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The wait staff hovered, hastily collecting empty dishes before the arrival of the dessert, or pudding course as it was labeled on the menus. Alex’s plates were spirited away virtually untouched, her involvement in the meal stretching to a few seasoned spring potatoes. She thought about sneaking off to the loo to gobble her last package of Twizzlers stashed in her clutch, but spotted Harry strolling around her table, asking his guests how they enjoyed the meal.

“Olivia outdid herself again.” Rosamund’s diamond earrings glittered and swung with each compliment. “Such succulent scallops. Just excellent.”

“Alex, did you enjoy it?” Harry smiled.

Caprice jumped in before Alex could speak. “She ate bread and potatoes. Someone’s carb loading. What’s next, Alex? A pre-Bespoke pit stop at the golden arches.” She slurped her fourth champagne and giggled.

Alex scowled at her. “It was either that or go hungry. Or to the ER.” She turned to Harry. “My seafood allergy… remember?”

“Oh bugger, right. Sorry, I completely forgot. The menu was Olivia’s baby; I had no control over it. By all means, fill up on pudding. Don’t leave here hungry.”

“You can have mine,” Caprice butted in. “It’s not a good look, eating pudding.”

Harry ignored her and kneeled down. “Are you feeling okay? I was worried about you last night. You weren’t yourself.” He leaned in, speaking behind his hand. “Panic attack?”

Why was Harry showing discretion now? He had already blabbed her anxiety secret to Olivia…why not the rest of the world? His disloyalty stung.

“It was all a bit much.” She nodded. “The curse of the unexpected.”

“I should’ve told you Isabella was invited, given you time to get used to the idea, so you weren’t overwhelmed. I’m really sorry.” Harry stood up, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Alex wanted to tell him the truth—that Isabella’s appearance wasn’t to blame—but one glance in Olivia’s direction put paid to that fleeting notion. Harry’s girlfriend stared at her, like she could read lips from across the room.

“Look, don’t worry about it.” Alex’s eyes dove to her lap so they didn’t betray what she really wanted to say.

“I should head back. Olivia’s in a foul mood.”

Alex squinted. “Oh yeah?”

“One of the waiters, the Irish bloke. He’s wound her up something awful. First of all, her wine was warm. Then her meal was cold, so she sent it back. She says he’s getting everything arse-backwards. I hate seeing her irritated. She’s worked hard putting all of this together. If he thinks he’s getting a tip, he’s got another bloody thing coming.”

Alex’s mouth fell open. The only jobs she’d ever held were service positions—in bookshops, theatres, department stores, and now in the café. Not easy work by any means. She guessed Harry had never served a demanding customer in his life.

He looked back at his table. “But enough about some silly waiter. Enjoy your pudding. And save me a dance at Bespoke, okay?”

A false grin flashed across her face. It didn’t register with Harry. He hurried back to his seat, squeezing Olivia’s right shoulder before sitting down. She cuddled into the crook of his neck.

Alex rubbed her brow. Harry’s comments reminded her of that old saying—something about gauging people’s character by the way they treated waiters. Wow. Was Harry always condescending to people serving him? How did she miss it before? She slouched in her chair as the waitress wheeled out the pudding trolley with a choice of Kir Royale sorbet, William Pear Tarte or a chocolate and clementine bomb. Alex half-heartedly chose chocolate. She’d eat around the hideous orange wedges.

Harry’s words clouded her thoughts—’He’s wound her up something awful.’ She hadn’t known Mark long—but he was warm and friendly, if nothing else. Surely the problem lay with Olivia and not Mark’s serving skills…

She sipped her water, her eyes glued to the far side of the room. Mark reappeared through a doorway, expertly presenting pudding with a smile for each guest. He didn’t give off any vibes of impertinence or incompetence.

Next, Olivia’s turn. Mark approached her left side, his arm steady and the plate’s delivery smooth. But as his hand withdrew, a splash of wine flew into the air, sloshing Olivia’s chest. She shrieked and jolted out of her chair like she had been zapped with a taser.

“You IDIOT!” Olivia raised her arms to shoulder height and shook them with a dramatic flourish like an injured bird trying to take flight. “You did that on purpose. You’ve ruined my Matthew Williamson!”

The empty crystal glass shimmered in the light as it rolled across the sopping tablecloth before it disappeared towards the floor, shattering into countless slivers.

Alex gagged on her water. What the…

An uneasy buzz swept across the room like storm clouds rolling in over a once tranquil lake. Harry shot up, shoving his chair backwards, the surge hurling it onto its side where it landed with a wooden crack.

“I’m sorry, Miss.” Mark’s eyes widened. “I thought I stayed clear of your glass…let me get you some towels…”

“Okay, fella. That’s enough.” Harry threw his napkin onto the table and clasped Mark at the shoulder, guiding him forcefully through the private dining room’s door and into the public section of the restaurant. The heavy wood door slammed, concealing any further interaction between the two.

Guests exchanged accusatory whispers and indignant looks. Alex sprang up onto her toes for a better vantage point. Olivia’s mother rushed to her daughter’s aid.