“No, nothing.” No need to air my frailties any more than I have.
“I’m told that, traditionally, cheap chardonnay is the beverage of choice, but I thought we might toast to the success of yourevening with something a little more special,” he says, producing a bottle of champagne from behind his back.
“I knew there was a reason I married you,” I say, tamping back my delight and ignoringallthe suggestions and connotations. The way he’s looking at me, the bottle of vintage champagne that’s the same brand as we’d had on our wedding day. Out on the terrace.
“I hope there was more than one reason,” he says in that sultry tone of his.
“There might be one or two things that I’m quite fond of.”
“Only one or two?”
“People, enough with the sexy voices, please.”
“Did you say I have a sexy voice?”
“Eww. Just fuckingeww.”
“I’m going to say a few more if Raif doesn’t get the champagne open quickly.”
“Never let it be said I leave a lady waiting.”
“Urgh!” Prim casts her eyes to the ceiling. “Am I going to have to be drunk before I turn up to my first dinner invitation? If this is the way you are with an audience, I don’t even want to think about what poor Daisy puts up with.”
“I’ll keep it strictly PG,” Raif says, peeling the foil from the bottle.
“I’ll get glasses,” she says, making for the area we’ve set up for catering.
“Ready for your big night?” Raif asks, beginning to twist the bottle from the cork.
“You know it,” I say, laying my bravado as thick as teenage beauty influencer applies their foundation. I’m more anxious under my skin than I am above it. I sometimes wonder where I got into the habit of hiding this part of me.
No need to dwell, though. And I have no intention of sharing.
“Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?”
“I don’t believe you did.”
“Well, you do.” His gaze falls over me. “You’re so fucking sexy.”
“And capable.”
“Very capable.”
“Clever. And accomplished.”
“Also, very true. Not yet twenty-five and already the owner of a prestigious art gallery.”
“Don’t overdo it. I like my flattery to be believable.”
“Then believe this, you are so much more than I bargained for, Lavender Whittington-Deveraux.”
I smile. Really smile. “You are a sweet talker.” Stepping closer, I lay my hand on his cheek, the bristles tickling my palm.
“There is no end to my mouth’s capabilities.”
“Eww! Again!”
“Sorry, Primrose.” Though he doesn’t sound it.
