“The tie color matters?” Sophie asks.
“Of course,” Mum says. “White tie is the pinnacle of formal events you see, such as a state dinner, royal gala, or an extremely formal ball.”
“Aye,” The Lady Elspeth adds, “I attended the Vienna Opera Ball with your grandfather, such a lovely event. I wore the MacTavish tiara there.”
“We have a tiara?” Mum asks.
“I didn’t know it could get much grander than this,” Sophie admits. Mum and grandmother smile at her and I can see they’re clearly Team Sophie in this scenario.
“How do ye know so much about sixteenth century tartan?” I lean down to murmur in her ear.
She chuckles, a little breathlessly. “Daisy, my old roommate at university, she’s a fashion major. I read through one of her papers for her. She’s a wonderful designer but grammar is not her strength.” Frowning a little she watches Darren lope after Celia as she heads for the door, she offers, “He seems very nice, too nice for… well. I shouldn’t be rude.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” Mum says. “Celiaisterrible.”
Sophie lets out a shocked little giggle.
“I’m sorry Martha couldn’t make it tonight,” Mum says, looking genuinely disappointed.
“I got her a dress,” Sophie nods. “But… she didn’t feel well enough to attend.” Her chin goes up and I suspect that her mother is perfectly fine, physically, at any rate. Looking at my grandmother, Sophie’s expression clouds a bit. “Ma’am, this ring… it’s priceless, just the history alone. It doesn’t feel right to-”
The Lady Elspeth rarely smiles. A genteel tilt to one corner of her mouth, perhaps. When she’s pleased, she’ll show an expression of approval that, for her, is equivalent to a full-on grin. She bestows this look upon Sophie. “I think the ring looks rather lovely right where it is, dear. Enjoy your night.”
She could not have been kinder to Sophie. I’m sending flowers to Grandmother every week for the next year.
The ballroom stretches from one end of this massive wing of the house to the other, but it’s already filled with expensively dressed guests, and most of them are looking in this direction.
“May I have this dance?” I kiss Sophie’s left hand.
“It’s been a while since those ballroom dance lessons I took with Maisie,” she warns me. “And I was told by our instructor that Iwas, and I quote, ‘singularly uncoordinated.’ But if you’re willing to risk it…”
“You would not be the first woman to stomp on my feet,” I say, sliding my hand around the curve of her waist, leading her into a simple box step. “Catriona and I were forced to take our dance lessons together.”
A lance of pain bolts up my left thigh and I ignore it. Sophie’s hand is warm in mine, and my fingers spread across her lower back, enjoying the soft swell of her arse. The dancers around us blur as I spin her into another turn.
“Your grandmother gave you Queen Elizabeth’s ring for me?” Sophie’s shaking her head in disbelief.
I step past another couple close by, dancing with too much champagne and too little grace. “Ye dinnae think I’d make ye wear my signet ring forever, did ye?”
“I have carefully had no expectations whatsoever,” she says, looking me in the eye. “Even for your family, this is different.”
I pull her against me, enjoying her wee gasp. “Ye are an important member of this clan, you’ll be treated with respect.” She smiles up at me, her eyes luminous, a silver shade. “I am obligated to make sure you are kept safe, and-”
She’s rigid in my arms. “Obligated?”
“Aye,” I frown. “Because-”
Her soft fingers are against my lips, stopping the words. “Please don’t say any more words like obligation. Please, maybe we don’t need to talk at all.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ve all been so nice. Mala stepping in the way she did and handling Celia like a boss. Your grandmother letting mewear this ring…” My thigh slides between her legs, cutting off her little speech and making her suck in a breath.
“And we shouldn’t talk because?”
My wife’s hand slides to the back of my neck as she leans closer. I can smell her sweet scent again, like something delicious. Something I crave.
“Because this is a wonderful night. You’ve done something lovely for me and I want to enjoy it,” she says. “If you get started with words likeobligationandresponsibility, requirements of a MacTavishwife-”she lowers her voice to a manly growl, “it’s going to suck. It’s going to distance us. Let’s…” Her breath hitches. “Let’s pretend we’re normal, happy newlyweds. Just for tonight. Please?”
