Lance coughs as if to clear his throat.
“Yes, Lance?”
“In three weeks,” he answers, promptly.
“What?!” I ask, worried.
“Three weeks. I dare say it’s much longer than Lady Jemma had to arrange that of Your Grace.”
I’m panicking. “Don’t just look at me like that! Help me! What do you do in these situations?”
“You wish people a happy birthday?” Haz replies.
“Any other bullshit to propose?”
Harring shrugs. “I don’t get why you bother. Do what you always do on these occasions.”
“Which is?” I ask.
“Nothing!”
“Although Lady Jemma has not expressed any particular wishes for her birthday celebrations, I’m quite sure that she would appreciate some initiative,” Lance adds.
“Initiative? What can I do?” I ask again, in panic.
“Edible underwear,” suggests Harring as if he had found the formula for cold nuclear fusion.
“When I was dating that actress… what’s her name, the one that starred in thattvseries where everyone dies and she is always half naked… you understand, right?”
I look at him petrified. “No. I don’t.”
“It doesn’t matter. Edible underwear. I had found a spectacular pineapple and coconut flavoured thong, and then she poured rum all over herself…”
“Are you done?” I ask, to cut his crap.
“Yes,” Haz says, looking at the ceiling before adding: “What a night…”
“Jemma worked hard to arrange something original for me, and I should do the same, whether she expects it or not. I don’t know: a dinner, a box of chocolates, some flowers?”
“What a breath of novelty, Your Grace,” says Lance, keeping his composure.
“Keep your sarcasm to yourself, Lance.” I remark. “Sorry if I’m no expert in women’s birthdays.”
Haz shrugs. “Well, you dated many women…”
“Yes, but I’ve always avoided anything that could make them think that something serious was going on.”
“Such as?” Asks Harring.
“Such as those three rules that you know perfectly. The Bible! Never let them sleep at Denby Hall. Never invite them to lunch or dinner with my mother. And never ever celebrate our birthdays together!”
“Amen, brother,” answers Haz.
“Everyone knows that if you do those three things with a woman, she will automatically think you have a steady relationship, and will start daydreaming about marriage, children, and holidays in Dorset.”
“Can I stop you for a moment?” Asks Harring, interrupting my monologue. “A: Jemma sleeps here every night. B: Jemma has lived with your mother long enough to suffice for her entire life. C: Jemma is already your wife!”
“Yeah!” I yell. “And do you know what I hate the most about all this?”
