You look nice, Emma.
You are stunning.
I hate what you’re doing to me.
Emma was staring at him now, her eyebrow raised as if she was waiting for him to say something too.Shit.
He opened his mouth, not even sure what was about to come out, when a booming voice interrupted him.
“Ah, look at these beautiful people!” Montgomery appeared between Emma and Nadine, throwing his arms around each of them. “Everyone having a good time?”
He already looked drunk, his shirt unbuttoned down to his navel and pieces of glitter in his hair. A cliché of a cliché.
“It’s amazing,” Nadine gushed. “I am seriously going to drink all of your champagne.”
“You better. I’ll be disappointed if there’s any still here tomorrow morning,” he replied, leaning toward her as if they had some sort of secret. Then he turned to Davina. “I don’t think we’ve met.”
Knightley tried not to grimace and thought he got away with it, but then he caught Emma’s gaze. She was watching him, a look of amusement in her eyes. Almost as if she knew just what he was thinking, as if she felt the same way. Odd.
He cleared his throat and nodded to Montgomery. “Montgomery, this is Davina Sundar. She’s a colleague. Davina, this is Montgomery Knox.”
Davina’s eyes lit up. “Oh, so this is your house?”
“For a bit.” He grinned, looking between her and Nadine. “Would you ladies like a tour?”
Nadine clapped her hands. “Yes please!”
“I would love that. I mean, if that’s all right,” Davina replied before looking to Knightley as if she needed his permission. As if he would care one way or another.
“Of course,” he said, forcing a smile onto his face to mask his indifference.
Montgomery gave her a mock-bow and then offered his arms to both women. “Let’s start in the living room. I have an original Max Betrug, you know.”
The three of them disappeared into the crowd and the awful, ugly silence descended again. It had never been like this. Ever. What had once been so natural and easy was now hard. It felt like a living thing was taking up real estate between them, making it hard to breathe.
“Hello, Knightley,” she finally said, bringing her eyes up to meet his.
“Hello, Woodhouse,” he replied, turning toward the bar as he said it. He didn’t want to have to look at her. He couldn’t. She looked too fucking beautiful tonight, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright. So instead, he waved to the bartender and pointed to a bottle of scotch.
“Fashionably late, I see,” she mused.
He watched the bartender pour his drink, tempted to just grab the bottle, but he waited until the glass was offered before taking it and turning to her again. “I didn’t know I could be late to something that didn’t have an exact start time.”
“And yet, with less than an hour before midnight, you still managed it.”
“I have a reputation to uphold,” he said, raising his glass in mock-deference. “And I didn’t want to interrupt your date.”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s not a date.”
“No? I could have sworn that’s what you called it the other day.” He took a sip of his drink. It burned as it slid down his throat.
“I’m surprised you were even listening,” she replied, raising an eyebrow at him.
“Only barely.”
“So, par for the course, then,” she said. Her tone was nonchalant but somehow still earnest, like she was trying to steer them to familiar territory, their good-natured volleys of barbs and jokes. But neither of them knew how to get back there, and in the meantime, they had to settle for this cheap imitation, one marred by sharp edges and brittle foundations.
He took another sip of his drink.
