Page 45 of Wilder at Heart
I flare of anger warms me. I lift her head off my shoulder and hold her chin so she can see me. ‘I smell bullshit, sweetheart. If he had an issue with your relationship, he should have told you. We men have a long history of failing to own our actions. My bet is your relationship had gone off the boil. He saw someone new and shiny, and instead of taking responsibility, he threw the blame back in your face instead. That’s not cool. At all.’
‘Maybe he didn’t know he was unhappy until he met someone and she was nicer to him.’ Her eyes dart around my face, searching for answers I can’t give.
‘Bollocks. You’re giving him more credit than he’s worth. Honestly, sweetheart. You’re better off without him. I’m sure there are tonnes of men who’d kill to be your port in a storm. And have you be their port. You’re amazing.’
‘But I have it all planned out.’
I don’t miss her use of present tense, but I hold my tongue.
‘Our future. Me and Jonathan. Three kids. A Georgian rectory, preferably in Oxfordshire or Gloucestershire, with an AGA, obviously. I’d like a fixer-upper. Something we can decorate just how we like. A couple of labradors. That’s always been the plan.’
She’s deadly serious. My throat tightens. ‘Your plan as a couple, oryourplan, sweetheart?’
‘Ours. We’d joke about it. Look at the house porn in the back pages ofCountry Lifetogether. I gave him nine years of mylife, Theo. And he’s throwing it all away for someone with more impressive boobs who doesn’t nag him.’
‘Hey.’ I cast a pointed glance at her chest. ‘Your boobs look fucking perfect from where I’m sitting. But I’m not sure you need labradors and an AGA to be safe. That’s not real safety. They’re just nice-to-haves.’
‘It doesn’t matter if they’re real or not. If the feeling of safety they create is real, then that’s all that matters, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah.’ I pull her into me and tug us both back down to the lounger, where I hold her tightly. ‘I suppose that’s all that matters.’
CHAPTER 18
Nora
‘Ialmost kissed him, for God’s sake. Like, sober, and in the middle of the afternoon on a sun lounger, and not even in front of anyone we were trying to fool.’
Elle’s mouth, laden with Seventies-style, high-shine gloss, drops open. ‘Shut up. You did not. You—OMG. So describe the almost-kiss. Was there hovering? And, like, staring at each other’s mouths? And lips gently parting?’
In front of us, Josh groans and shifts in his seat. ‘It’s totally fine, ladies. Just pretend I’m not here. This isn’t awkward for me at all.’
We’re in a car en route to what will be one of the parties of the year, and poor Josh is collateral damage in my debrief session with Elle. The subject of my debrief, my fake-boyfriend-who-I-almost-really-kissed, will see us there. Tonight, our friend Lotta from uni is throwing a Studio 54-themed party to celebrate that epic milestone of her twenty-eighth birthday, and the socialites of London will be out in force, as will Emmanuel College Class of 2012.
I don’t even know how to explain Carlotta Charlton-Montefiore. She’s the daughter of a beautiful Italian socialite and a British software engineer who founded a Software-as-a-Service company that’s now in the FTSE 100. You get the picture. You might get an even clearer picture if I told you she’s like an Italian version of Araminta from the movieCrazy Rich Asians.You know, crazy, rich and totally entitled, but somehow not a bitch. Not even a little.
I could tell you she’s pronounced Araminta’s thigh-high-boots-down-water-filled-aisle moment ‘utter perfection’ and has vowed to recreate it for her own wedding (groom: currently unknown), but that would just freak you out. Right?
Oh. And she’s scarily bright. She and her brother run a super-high-end property development company whose residential offering caters for the great and good of London.
So, yeah. I should hate her, but she’s like a ray of sunshine. Cliché, but true. She’s a force of positivity and warmth. All is always good in Lotta’s world. And the girl knows how to throw a party. Even Elle didn’t want to miss it, and she managed to persuade Josh to come along with the promise that Lotta is confiscating all mobile phones at the door.
Officially, it’s to heighten the Seventies vibe. Unofficially, I suspect she’s set the policy so Elle and Josh can come and relax—partly because she’s a good friend, and partly to make her guest list even more fabulous. There will, however, be paparazzi galore at the door of the exclusive Mayfair club that for one night, and one night only, will be transformed into Studio 54.
Elle and I have been getting ready together at Josh’s stunning pad in Notting Hill. Elle takes this kind of stuff seriously, and she also thinks nothing of outsourcing hair and makeup and calling in dress favours from desperate-to-dress-her fashion PRs. So we’re both in backless, draped Halston dresses with plunging necklines, her in turquoise and me in purple. I’ve never used so much tit tape in my life. We’ve got matching flicked-out hair, blue eyeshadow, lashings ofshimmery cheekbone highlighter and the aforementioned glossy lips.
Josh is looking great, too. He’s swiped a pair of sideburns from theGrosvenormakeup department (who knew they could be so historically versatile?) and slicked back his hair. His jacket is sharp and his trousers aretight. Let me tell you, no one will be complaining.
Theo’s meeting us there. He and Lotta know each other mainly because rich kids in London tend to hang out in the same circles and get snapped for Tatler magazine at the same parties.
Which brings me back to: The Almost Kiss.
‘Suck it up, Josh.’ I lean over and pat him on the shoulder. ‘Consider it an education in how women think.’
‘Uh-oh.’ He sinks lower into his seat. ‘Thank fuck I plan to never have any almost-kissing moments with another woman for the rest of my life.’
I eye Elle up. ‘Is there something you two want to tell me?’
She waves her hand dismissively. ‘Oh, please. Obviously, he’s not going anywhere. Not after his little performance on live TV. Right, honey?’
