Her eyes light up. She looks so pleased. Happy, even. It makes me feel like a total bitch.
“Will you send me a copy?” she asks tentatively.
“Of course.” Once everyone has viewed the happy moment, he slides away his phone.
“This is so delicious,” Mum says, putting her wine glass down. “If you don’t mind me asking, where did you pick this one up?” She touches the wine carafe the bottle has been decanted into.Bougie, remember?
“From a vineyard in Tuscany last year. I have a couple of cases in the cellar. Let me send them to you.”
“Oh no! I couldn’t possibly—”
“I insist. It’s the least I could do after such a warm welcome.”
“No, not at all!”
“Let him, Mum. I expect it must be a novel experience for Raif not getting what he wants.” All eyes turn to Brin at his peculiar tone. His gaze, bright and malicious, remains glued to the stranger at the table. “But it happens occasionally, doesn’t it, mate?”
16
RAIF
“What wasBrin banging on about earlier?”
“When?” I feign confusion, willing the family to return to the table. The newlywed lovebirds weren’t allowed to help clear the mains or bring in dessert, though I do wonder if Polly’s reasoning had more to do with Lavender’s surly mood. Not that she was the only one churlish through lunch because Brin Whittington needs to get his act together.
“Earlier, he said you always get what you want. How does he know that?”
“How doyouknow that?” I ask, turning to her with a smirk.
“Dream on,” she mutters. But she doesn’t let up. “Why did he say that?”
“That wasn’t what he said,” I murmur, twitching back my sleeve to glance down at my watch.
“Got somewhere you need to be?”
I make a noncommittal noise as she rakes her fingertips up the back of my head.God.The sensation makes me want to purr, maybe place my head on her shoulder and curl into her.
As it happens, I do have somewhere I should be, but another hour won’t make much difference. I’d called ahead and explained I’d be home later than expected, and she was, thankfully, not too disappointed.Angel that she is.
Flit!
“Watch it,” I warn in response to Lavender flicking my hair, narrowly missing my ear. Which I guess was her point.
“Just making sure your ears still work.”
“Do that again, and I’ll drag you over my knee to see if your tonsils work.”
“Ha.” The sound is pure derision.
“Don’t think I won’t.”
“Don’t think I won’t stab you in your sleep,” she murmurs, continuing to sift her fingers through my hair. It’s as though she’s discovered for herself what it does to me. “I can cut it for you if you want.”
“Thank you, but I have a stylist appointment next week.” I pause before adding, “And I don’t have a death wish.”
She grins like I knew she would. I almost join her.
“Tod goes to a barber.”
