Eavie gave Oliver an encouraging smile as he helped her out of the van, which made him suspect he looked as upset as he felt. They had arrived at a stone manor house, and Paige gestured them through an intricately carved gate and into a pretty courtyard surrounded by flower bushes. The wooden table in the centre held two bottles of champagne in ice buckets. The air washot and sticky, more suffocating than it had been since Oliver had arrived on the island, having seemingly grown even warmer during the ride.
‘Just give us a moment to check camera angles.’ Paige gestured to the two cameramen coming through the gate. ‘You can sit, we’ll get the establishing shots later. I think we should jump right into it.’ She glanced at Oliver.
He didn’t meet her eye, but he followed her directive. Eavie sat across from him and Imogen took the place next to her. Declan hesitated for a moment before pulling out the chair beside Oliver’s and slouching into it. He looked like he was steeling himself for a few hours of torture.
‘This is nice,’ Imogen commented. ‘Much prettier than the last date, don’t you think, Oliver?’
‘Er – yeah, very nice,’ he said. The longer he sat, the more on edge he felt; the sun was like a spotlight on him, as though he was about to perform but had no idea of the routine.
‘I guess they grouped the four of us together for optimal awkwardness,’ Eavie said, with a small smile.
Oliver started. ‘What do you mean?’
Imogen gave him a curious look. ‘I think she’s referring to our date.’ She turned to Eavie. ‘You don’t have anything to worry about, babes. I don’t fancy men who are clearly smitten with someone else.’
‘Oh. Right.’ Oliver ran a hand through his hair without looking at Declan.
Paige ended her consultation with the cameramen and walked over. ‘Everyone ready?’ She looked for confirmation from Declan, who had been staring at the table.
‘Yeah,’ he said, bringing his head up and giving her a bright smile, slipping effortlessly into his performance. ‘Ready.’
‘Rolling!’ Paige called, stepping out of frame again.
‘This is so gorgeous,’ Imogen said, her dreamy gaze wandering around the courtyard.
‘Very romantic,’ Eavie agreed, with a look to Oliver.
He nodded enthusiastically. ‘Great spot.’
Declan snorted softly by his side but said nothing.
Imogen reached forwards to open a bottle of champagne, pouring a glass for each of them. Oliver raised his in a wordless toast, taking a sip. ‘So, Eavie,’ he said, ‘dancing for Rambert. What’s it like?’
Imogen groaned. ‘Please, no career talk. If I say one more word about fashion, I’ll never sew again.’
Oliver blinked at her, losing his footing. ‘Did you have something else in mind?’
She rested her elbows on the table and looked around pensively, giving the impression of deep thought.
‘I’m scared,’ Declan quipped, and Oliver bit back a smile, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
‘How about this?’ Imogen said, giving each of them a deliberate look. ‘If you had to give up your current career, what would you do instead?’
‘That’s tricky,’ Eavie said. ‘I guess, practically, I would want to use my degree. But it’s in art history, so I don’t know if it would do me much good on the job market.’
Imogen pointed an accusatory finger at her. ‘No practical thinking allowed.’
Eavie laughed. ‘Okay, I suppose I’d want to be an archaeologist. It seems like a fascinating field.’
Imogen nodded, turning to Declan. ‘What about you?’
‘I’m Declan King,’ he said, giving a short laugh. ‘Can’t be anyone else.’
Oliver rolled his eyes.
‘I’d be a lion tamer, I think,’ Imogen announced. ‘I love a good top hat.’
‘Ooh,’ Eavie said, delighted. ‘I think you’d smash that.’
