“Only thethirdis accurate and your preferred name is arsehole,” I growl, taking her hand and tugging her away. “Come on. There’s people to meet.”
“Doesn’t Patrick count as people?”
I pause us in front of a display cabinet to take another selfie, not yet posting. As always, I’ll need to scour the images before uploading them, ensuring no details relevant to the family business are in sight. “He’s family, and he’s further down the line of succession than me, so no. The only family you need to concern yourself with are my parents and you’ve already met the more important half of them.”
Patrick sends her an amused glance as I whirl her away so fast that if she didn’t follow, she’d fall, tugged off her feet by my firm grip.
“You said someone would drive me home, afterward,” she says when we draw to a stop.
Despite my intentions to introduce her, I realise there’s no one in this room I care enough about to do that. At least not before I get another scotch into me. “Yeah. You’re not leaving for a while yet.”
“No, I didn’t… I just…”
George bites the inside of her cheek, dimpling it in until itcould serve as the illustration for uncertainty. “When you said about how you evaluated…”
I wait for her to finish but the sentence just hangs there as she runs out of steam. As I watch, the tips of her ears turn bright red and I want to flip open her head to see what she’s thinking.
Maybe I can tell. Her eyes flick up to meet mine, then get wrenched away. Then again. Again. All the while her colour deepens, showcasing the dark pink against the shining green of her dress.
Beautiful. She’s not just fuckable, she’s beautiful.
Either that or my new set of beer goggles have arrived. Wine and whiskey goggles to be more accurate.
“You’ll get home in time for school. That was our agreement, yeah? Don’t worry.” I signal to a passing waiter for a refill, who in turn gestures towards a bartender in the corner. “What d’you want to drink?”
“Nothing if I’m driving again later.”
“They know how to mix non-alcoholic beverages, too. Just ask them for a virgin, whatever.”
A new flash of colour hits her cheekbones and I chuckle, wondering if the label applies to her as well.
“Does everyone in your family drink this much?” she asks, a question that might have sounded innocent in her head but leaves her mouth dressed as the Spanish inquisition.
If I took my lead from other people, I might even interpret it as a signal to slow down.
“Could you get my date an orange juice?” I ask the waiter in a saccharine tone. “Or… would you like to splash out and have water?”
“Water, please,” she tells the man. “With bubbles if you have it.”
“Good lord. You think we’re rich enough to have fizzy water?”
“Lock!”
I jump at the excited squeal and spin us both to face my mother. Her crimson dress is far too formfitting for the occasion—no surprises there—and her sun-kissed brown hair is tied back in a ridiculously complicated style that must have cost her hours in a hairdresser’s chair.
“No need to act surprised, mother. Who else were you expecting?”
She comes in for a hug and I hold up my phone to ward her off, taking another set of selfies, this time on burst mode. While my mother clears her throat and pretends I didn’t just reject her, I scroll through the half-dozen results. George looks up at me adoringly in the last two. They’ll be perfect to annoy Kari.
Strange too, because when I glance at my date now, her expression is accusatory, not a trace of adoration to be seen. It’s only when I put my phone away that she softens.
Mum ignores my behaviour as usual, nodding excitedly at George. “Nice to meet you, darling. Lockie never brings any of his friends home.”
“She’s not afriend.She’s my date.”
“But surely you were friends first. And you must know Kari, too. Yes?”
I snigger into my almost-empty tumbler. “Real subtle, Mum.”
