“You have to remember,” Mum tells her, “we know how it feels to be out of your comfort zone. It is tough. But you’re a member of the family now. You’re one of us, and we’ll take care of you.”
Wren smiles, then drops her gaze to her food and eats quietly. I watch her, concerned. What’s bothering her? The thought of being in our world? Or is she still telling herself this is a marriage of convenience, and it’s making her feel bad to think she’s lying to my parents?
She’s quiet for the rest of the meal, and although we stay for a little while afterward, she doesn’t say much. Eventually I state, “Well, we’d better get going,” and we rise and say our goodbyes. I promise Dad that I’ll call him to organize the party on New Year’s Eve, and, while Aurelia tells Wren she’ll be in touch to discuss outfits, I give Mum a kiss.
“She’s lovely, Mars,” Mum says softly, so Wren can’t hear. “I haven’t seen you like this before. I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to see someone so in love with my baby boy.”
Her words make my heart jolt in my chest, but I just roll my eyes and chuckle. I wait for Mum to give Wren a kiss on the cheek, and then I take Wren’s hand and lead her out to the car.
We get in, I start the engine, and set off back to Birkenhead.
She’s very quiet on the way back. She answers my questions about the house and the lunch, but otherwise she just looks out of the window, or studies the ring on her left hand.
I leave her to her thoughts, caught up in my own musings. Mum’s words linger in my brain and refuse to depart. She’s only seeing what she wants to see, obviously. Wren’s not in love with me. She’s made that quite clear. But mothers often see things that other people don’t, and the thought that Wren might have stronger feelings for me than I realize—maybe even than she realizes—makes my heart race.
Eventually, I pull up outside her house. Leaving the engine running, I turn to her and say, “I’ll organize everything for the party. We’ll make it seven o’clock. I’d like you to invite whoever you want. Your mum, Clare, your friends and colleagues.”
She studies me silently, with wide eyes.
I sigh. “Come on. Out with it.”
She swallows hard. “It was just what your mum said, about being a member of the family. Suddenly I felt awful.”
“Why? We’re getting married. You will be one of the family.”
“Yes, but she thinks it’s a love match. While we were out in the garden, she said how pleased she was that you’ve found someone normal, and how she can’t wait for the wedding. She was so excited, Mars. And she’s been ill, and I just felt like a heel. Don’t you feel bad too? For pulling the wool over her eyes?”
“Do you think I’d be doing this if I thought I was going to cause her any distress? If I thought that, after you got pregnant, I was going to have to tell her we were breaking up?”
She frowns.
I dip my head to try to catch her gaze, but she looks down stubbornly. “Sweetheart, I know I can’t make you love me. I know you won’t take my promises on faith. I understand that. You need evidence, and I damn well intend to provide it. I’m not just going to get you pregnant.”
Her eyes snap up to mine, and her breath hitches.
“I’m going to prove to you that I’m serious about making this work,” I continue firmly, meaning every word.
I’m not going to let my mother down.
And I’m definitely not going to let Wren down. I have every intention of proving to both of them how I feel about her.
I just need a little time.
Chapter Ten
Wren
“Oh my God.” My mother is literally shaking in her shoes beside me as the minibus pulls up outside the vineyard. “I have no idea what I’m doing here. What if they all hate me?” As she always does when she’s nervous, she pulls her hair forward to hide the scar on the left side of her face.
“Oh stop it,” Clare scolds her. “They’re only people. Wren told you they were farmers before they got their money. Just imagine them with Wellies on and straws in their mouths.”
Privately, I can’t picture Edward Ashford or his sons dressed as Old MacDonald, but I’m too nervous to laugh. For once, I agree with my mother. I have no idea what we’re doing here, either. Clare held her engagement party at the local bar and bought everyone fish and chips. We buy our wine from the supermarket and struggle to tell the difference between a Sauvignon and a Pinot Gris, let alone which vineyard they’re from. I’m worried we’re going to make fools of ourselves and embarrass Marcus.
I can see him already, walking toward us with Caesar and his parents beside him. Both brothers look gorgeous, confident, and wealthy, even though they’re in jackets and trousers rather than suits.
“Which one is he?” Mum asks breathlessly.
“The one on the right.”
