“Of course, my lord.”
Mum drifted in, resting her hands on my shoulders and kissing me on the head.
“Morning, darling!”
Cue the sound of teeth sucking.
“Your aura is different today. You seemhappy.”
She knew. Of course she did. How did she always know? She twisted around me to see my face, lifting my chin towards her.
“Oh!” she said. “Oh, William, I’m thrilled for you.”
“Mum, please don’t.”
“I told you the great goddess was sending you a blessing. Was it passionate?”
“Please don’t ask that.”
She ran her fingers through my hair. “When your father and I used to make love?—”
“Dear God, stop, you horrendous woman.”
“Very well.” Mum shrugged. “Ooh, coffee.”
She sat down beside me and poured herself a cup. I considered warning her it was strong enough to give her generalised muscle spasms and respiratory failure, but Mother was an old hippie. There wasn’t a naturally occurring drug her body hadn’t metabolised in industrial quantities. She reached for a grapefruit.
“And where is your lover this morning, darling?”
In fact, I’d left Petey sleeping soundly while I went in search of sustenance. It turns out making love all night really burns up the calories. By seven o’clock I was so ravenous I considered boiling my own eggs, before coming to my senses and waking Bramley. I showered, got dressed, and left Petey a note in the secret drawer of my father’s old desk:I love you, I love you, I love you. I am yours, forever. WW. xxxxxxx.
“If you mean me, I’m right here,” Petey said, his voice coming from the doorway. His hand rested on my shoulder, sending electricity sparking through my body. He pecked my cheek. Well, I wasn’t having that. My lips were on his in half a second—my hand in his hair, pulling his mouth down onto mine. It was only Mother wistfully sighing that reminded me to choose decorum. When I finally released his face, Petey didn’t look as thrilled as I’d hoped.
“It looks like Gary Ashworth got his front page after all.”
Dread washed through me, my mood crashing to earth. Petey held his phone, screen shining. Why couldn’t the bloody papers leave me alone?
“What does it say?”
“They’re very excited about having ‘exclusive pictures of the social media sensation everyone is talking about.’”
“Exclusive pictures?”
“They must have had a photographer there yesterday too.”
The telephone rang, and Bramley made the sucking sound again before answering it.
“If that’s the press, tell them to sod off,” I said.
Petey Boy dropped into a chair and rattled off a few key phrases fromThe Bulletin’s article: “KNIGHT AND GAY!” “SUITOR OF ARMOUR,” “Bisexual Baron Buckford’s romantic love declaration,” “happy couple in battle to save historic family home.”
Bramley cleared his throat, phone receiver buried in his apron. “It’s Mr Armando Conti, my lord.”
“Who?”
Petey frowned. “Last seen duelling Jonty on the Great Lawn.”
“Ah.”
