“Yes, but to keep it splendid I believe I shall withhold from sampling the rest of my presents for the evening,” Alistair replied.
Tristan chuckled and nodded his head.
“Probably a wise choice,” he said as Alistair took the last bite of his cake.
“Should we get you another slice?” He then asked.
“I think I shall need at least another three before I soak up the distillery that is in my belly,” Alistair said in way of agreement, “Come, you must try it. It is delicious.”
Tristan followed his brother toward the large cake, where slices of it were already laid out on Theo’s fine China plates along with silver forks. He picked one up as Theo came to join them, and for a moment the three of them chatted gaily on how well the party was going.
However, when Theo leaned up to whisper something in her husband’s ear and the giant of a man blushed, Tristan rolled his eyes as he turned away; not wanting to know what other sort of celebration his sister had in store for her husband. He picked up his fork, ready to take his first bite of the cake, when suddenly the plate disappeared from his hands.
“Lord Perfect,” Ophelia purred, sending goosebumps down his arms as he looked up at her, “You retrieved a slice of cake for me? How so very polite of you.”
Tristan smirked as a surprising shot of joy sparked in his heart.
“You know me, chivalrous at all times,” he replied sarcastically.
Ophelia laughed, nearly choking on a bite of the cake she’d just stolen from him.
“Oh yes,” she answered with equal sarcasm, “All times.”
Normally such an innuendo would have Tristan chastising her, but this time it only made his grin grow wider.
“Where is your suitor?” He could not help but tease, “Is he not supposed to be obtaining your sweets for you?”
Ophelia gave a careless shrug as she sliced off another bite of cake, her eyes on her plate.
“Apparently he had to go. Some sort of business matter,” she replied.
Tristan raised a curious brow, but felt another shot of glee at her unbothered tone.
“A nine o’clock in the evening?” He questioned.
She looked up at him, her eyes narrowing slightly as her tip of her tongue slipped out of catch the tiniest bit of icing from her lip. The small movement caused his manhood to stir to life in his trousers, and he immediately lost interest in Weavington’s whereabouts.
“You have plenty of business of handle at this time of night most of the time,” she countered.
Tristan smirked as he took a step closer.
“Ah yes,” he said in a quiet voice, “But we both know what that business is about, don’t we?”
Pleasure surged through him as he watched Ophelia’s pink cheeks turn crimson, and she darted her eyes back down to her cake. Tristan’s smirk grew into a satisfied smile and he glanced up, taking in the multiple people nearby. He decided that his teasing would have to wait for another time.
“How is your father doing?” He asked, changing the subject.
Ophelia’s expression grew a little more somber, and he felt his heart twist in a surprising bout of empathy.
“His improvements have been frustratingly slow” Ophelia said with a sigh. “Though he is able to get out of bed for a couple of hours a day now. So I suppose I should be thankful for that. Mr. Grimes insists he uses a cane now, though, and the sight is…” she paused, sighing as she picked at her cake with her cake.
“I knew my father was getting older,” she murmured on, “But seeing him with a cane is difficult. He always seemed so strong before."
“My sincerest apologies,” Tristan offered, his tone sincere.
He waited for Ophelia to express her doubt of his sincerity, but to his surprise she only thanked him for his concern.
“He is at least not fading,” Ophelia went on, fiddling with her fork, “He is quite determined to see me wedded and with child before he lets go. Part of me believes that I should hold out on marriage forever, just so that he will fight longer.”
