Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76664 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76664 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“Oh, call me Viv,” the elegant blonde says as she warmly clasps my hand. “All Oliver’s friends from his school days do. How lovely to meet you, Emily.”
She’s not at all what I expected. After all Oliver’s talk of “cardinal sins” and “making her cranky,” I’d expected a fussy, Lady Grantham sort. Honestly, she reminds me more of the “hippies” in the Hamptons. The ones who are obscenely wealthy, but do their best to hide it, and are much more concerned with feeding their family organic food than wearing the latest fashions.
Vivian’s pale blue dress is gorgeous, but clearly far from brand new, and she’s wearing mismatched earrings—one pearl stud and one dangly Art Nouveau silver swirl. Whether that’s on purpose or simply because she forgot to choose between the two when she was getting dressed, I instantly decide she might be a kindred spirit, after all.
“Lovely to meet you, Viv,” I say, smiling as she releases my palm with a light squeeze. Fighting the urge to compliment her on her dress or her excellent work raising a very charming, so far very decent man, I add, “Thank you so much for making room at the last minute. It’s so nice to be a part of honoring Edward’s accomplishments. I was so pleased when Oliver invited me.”
Vivian beams. “Oh, I was, too! Oliver so rarely brings a plus one, and we’re thrilled to have you.” She introduces me to the rest of the table—two Ladies and an Honorable, I greet with full titles, as expected at a first introduction—before motioning to a formidable-looking woman with deep smile lines around her brown eyes. “And of course, Lady Agnes Thornfield-Rowe, a dear family friend.”
“So nice to meet you, Lady Thornfield-Rowe,” I say.
“Agnes, please. The other’s too much of a mouthful.” Agnes chuckles in a way that makes me suspect she knows all my dirty, Oliver-humping secrets. “And I’m charmed, Ms. Darling. It’s always fascinating to meet one of Oliver’s friends from the real world.”
“Partner, actually,” Oliver corrects with a winning grin. “We’ve been dating for a few months now, and have decided to make things official.”
Vivian’s blond brows lift, and a flash of something—disapproval? Irritation?—flashes behind her eyes before her expression smooths into another warm smile. “Why, what lovely news! Love makes the holidays even more special.”
“It really does,” Oliver murmurs, gazing at me with a smitten expression that makes me want to kick him beneath the table.
Pretending to be a couple to get the press to leave us alone is one thing; faking some kind of deep, romantic attachment is another.
The first feels like an acceptable falsehood; the second feels…wrong. And the superstitious part of me is pretty sure faking true love is a good way to ensure the universe never gives you a shot at the real thing.
And I want the real thing someday.
I want it more than I realized before last night, when a certain charming Brit reminded me how good it can feel to share a night out with someone who makes you laugh and think and come your brains out.
Making a mental note to have another boundaries talk with Olly—and to stop thinking about coming my brains out while seated inches from his mother—I turn my attention to eating the freshly delivered salad.
Thankfully, it’s a finely chopped salad, and I’m able to chew and fully swallow each small bite in between small talk.
We discuss mine and Oliver’s plans for the holidays—merrymaking and celebrating in between my business obligations. Vivian insists I attend the family’s annual New Year’s Eve party, offering a formal invitation just in case Oliver hasn’t already, and Lady Thornfield-Rowe delights the table at large with a story about last year’s celebration. The under forty set decided to “chilly dip” before midnight, and the over forty set stole their towels from the shore as a prank.
“They all came dashing into the great hall shivering and cursing, with icicles hanging off their noses. Best party I’ve been to in ages,” Agnes finishes, as the other ladies, whose names I can’t remember, chuckle behind their hands. “Can’t wait to see what trouble you get up to this year, Oliver.”
“Me? Trouble? I would never.” Oliver casts a faux innocent look around the table before turning to me with a wink. “Isn’t that right, Emily?”
Realizing what he’s up to, I play along, rolling my eyes as I mutter, “Of course not, darling. You’re as pure as the driven snow. We both are, really. A very proper pair.”
“Very demure,” Oliver adds.
“And discreet,” I supply.
By the time we’re done with our routine, the entire table is tittering and we’ve obviously won over Agnes, who, when I glance her way, offers an approving nod. Clearly, she’s the type of woman who believes in looking the elephant in the room in the eye and giving it a cheeky wink.