Page 47 of Boyfriend Material
“Yes,” agreed Oliver. “It’s always hard to tell, isn’t it?”
“So.” My voice was much louder than I expected it to be. “What’s the problem with jury trials?”
They both glanced at me, with eerily similar expressions of mild concern. Probably, with my inappropriate volume and my awkward segue, I’d deeply embarrassed both of them. But at least Oliver had remembered I exist.
He fixed his cool, silver-grey gaze on me. “Well, as far as I’m concerned, nothing. I think they form a vital part of our democracy. I believe Lord Twaddle would advance the argument that they’re slow, inefficient, and leave complex decisions in the hands of people who don’t know what they’re doing.”
“Also”—Alex wagged a finger—“they leave terrible holes all over… Sorry. Badgers again. Do disregard.”
This was honestly not an issue I’d given any thought to ever. But, goddamn it, Oliver wasmyfake boyfriend, not Alex Fucking Twaddle’s. We were going to have a pleasant conversation over sherry if it killed us both. “I suppose,” I arse-pulled, “that if I’d been accused of something I didn’t do, I’d be far more willing to trust a legal professional than twelve randomers. I mean, have you met people?”
Oliver gave a faint smile. “That’s an understandable position but, interestingly, one that is seldom shared by lawyers.”
“Seriously?” I asked. “Do you really want to leave your fate in the hands of a dozen people you don’t know, none of who want to be there, on the off chance one of them pulls a Henry Fonda?”
“In real life, juries aren’t made up of eleven bigots and an angel. And I would far rather leave my fate in the hands of a cross-section of the public than a single person who sees the law entirely in abstract terms.”
I adopted what I hoped was a thoughtful pose, but was largely motivated by a desire to stop my left buttock going to sleep. “But don’t youwantsomeone to see the law in abstract terms?” What was that line fromLegally Blonde? “Didn’t Socrates say, ‘The law is reason free from passion’?”
“Actually, it was Aristotle. And he was wrong. Or rather, he was right in a way, but the law is only one part of justice.”
Oliver was looking distractingly intense. I guess I could admit that, under most circumstances, he was a better-than-okay looking man. But when he was being passionate about shit, and his eyes got all sharp and his mouth got all interesting, he probably got upgraded to hot. And this was just about the worst possible time to start noticing that because, while I was noticing how attractive he could be, he was noticing what a complete piece of human garbage I was.
“Oh?” I said intelligently, while not staring.
“The point of a jury trial is that reasonable people—and before you say anything, most peoplearereasonable—get to decide whether the defendant truly deserves to be punished for their actions. The letter of the law is, at best, half of that question. The other half is compassion.”
“That’s the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard.”
I think what I’d meant was,That’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever heard. But I couldn’t admit that and now wished I’d said nothing because Oliver had snapped closed like a fan in the hands of an angry drag queen. “Fortunately I don’t need you to validate my beliefs.”
Great. Now I had Dad, a random donor, and Oliver all coming at my self-esteem from different directions. And, yes, I deserved it in Oliver’s case, but that wasn’t making me feel any better.
“This is jolly interesting,” piped up Alex. At this point the odds were fifty-fifty that he still thought we were talking about badgers. “But I can’t help feel a chap is still better off with a judge. I mean, just seems more likely to be a chap’s sort of chap, you know?”
Oliver turned back to him with an effortless smile. “In your specific case, Alex, I very much agree.”
“Gosh. Really? Well, look at me. See, I’m always a bit less wrong than people think. Like a stopped clock. Oh I say, it’s Miffy.”
Alex leapt to his feet, followed more gracefully by Oliver with the instinctive courtesy of the properly brought up. I stumbled after them, listing a little because of the buttock issue.
“Hello, boys.” An immaculate gift box of a woman—mostly eyes, cheekbones, and cashmere—was gliding towards us. “So sorry I’m late. Had a beastly time getting through the photographers.”
There followed a brief flurry as she and Alex exchanged a surprisingly complex sequence of air kisses. “Don’t worry, old girl. I kept them entertained. This is Oliver Blackwood—he’s a lawyer. Frightfully clever fellow.”
More air kisses, which Oliver fielded expertly. Because apparently everybody got to touch my boyfriend—I mean, my fake boyfriend—except me.
“And this is Luc O’Donnell, who I’ve told you all about.”
She came in to kiss me and I moved my head wrong and we banged noses. “Gosh,” she said. “You look very young to be Speaker of the House.”
“Um. No. That’s not me.”
“Are you sure? That’s definitely who Ally was telling me about.”
“Is it possible,” I asked, “he’s told you about more than one person?”
She blinked. “Possibly, but that would get terribly confusing.”
