‘No! Not physically, anyway.’ I take another sip of wine. ‘He is trying to ruin me though.’
‘In what way?’ Nate’s fists clench on top of the starched white tablecloth.
‘I’d prefer not to elaborate, but he did something that cost me my family, probably my job and my self-respect.’ It’s the closest I can get to revealing the truth without embarrassing myself.
‘Well, from what you’ve told me, you already lost your family to their business when you were a kid. And your job, well, maybe it’s a sign that it’s time to follow your own passion and exhibit your work.’ His hot, firm hand reaches across the table to take mine. ‘And as for your self-respect, no one on this planet should be able to take that from you.’
‘My brother’s getting married on the twenty-third of December. I was so looking forward to seeing him and Clarissa tie the knot. They’re such a gorgeous couple, but after what happened…’
‘Did your brother un-invite you?’ Nate cocks his head.
‘No, Conor would never do that. He’s as upset about the situation as I am. I was told in no uncertain terms that my Uncle Richard would no longer be able to look me in the eye over his celeriac soup.’
‘Well, fuck Uncle Richard and his celeriac soup. Walk in and pour the damn thing all over his lap. Nothing, or no one, should have that level of control over you.’
‘I’m so ashamed.’ The wine is in danger of loosening my tongue.
Nate’s fingers trace over the back of my palm. ‘If you tell me, maybe I can help?’
‘No. I’ve said enough. What’s done is done. I just have to lie low and ride it out.’
A darkness haunts his eyes, but he forces his lips into a tight smile. ‘Well, that I can definitely help with.’
The waiter hovers, ready to take our plates away.
‘Do you have any Christmas pudding?’ we ask simultaneously. Nate’s tone is several degrees cooler than mine.
‘Sure do.’ The waiter scurries off in the direction of the kitchen with our dirty dishes.
‘So, what about you and Celeste?’ If my love life is up for discussion, so is his.
‘The papers made us out to be better matched than we were, and, at the time, it suited both of us. Celeste is ambitious. Every move she makes is considered, like a well-orchestrated game of chess. I was never in love with her.’
‘Have you ever been in love?’ A blush creeps up my cheeks. ‘Sorry, maybe that’s too personal.’
Nate shrugs. ‘It’s okay. I was in love once. Not since. It’s hard to find something real when everyone I know gets paid a hefty wage to act for a living. So many people have another agenda, like using my fame to propel their own career. It’s hard to distinguish the birds from the trees sometimes.’ His eyebrow, dark as ink, arches upwards. ‘Especially birds of prey. But truthfully, I haven’t been looking for love.’
‘Did you ever date non-celebs? Ones who don’t want to use you as a social climbing frame?’ I work hard to ensure my voice remains casual enough to come across as curious, instead of expectant.
Of course, I’m not stupid enough to think he’s going to date me properly. This is different. It’s just for December.
‘Only once. My first girlfriend. And it didn’t exactly end well. After that, I vowed never again.’
I read something about it in the papers a long time ago. ‘Oh.’
He turns my palm in his, tracing the lines in a thoughtful fashion. His mouth opens and closes again. Something’s definitely hovering on the tip of his tongue.
‘It must be tough not knowing who’s going to sell their story to the press for a quick buck. Knowing whose interest is genuine.’ I squeeze his hand back, revelling in the electricity surging through my fingertips.
‘Yeah, First World problems. Believe me, I know.’ He shakes his head. ‘That’s what’s great about this though. About us. Well, apart from the fact you’re amazing, I know you’re not going to do any embarrassing kiss-and-tells. And you’re not exploiting my connections. You’re not using me.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t say that exactly.’ I slip my foot from my stiletto and run it along the inside of his thigh to his crotch. He’s definitely sporting a semi.
‘That’s different.’ His mouth curls upwards.
The server returns with two steaming bowls of Christmas pudding, drowning in creamy, thick brandy custard.
‘Just to clarify,’ Nate’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, ‘if I’m staring at you eating your pudding, it’s not because I’m wondering how many calories you’re consuming. It’s because I’m wondering how many I’m going to get to work off.’
