistant, Mandy, and the rest of the staff on that floor. I wouldn't be starting for a week, enough time to shake loose the jet lag, but I could at least familiarise myself with my new position.

Freddie took pity on me as I stifled yet another yawn and ushered me out of the office and back into the waiting car. He had the driver drop us off in front of a brownstone terrace house, not far from the office.

At my questioning glance, Freddie shrugged.

“I originally planned to put you up in one of the rooms at Château de Monterey, but with the wedding so close and the craziness that has already begun, I thought it more prudent to give you your own space.”

I couldn't tell him how relieved I was. I had stayed at his family’s castle when I was here last time and although it was beautiful and amazing, I was always worried I'd break some priceless antique or use the wrong fork at dinner and embarrass myself in front of the prime minister and his wife.

Freddie showed me into the house, introducing me to the butler and the cook. He gave me a quick tour and then handed me a set of keys, a swipe card and a typed list of passwords and entry codes that I would need to access the office. There was also a mobile phone and a laptop computer.

“There is a car for your use,” he said, indicating a BMW key. “It's in the garage at the back of the property, but you are also welcome to use the company car and driver until you get to know the place.”

“Thank you,” I said, “this is way beyond what I expected.”

Freddie grinned, “You'll learn that us Merveillians like to go above and beyond expectations. We are a small country, but we are wealthy and we like to reward those who work for us.”

We shook hands and he waved as he let himself out of the house. I found my way to the bedroom and collapsed on the bed, not even bothering to remove my suit. I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

When I woke up, it was pitch black and I was disorientated. It took a moment to remember where I was and then I sat up to look at the time. It was one a.m. and by my rough calculations I’d been asleep for over twelve hours. This jet lag was kicking my butt.

With a groan I levered myself off the bed and made my way blindly to the ensuite bath. I flicked on the light and squinted at brightness before taking in my dishevelled appearance in the mirror. I was not a virgin traveller; in my previous job with Brooks, I would accompany him on all of his international travel, so I knew the routine. For some reason this felt worse. It should have felt better. I had flown here in luxury without the added stress of screaming babies, air sick passengers or someone kicking the back of my seat for twenty-six hours. It seemed unfair to me that I should be suffering so badly.

I washed my face, and the cold water was bracing and helped to clear my head. After drying it on the little hand towel on the hook beside the sink, I took a moment to take in my surroundings. Everything was slick and modern, not at all what I was expecting. For some reason I had in my brain the image of a dated country house with lacy doilies and crocheted hand towels. There hadn’t been a doily, lacy or otherwise, in sight from what I remember of the house tour. The whole place had been cool and masculine, as if the decor had been done especially for me, which I wouldn’t put past Freddie. I was a CFO and used to dealing with large sums of money. I had worked for one of the youngest billionaires in Australia for years, so I knew what it felt like to be around a lot of money, but Freddie was on another level entirely. The man was a true-blue royal, and all that that entailed, but he was also a successful businessman in his own right and that was before he took over his father’s very successful business. Renovating a house to suit the tastes of an employee would be chump change for him.

My stomach growled and I rubbed my face, my whiskers rasping over my palm. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten. Probably on the plane, which was a very long time ago. I turned from the ensuite and felt my way through the dark room and into the hall. Keeping a hand on the wall, I walked in what I thought the direction of the stairs was. I held on to the balustrade when I found them and cautiously made my way down the steps. About half way down, the lights blazed on and I swore as I shut them to avoid retina burn.

“Did you need something, sir?” a male voice said.

I blinked a few times in order to lose the light blindness and could make out the butler standing at the bottom of the stairs dressed in a dark blue robe and slippers. He even managed to make that look classy.

“Sorry to wake you, MacClaren,” I said, descending the last of the stairs, “I was just going to see if the cook left me anything to eat.”

He inclined his head regally and turned to lead me to the kitchen. I followed meekly, feeling his disapproval. I was dressed in my rumpled suit, which I’d slept in, and felt very second-hand while he looked dapper and very put together in a robe and slippers. I was a long way from that cane farm in the tropics of Queensland, that was for sure. I didn’t think my dad even owned a robe or slippers. Boxer shorts and a ratty old singlet were what we all wore to bed. Well, the blokes anyway. Mum usually wore a nightie or a long t-shirt, even she didn’t bother with a robe. I guess if I was going to fit in with the locals, I would need to buy some real pyjamas and a robe and even some slippers. I suppose come winter, I would appreciate the extra layers.

“Cook left some beef bourguignon in the refrigerator. Would you like me to heat some up for you?”

“That’s fine MacClaren, I can do it.”

“It’s no trouble, sir,” he said and I held up my hand.

“Okay, I think we need to talk. I know you’re paid to look after me, but I just want you to know that I’m really quite self-sufficient. I don’t expect you to get up in the middle of the night and wait on me. And please call me Drew. When you call me sir it makes me think my old principal, Mr. Smythe, is in the room. I appreciate you coming to my rescue tonight, but I want you to know it won’t be a regular occurrence. I will have work for you, though,” I said, taking in his alarmed expression, “But it will probably be more along the lines of a personal secretary.”

I took the plate from his hand and put it in the microwave, hitting the timer for three minutes. When I turned around, MacClaren was standing where I’d left him and looking like a stunned mullet.

“Is that okay?” I asked.

He nodded succinctly. “Very well. Let me know if there will be anything else, sir,” he said and then left the room.

I didn’t think I’d won a fan and I was probably on his naughty list now. I shrugged; it couldn’t be helped and it was better to have the conversation now rather than later. If he didn’t want to continue to work for me, then that was fine too. I lived by myself back home and I didn’t need both a cook and a butler to look after me now.

The next time I woke up, the sun was high in the sky and the rooms warm. I hadn’t gone back to bed immediately after eating my very delicious beef bourguignon. Instead, I’d mucked around on the laptop for a bit, getting used to the new systems I would be using and then I did a little bit of internet surfing, delighted with the fast speed of the broadband. One of our many bugbears with doing business in Australia was the lack of tech infrastructure and we were sadly lagging behind the rest of the world. But Merveille seemed to have all that sorted, which I was pleased to discover.

I was also pleased to discover a motorbike dealership not far from my new home and I’d spent a couple of hours perusing their stock. The hilly roads and wide open spaces of Calanais and further out into the countryside looked pretty perfect for cruising along on two wheels and I was itching to do a bit of exploring.

I showered and dressed, leaving the suit behind and slipping into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. I’d left my leathers and my helmet back with my El Dorado, but if I was going to buy a bike then why not buy the whole kit and caboodle? I had the money and my living expenses were going to be pretty low, so why not indulge in my one guilty pleasure?

“I’ll be out for a couple of hours,” I said to MacClaren on my way past, “but I’ll definitely be back for dinner.”

“Very good, sir,” he said as I breezed out the door and into the summer sunlight.

I walked quickly, eager to get my hands on some chrome and steel. I had plenty of time to take in my surroundings, at least for the next three years, which was the length of my employment contract. Right now, my focus was on getting a bike and if I was anything, I was single-minded when I had something in my sights.

I heard it before I saw it and when I did, I stopped to stare. A Ducati Scrambler roared towards me, but that wasn’t the surprising bit. The hot pink paint job was what got my attention and shortly thereafter, the woman who sat astride it. Her black leathers hugged her body like a second skin and she handled the bike like a pro. It was a sight to see and I actually stopped and watched as she rode past and then disappeared from view. Was there anything hotter than a woman on a bike? I really didn’t think so. Unfortunately none of the women in my life had ever wanted to learn to ride and most had hated that I rode a bike. My mother was the most vocal about it, despite the years we’d used them on the farm. Apparently farm bikes were different than street bikes, but, whatever. I loved riding and I had no intention of giving it up.

My heart felt lighter as I walked into the dealership and ran my hand across a nasty matte-black Triumph Rocket III. When I say nasty, I mean it in the best possibly way. This bike was a thing of beauty with its shiny chrome all pretty and preening, juxtaposed with the harsh flat black of the tank and leather saddle. My hands itched to squeeze her throttle and feel the rumble of the 2,294cc engine between my thighs.

“Isn’t she gorgeous?” a guy asked me as he stepped up to stand beside me.

“I think I’m in love,” I replied.

“Last one we have in stock,” he said and I knew he had my number but I didn't care. I wanted this baby.

“How much?”

We haggled a bit, it was expected after all, and then came to an agreement that had us both smiling. I checked out their riding gear and added a brand new set of leathers and a matte-black helmet to the sale, and I walked away the proud owner of a brand new Triumph Rocket. They told me I could pick it up tomorrow and I was already thinking about where I would ride on our maiden voyage. I’d never bought something that expensive so quickly, but I knew as soon as I saw her on the showroom floor that she was the one I wanted. When you know, you know.

I felt so good about myself that when my phone rang, I didn’t even bother to check the caller ID before answering.

“Oh thank God!” my mother screeched in my ear. “I thought you were dead!”

“Calm down Mum,” I replied.

“Calm down? How can you ask me to calm down when I haven’t heard from you in three days?”

I sighed and rubbed my eyes, feeling a headache begin to form in the back of my head. “You knew I was in transit for twenty six hours and then when I arrived I had to meet with my new boss. I crashed after the meeting and have been asleep for the rest of the time.”

“You couldn’t call me when you landed?”

“It was the middle of the night, your time, Mum.”

“It doesn’t matter, I couldn’t sleep anyway. I don’t know how I’m going to sleep at all knowing you’re so far away.”

I rolled my eyes. I thought I’d left all this drama behind. I had no idea why she thought me being in a different country suddenly meant that I was going to get murdered or die of some weird disease. I was pretty sure she watched too many crime shows.

“Mum, it’s no different to me living in Melbourne.”

“Of course it’s different.”

“Not really. You can still talk to me on the phone or over Skype. There’s email and Facebook and all those things that we used to stay in touch when I was in Australia. Merveille is not a third world country.”

“But it’s so far away,” she moaned. “When are you coming home?”

I sighed and shook my head at her refusal to believe that I wouldn’t be coming home.

“Mum, we’ve been over this. I’m not moving back to Australia.”

“What? Never?”

“Stop it,” I said firmly. “Stop acting like this is the first time we’ve had this conversation. I’ve explained it to you on several occasions and you just refuse to hear it.”

“It’s not me, I’m worried about,” she said, changing tack, “it’s Elise.”

“Mum,” I growl.

“Elise is so very upset, I’m worried about her.”

“Elise is fine. She knows the deal, I’ve spoken to her and explained it all and she was fine when I left.”

“Of course she was fine, she couldn’t very well break down in front of you, now could she? The poor thing is pining away for you, though she’d never say so. She knows you want her to be strong, but the poor darling looks like she’s going to break into—”

“I can’t deal with this right now Mum. I have to go.”

I didn’t give her a chance to reply as I punched the button on the phone and disconnected the call. The woman was going to be the death of me.