And off we trot behind him, my hand in Beckett’s as we draw curious looks.
‘What was that all about?’ I whisper as Jones leads the way.
‘What was what?’ I send him and his blank expression an eloquent glance. A glance that I hope conveysdon’t fuck me about.
‘I get the strange feeling that you and the lady of the house have boned.’ I feel more than see his chuckle. But I’m not laughing. Inside, I’m burning.
‘Your impression couldn’t be more wrong.’
‘Then maybe I’m picking up on the fact that she’d like to. Bone you.’ Which makes me think I’d happily poke out her eyes before setting fire to her perfect hair.
‘Jealous, darling?’
Am I? I shouldn’t feel jealous. This is all pretend. If only these twisty feelings weren’t real.
‘You wish,’ I answer eventually. And the face I pull? It can’t be attractive.
‘Thank you for the clarification, I think, but I wouldn’t fuck her with her husband’s dick, let alone my own.’
‘I’m sensing a story.’
‘It’s not a very interesting one.’
‘You’re sure?’ By this point, I’m teasing. Or trying desperately to hide the fact that I’m actually jealous. Jealous of my former friend’s mother’s almost proprietorial nature toward my husband. Mytemporaryhusband. ‘I feel like I’m stuck in a ninety’s song; Luke’s mom has got it going on.’
‘It’s probably the house,’ he whispers back. ‘It’s a little dated. And I’m certain that Basquait is a fake.’
‘Bas what?’
‘The artwork we just passed. Jones has enough money to buy the original. Why settle?’ His gaze sweeps over me in a way that makes me feel like treasure. Oh, God. Any more of this public loving and I’ll be forced to drag him out to the bushes for another kind.
‘And what was with the women Luke’s mom was hanging with? Any more plastic surgery and they’d all have had beards.’
Beckett almost chokes on his laughter.
Drinks are found, inane chats are had, and I’m introduced to a dozen people, each introduction going smoother than the last, thanks to my wave of wine-aided bravery. All the while, Beckett never leaves my side. I almost wish I could catalogue the litany of looks and small touches he sends my way as he weaves our tale for the masses.
‘I met Olivia outside of the office. She tripped and literally fell into my arms.’
Cue the adoring looks from the womenfolk, accompanied by longing sighs.
Pretend. It’s just pretend. Don’t get sucked into the tales he’s spinning.
‘We met again on a flight to New York where I persuaded a member of the cabin crew to get her the seat next to mine. Eight hours in her company was all it took for us to fall in love, wasn’t it, darling?’
Cue my own adoring look and a love-struck whispered agreement.
‘We were so certain this was meant to be, we applied immediately for our marriage license. I wasn’t letting her get away.’
For the next six months, at least.
‘Without even having sex?’ I overhear the comment on the way to the bathroom. ‘I couldn’t do it—not without a free sample of the goods.’
‘Ah, so that’s what you get up to on the weekends,’ cackles one of city boy’s friends.Someone from JBW rather than an investor, I’d guess.
‘I mean, what if she was rubbish in the sack?’
‘You’re so shallow,’ one of the girls in the group hisses back. ‘Have you seen the way he’s looking at her? That’s love.’
