OLIVIA
‘How are you this morning?’
Yesterday had begun so well, so full of promise, but then had rapidly gone nowhere. Bad enough that Beckett saw fit to post our personal business on my Instagram account and then tell me he thought he was doing me a favour, but he’d also decided to invite my gran to spend the following day with us.
Hmph. My mistake. She’s spending the day with me because he “has business to attend to”.
‘I’ve been better,’ I eventually answer from my position on the sofa, hotel magazine in hand.
It’s not that I don’t love my gran because I absolutely do. She is the most awesome person on the planet. But what I’m not looking forward to is having to lie to her. And her calling me out on it. The woman has an uncanny knack for sniffing out the truth. She says it’s a mother’s instinct, but my own mom never noticed half as much. And getting married for money isn’t quite the same as being caught eating candy before dinnertime.
‘You’re not still pouting, are you?’ My shoulders stiffen at his tone, but I bite back my retort. ‘I already explained I arranged it because I thought you’d like to see her.’
‘How about we make a deal,’ I say, turning to him as I imagine knocking off his head. You know, just because I might decide he’d like it. ‘How about you stop doing things you think I’ll like and ask me what I’d like instead?’
‘There’s no point talking to you when you’re pouting.’
‘I’m not pouting. I’m pissed off!’ My response earns me a glower.
‘You know, Olivia, you really should try to see things on the bright side. We’ll return to London, and everyone will already know. The gossip will be over, and by the time you go into your office following the weekend, there will be barely a ripple of scandal.’
‘Shows what you know.’ Mir and Heather will have conniptions the minute I walk through the door. ‘We need to come up with a story,’ I say, swinging my legs down.
‘I don’t follow.’
‘People will ask how we met, how we fell in love. And what possessed us to get married within a few days of meeting.’
‘I should imagine people will infer because we fell in love. As for the rest, who’s going to ask?’
‘My friends!’ I jump up from the sofa, throwing the magazine down. ‘The people I work with. My gran! Don’t you understand that? She’s going to walk in here and know there’s no way I married you in a whirlwind of love! Her bullshit meter is like nothing else. She’s ninety-two, Beckett. She’s been around a long fucking time. And she’s not even a little bit senile.’
‘You’re worried I won’t be able to convince a senior citizen of my devotion to you?’
‘She won’t be watching you. She’ll be watching me.’
‘And you can’t pretend to be enamoured for a few hours?’
‘I don’t even like you at the best of times.’ I throw my hands up in frustration. ‘And it gets worse when you open your mouth.’
‘That’s not what you said on our wedding night,’ he replies archly. ‘And the best of times would be when? When I’m—’
‘Stop. Whatever it is you’re going to say, think very carefully before you do.’
The man should only be permitted to use his mouth to get me off.
‘Oh, I am thinking very carefully. Very, very carefully. Especially after what happened at breakfast yesterday.’
‘Nothinghappened at breakfast.’
‘That’s exactly my point. Nothing happened in the afternoon or the evening, either.’
‘I told you I had jet lag,’ I offer half-heartedly, which I’m not exactly sure is true.
After Beckett left yesterday morning for whatever dark overlording he’d had on his planner, I went sightseeing. Foregoing the use of the Bentley and the driver, which apparently is one of the perks of staying in this suite. It might’ve been nice if Beckett had explained this before the butler (the butler; just crazy talk) was forced to explain how it worked. Anyway, I went walking, avoiding the usual tourist spots, and ended up in the West Village. I found a café, Merriweather’s. If you need a recommendation withthebest coffee, this place was light and bright and the ambience welcoming, so I’d pulled out my laptop and did a little work. By the time I got back to the hotel, I was beat. And asleep before Beckett resurfaced from whatever he’d been up to.
So no sexy times. No extra consummation. And yes, this was also in part because of the bad mood I was in following his self-appointment to the head of my personal social media.
‘We could do something about it,’ he suggests, stepping closer. Though stepping isn’t the right description for the way he moves across the room. This morning, he’s all about the swagger. ‘Make up for lost opportunities.’
