“I do.” For a split second, I toyed with asking him to ask his father about getting that superinjunction Sunny told us about. Then at least the press would be off our backs and I could breathe a little easier. But it would have meant a fight, and that would have ruined an amazing day. Instead, I slipped my hand under the pillow and pulled out the filthy note Petey had left in my father’s desk drawer. “I thought we could start here.”
Petey smiled, his fingers reaching up to curl around the piece of paper. “You want tostartthere? We’re growing in confidence, aren’t we?” His legs wound around my back, and I grabbed his waist, pulling him tight against me. “How about we build up to it,” he said, his mouth hot against mine.
“Could do,” I said, the fabric of my boxers sliding against his hardness. I wormed my hand inside the elastic of his briefs and tugged them down. “But a promise is a promise. We keep our word in this house.”
Petey’s laugh turned into a gasp as I kissed my way down his body—and then we didn’t need any more words at all. But even as I wrapped myself around him, held him, filled him, loved him, the spectre was there.
Chapter 45
Petey
Adrone shot of Jonty and Lola kissing on the steps of Buckford Hall slowly pulled back to reveal the house in all its twinkling nighttime glory. Music swirled around our winners, then the screen cut to black and the credits rolled. Haruto and Thandiwe erupted into whoops of applause.
“That’s it, we’re done,” Thandiwe cheered, dragging me out of my chair so we could dance in the middle of the Old Coach House. I spun her around under my arm. She was really going for it. I couldn’t keep up. She frowned.
“I thought you were gay, why you dancing so white?”
“I’m sorry, I’m tall. I dance like a giraffe on ice.”
A champagne cork popped. Haruto had found a bottle in the fridge.
“Since when did we have champagne?”
He bounced his shoulders. “It had a note on it from your boyfriend.”
I dashed over, plucked the envelope from the tangle of wire and foil, and ripped it open.
Congratulations on the last day of your edit! That overpowering smell is impending BAFTA glory! (Actually, it’sprobably horse shit. But underneath that, I definitely detect strong undertones of BAFTA.) So proud of you. WW xxxxxxx.
God, he was so thoughtful. My lip quivered. Haruto shoved a glass of bubbles into my hand, and Thandiwe switched to a party playlist. The landline rang. Haruto answered it. I couldn’t believe we had finished. In a week, Indira would watch our edit. Looking at what we had created, I knew we had a hit on our hands. She was going to love it. At least I hoped so—because I was now officially unemployed.
“Derek wants his duck back,” Haruto said, rousing me from my thoughts. “Asked to come up tomorrow. I said that was fine.”
I looked at him.
“Tomorrow?”
“Is that OK?”
Tomorrow was the summer solstice. The stone circle would be mobbed with revellers, the drive would be full of my father’s Jaguar car club, and two hundred battle re-enactors would be pretending to belt the shit out of one another on Home Field. The estate couldn’t be busier if we turned it into an IKEA and offered free pony rides to the kids in the crèche.
“Sure,” I said. What was one more person to add to the chaos?
William marched past the window without stopping to wave or touch me up. Something had to be wrong. I stuck my head out the door and caught him just before he disappeared into the stables.
“You OK?”
He turned to look at me. “I need to get out of the house. I’m going for a ride.” His voice was tight, and it worried me.
“Has something happened?” I walked towards him. “Has Gran said something, because she can be a bit of a menace?—”
“Your gran’s fine. Last I saw her she was playing Hungry Hungry Hippos at the Dower House with Mum.”
I reached for his hand. “Then what’s up? You’re scaring me.”
“Wetherby’s Auction House has set the date for the art sale. It’s going to be held here, in the Great Hall, on the twenty-first of September.”
My shoulders relaxed.
