“He’s my cousin,” Aspen supplied as she released Elizabeth’s hand and turned to Eve’s father. “How do you do, sir?”
“Killian, please,” Eve’s father insisted, though he did puff up just a bit at the honorific.
Like a dog with a bone, Elizabeth pursued what, to her, was the more salient point as she asked, “So is that how you two met?”
“It is,” Aspen confirmed. And, though she knew the tale Aspen was about to spin was a lie, the butterflies that erupted in her stomach when Aspen turned to smile at her were very much real. “We met at his birthday party earlier this year.” She leaned into Eve’s side and gave her hand a light squeeze. “I fell for her immediately. Figuratively and, as it turned out, literally, as I was walking down the stairs when I saw her.” She pulled a chagrined but entirely endearing face. “It was like something out of a movie, honestly. The rest of the party just disappeared and then I completely missed the next stair, tumbled the rest of the way down, and absolutely flattened her.”
God, the way Aspen said it, Eve almost believed it’d happened herself. She licked her lips as she chimed in with the rest of their fabricated tale. “Those bruises tookweeksto heal.”
“My ego took longer,” Aspen grumbled.
“I’ll bet,” Killian chortled. “So, Aspen, what is it you do?”
“I’m a pilot.”
“Commercial?”
“No. Helicopter charters.”
“Oh? Interesting. Where did you learn to fly?”
“The Air Force Academy, sir.”
That got both of Eve’s parents’ attention. They might not like that Aspen was a woman, but her having attended one of the service academies was political capital they could glean some benefit from.
Eve hated that she understood exactly what they were thinking—and that there was a part of her that was secretly glad for that particular ace-in-the-hole, as it had the potential to soften the negative reaction she’d face once they caught her alone.
“You don’t say?” Killian drawled.
Aspen smirked. “I do, sir.”
Killian grinned. “Oh, I like you.”
“Thank you, sir,” Aspen replied.
Eve bit back her smile when Aspen didn’t offer a return sentiment in kind, but her parents were too enamored with this new bit of information to notice.
Richard appeared then, hovering silently in the doorway in that politely officious way of his. “Dinner is ready,” he announced as he half-turned toward the nearby dining room.
“Ah, excellent,” Killian declared as he gestured for the rest of them to go ahead of him.
“What are we having?” Eve asked.
“Rack of lamb,” Elizabeth answered over her shoulder as she led the group toward the dining room.
Eve pulled a face. She hated lamb. It was, however, her father’s favorite, and her opinion had never mattered.
Aspen, of course, didn’t miss her flash of disgust, and leaned in close to whisper against her ear, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she muttered. “I just don’t like lamb. They know this, but my father…”
Aspen hissed something under her breath that, even at this distance, Eve couldn’t quite catch. Her hand tightened aroundEve’s as they entered the dining room, and she smiled politely at Irma, who was entering the room from the other end with their salads for the first course. “Thank you.”
Unused to being thanked, let alone at the beginning of the meal, Irma blinked at Aspen. “Of course, Miss.”
Aspen pulled a perfectly contrite expression as she continued, “I’m very sorry, but could I maybe get a little more salad? I’m sure you’ve prepared the lamb masterfully, but I’m allergic.”
Even though Eve was pretty sure all of this was because she’d said that she didn’t like lamb, Aspen sounded so genuinely apologetic that she wondered if it was the truth.
