Page 22 of The Himbo and the Lord

He gives me a whole lecture on my duty and my role within the family until I eventually give in. I can almost hear him smile on the other end of the phone.

“You’ll be taking the Marchant girl,” he says as soon as I’ve agreed.

“Father, no!”

“Rupert, we’ve been through this before. I hoped that giving you more responsibility might cure you of this nonsense. She’s a good match. Her father?—”

I tune out at that point. I don’t know what irks me more, that he still calls Jenna the Marchant girl, or that he thinks if I spend enough time with a woman, it will miraculously turn me heterosexual.

It’s my fault for telling him I was bi instead of gay. I chickened out on that one. Eventually, I agree to taking Jenna, but only because if I keep refusing he won’t leave me alone and might even try to pair me up with someone dreadful.

“Good,” he says with a final tone, and rings off. Within minutes, my phone goes again, but I can’t help suppress a smile when I see the caller.

The Marchant girl.

It’s funny when we say it, and I know for a fact I’m saved in her phone asthe Cardew boy. Like my father, that’s the way her father refers to me, as if they didn’t know our names.

“Ru!” she exclaims as soon as I pick up. “The olds have been scheming again.”

“I know Jenna, I got the call too.”

“Urgh, do you think they schedule it so they talk to us at the same time? I wouldn’t put it past them. I’ve just received the most almighty lecture over breakfast.”

I’ve known Jenna since I was six years old. As my older sister’s best friend, she’s frequently stayed with us both in London and in Oxfordshire. We practically grew up together. She has no more inclination to marry me than I do her. Not only because she’s like another sister to me, but also because she’s not my type, just like I’m not hers.

We’ve joked that we could have a marriage of convenience, if only to get our families off our backs. Then we could pursue our own relationships peacefully. It’s a loose pact that we’ve agreed to revisit if neither of us have married by the time we’re thirty-five. Which, with the way our families are going, could very well happen.

“I’ve had the lecture too, but it could be worse.”

“Tell me about it. When I refused, I got threatened with Cyril Fotherstone.”

“Well, at least I know I rank higher than him in your affections,” I say.

“With you I know I’m not going to get groped by the moistness of Cyril the slimy.” I almost hear her shudder down the phone and I sympathise—heisa grim option.

“Anyway, tell me all about Sydney. Have you met any Australian hunks?”

I hesitate a beat too long.

“You did!” she screeches down the phone.

“He was American,” I blurt out, giving myself away, and I’m treated to another assault to my ears.

She wheedles, but when I don’t give her any further details, she promises to get them out of me when we meet at the fundraising ball before disconnecting.

She won’t, though. I’m not telling anyone about Nate. But now he’s on my mind and it takes me a long time to fall asleep.

My phone ringing drags me from sleep the next morning. It’s my father again, which is unexpected. I check the time. It’s still early, but at least with the time difference it’s not the middle of the night.

“Rupert, I’ve been talking to Chase Knightly.”

In my still half-asleep state, it takes me a minute to recognise the name. He’s one of my father’s oldest clients. I think he owns a venture capitalist company, but he invests his private wealth with Harringtons.

“He’s in Australia at the moment and has invited you to spend the weekend with him.”

I groan inwardly. I don’t want to socialise with one of my father’s stuffy friends. I plan to spend my last few days in Sydney having fun, and trying to forget a pair of beautiful green eyes and the body they belong to. I don’t have it in me to argue with my father, though. Not before coffee. And I can hardly tell him my reasons for not wanting to stay with Chase. I also know how large the Knightly account is, so I would be a fool to refuse.

I guess I’ll be working this weekend then.

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