Page 19 of Love and Loathing

“If you’re going to pretend to be my girlfriend, then at least act like someone I might actually date, not a whispering, clingy schoolgirl.”

“Right,” Evie said, heat flushing her face. “How do they normally act, then? Aloof and distant, stroking their Dalmatian-fur coats? Or perhaps I should leave you for a billionaire. Go drape myself over Domnall. That seems to be your type.”

Aubrey let out a sharp breath. “That’s a low blow, Evie. Fucking hell. Have some decency.”

“You called me a schoolgirl!”

“And the fact you think that’s equivalent exactly proves my point!”

She struggled for a moment to remember what her own point had been, ashamed but too angry to admit it. Their eyes stayed locked, both of them breathing hard. His were bright with fury; she hoped that’s how hers looked rather than the betraying sheen of tears.Schoolgirl.Fuck.

“I’m twenty-four,” she said stiffly.

“Then try acting like it.”

You try acting like it,was the only ridiculous reply that came into her clattering mind. She turned away, taking a breath, trying to claw her way back to the moral high ground. Aubrey got there first.

“Look,” he said more calmly. “Let’s just get through this meal. You can leave in the morning and we’ll both be free of this ridiculous charade. OK?”

She nodded, lying, desperately wishing she wasn’t. But without knowing Aubrey’s password, to get access to his laptop she’d need to get to it while he was working on it and it was already unlocked. And that meant being in his room when he popped out or was called away by whatever distraction she could arrange. It was unlikely to happen tonight. It was unlikely to happen at all if they weren’t on much friendlier terms.

“Yes,” she said, forcing a smile. “You’re right. Let’s go before they send out a search party.”

Evie sat fiddling with her bread roll, breaking it into crumbs on her plate.

“Not hungry?” asked Aubrey in a low voice from where he sat on her right, noting the tortured roll, the untouched soup.

She dropped the roll with a guilty start. Playing with one’s food was probably something his real girlfriends would never do.

“Ham and meat stock in the soup,” she explained. “And the bun is brioche. Butter. Milk. Eggs. Not vegan.”

Aubrey looked down the table. “Is all the bread…?”

“Yes.”

“But your father…”

His voice was so low it was almost a whisper—whispering! hypocrite!—but Evie kept a wary eye on her dad, reluctant to draw any more of his wrath when she was still so far from accomplishing her goal. It wouldn’t do any good if he got adamant about her leaving tomorrow morning.

“Yes,” she said quietly, leaning closer to Aubrey so he could hear. “He knows I’m vegan. But he refuses on principle to serve anything that is. You’ll see.” She nodded to Howell and the other serving staff who had just arrived with their food.

They set out the dishes, uncovering several large silver trays of vegetables in front of them. Carrots, peas, broccoli, parsnips.

“Isn’t that…?” began Aubrey.

“It’s all covered in butter. Probably goose fat on the parsnips. Definitely on the potatoes. Honestly, it’s a strict rule in the kitchen. I haven’t eaten a mouthful at this table in a decade.”

Aubrey, to his credit, looked genuinely appalled. “But whatdoyou eat?”

“I’ll make something myself in the kitchen later.”

“But why would he…?”

“To starve the nonsense out of me, of course. He’s positively Victorian, haven’t you noticed?”

Aubrey put down his fork, drank some wine. They both watched everyone else pile their plates high.

“I suppose you can’t even have this can you?” Aubrey asked with a slight lift of his wine glass.

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