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)
“Not the way I’d celebrate,” I agree. “But maybe?”
He grunts again, wagging his pastry back and forth in the air. “Nope. I’m not buying it. And what’s that ‘boyish’ bullshit? He’s nearly thirty. He hasn’t been a ‘boy’ in nearly a decade. I call foul. This reeks of a press office cover-up up and damn it, I intend to get to the bottom of it.”
My brows fly up my forehead. “Really? You do?”
Oliver grins as he slouches back in his chair, propping his slippered feet up in the seat beside mine. “Nah, not really. I mean, I hope the man’s all right, but he’s a second cousin, and we’ve never been close. I’m just glad to be out of the spotlight.”
“Same,” I say, even as a tinge of disappointment creeps into my chest.
I’m glad to be in the clear, I really am, but…
Well, without an excuse to pretend to be an item, Olly and I will be left with no other option than to have The Talk, and talking feels way scarier in the cold light of day. Last night was intense, and I didn’t get nearly enough sleep, and I can’t afford to have a falling out with Olly right now.
And maybe we won’t fall out. Maybe we’ll manage The Talk beautifully, but with the Fletchers’ meeting bearing down on me in less than twenty-four hours, is it really worth the risk?
“So…” Oliver says, his smile fading as the vibes in the kitchen grow increasingly complicated. “I suppose we should—”
“Still go sledding,” I cut in, heart racing as I force a cheery smile. “Don’t you think? I mean, it’s already booked, and the paparazzi have been stalking us like crazy. Someone at the sled rental could have tipped them off, and cameras could be trained on the hill right now, waiting for us to arrive.”
Oliver sits up, brightening. “You’re right. I mean, just because we’re off the radar for now, it doesn’t mean we’re in the clear. If we book sleds and don’t show up to use them, the paparazzi might start to wonder if there’s trouble in hot mess paradise.”
I grin. “Right. And there’s fresh snow. It would be a shame to waste it.”
“And I could use some exercise after all that pudding.”
“God, yes,” I agree, laying a hand on my stomach. “I think I gained ten pounds overnight.”
“Bollocks, you look fantastic, but sledding would still be good for our health. Cardiovascular fitness and all that.”
“So we’ll go,” I say with a breezy shrug. “Just in case. Just for fun.”
“Absolutely for fun.” His gaze locks on mine with an intensity that makes me tingly…and a tiny bit nervous. “Speaking of fun, I had a lot of fun with you last night, Darling.”
Shoulders tensing, I nod. “I had a lot of fun with you, too.”
“I’d be up for more fun in the shower before we get dressed,” he says, sending relief rushing through my chest.
Talking feels like too much right now, but sex?
Sex, I can absolutely handle.
He nods over his shoulder as he rises from his chair, playing up the casual in his tone as he adds, “Simply in the interest of conserving water, of course.”
“Of course,” I agree.
Ten minutes later, we’re “conserving water” so loudly I’m pretty sure the neighbors can hear, but I can’t seem to keep it down.
He’s just too good.
Way too good to say goodbye to in just a few weeks…
But there are so many obstacles in our way, obstacles that seem far more intimidating without Christmas punch in my system.
Pushing the thoughts from my head—I can’t think about stressful things until after the pitch is over—I phone the airport, yet again, only to discover that my luggage is still missing in action.
Because of course it is.
That’s just the Emily Darling Luggage Curse in action.
Oliver immediately offers to take me shopping. Again. This time for snow frolicking clothes. I try to refuse—he’s already been far too generous, and I can just wear a pair of his ski pants, rolled up at the ankles—but he won’t take no for an answer.
So, fifteen minutes later, we’re in a swanky outdoor shop not far from Fletchers, buying a brown snowsuit with white trim that makes me unreasonably happy.
Just like the man who takes my hand on the sidewalk as we head for Hyde Park…
Three hours later, I’m even happier.
And grateful for the snowsuit that’s kept me warm and dry as I’ve taken tumble.
After tumble.
After tumble.
Turns out I’m not as good at sledding as I remember, but that hasn’t made the day any less fun.
“Your steering remains alarmingly subpar, Darling,” Oliver says, standing over me as I lie in a snowbank at the base of Primrose Hill, laughing so hard my ribs are starting to hurt.
“Sorry,” I wheeze. “I swear, that hedge came out of nowhere.”
“Nonsense, you were aiming right for it,” he insists, fighting a laugh as he thrusts an arm toward the top of the slope. “I watched it all happen from up there. With horror, I might add.”