Page 12 of Paper Roses

“Yes.” I pause. “I’m telling this very badly because I’ve started at the end rather than the beginning.”

“Isn’t that sometimes the best way?”

“I’m not sure where the beginning is anymore. Maybe when my father died about five years ago.”

“What about your mother?”

“Oh.” I smile at the thought of her. “She died when I was two. Actually, you’re right. I should start with her because that explains the situation. Her father owned a very successful engineering company, and she was his only child, so all his money came to her when he passed away. She was fairly wealthy.”

He pushes my drink towards me. I obediently take a sip.

“We lived in a big house,” I continue. “It backed onto Wimbledon Common. It was the most lovely place and had the best atmosphere.” I swallow. “She left the house to my dad with the understanding that he would pass it on to me when he died.”

“And that was clear in her will?” he asks quietly.

I shake my head. “No. My dad largely abided by her wishes.”

“But?” he prompts.

“He took a detour. He left the money and house to my stepmother.” His face is thunderous and I smile at him. “It’s fine. He told her she could live in it until her death but then had to leave it to me.”

“But what about you? What about whatyouwanted? That wasyourhome.”

My eyes widen. His passion is slightly disconcerting.

“Sorry,” he says, sighing. “Go on. Has she left the house to you?”

“In a way,” I say slowly. “You have to understand that she didn’t like me at all. She didn’t want me around, because Iinterfered with my father’s attention. And that’s probably why I left home so early.”

“Where did you go?” he says thickly. “Please tell me where you went at sixteen on your own, Artie.”

“I stayed with my boyfriend’s family. Well, my boyfriend at the time.”

“Did you?”

“Yes, his family were lovely. I still spend Christmas with them. They’re like my own family.”

“And what happened to that boyfriend?”

“That’s another story.”And not one I want to tell you, I add silently.

“I’m sorry. I keep interrupting. I just hate the idea of you being cast out of your house and?—”

“I was okay,” I say, smiling at him again. “She didn’t chuck me on the streets with all my belongings in a handkerchief and one shoe that a prince would look for.”

“I think you’re mixing up a few fairy tales, here and there,” he says wryly, and I chuckle. “So, what has she done?”

I stare at him, shocked by how perceptive he is.

He shrugs. “It doesn’t take Einstein to recognise a spiteful person. She’s obviously done something to you.”

I take a deep breath. “Apparently, she’s put in her will that I can only inherit the house if I’m married. So, I need to get married right now.”

There’s not an ounce of pity in his green eyes for what I just revealed. After a moment, he says very loudly, “What utterbollocks.”

A woman at a nearby table gasps.

“I’ve never heard such cruel claptrap,” he rants, half rising out of his seat.

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