The room erupts in applause and a few teary sighs as Edward cedes the microphone to the master of ceremonies to conclude the presentation.
I glance Oliver’s way, seeing him with new eyes, this mischief maker with a heart of gold. I squeeze his hand again, and he shoots an almost shy smile my way that makes my throat a little tighter.
I lean in, whispering, “I know compliments are terrible things, but I think that maybe you’re an excellent brother. And maybe it’s okay to be proud of that.”
He laughs, his cheeks flushing as he glances down at our joined hands. “Never, Darling,” he whispers back. “Pride goeth before the fall and all that.”
I hum beneath my breath. “Well, then, I guess I’ll have to be proud for you. Good job, Olly.” I kiss his cheek before murmuring for his ears only, “I’m very proud to be the fake girlfriend on your arm.”
As I sit back in my chair, he catches my gaze with an intensity that’s probably inappropriate for a charity luncheon. His lips part again, but before he can speak, the lights flicker on and Edward joins us at the table.
Claiming the last empty chair on Vivian’s other side, he leans in for a kiss on both cheeks. “Oh, well done, darling. Well done,” she says, her gushing restrained but heartfelt. “Your father would be so proud, and so am I.”
“I hope I didn’t embarrass you too terribly, Olly,” Edward says, glancing his way.
“Oh, a little,” Oliver says, reaching out to clasp his brother’s hand. “But I love you, so I suppose it’s all right.”
“I love you, too,” Edward says simply.
The dessert arrives just then—Christmas pudding, dark and rich and smelling of brandy—but I’m too busy fighting tears to thank the server who delivers mine.
Gah! They really are thesweetestfamily, so close and open and down to earth, despite their Britishness and proximity to the throne. It isn’t what I would have expected from nobility, and I confess I’m very pleasantly surprised.
“Wonderful speech, Edward,” Agnes says. “Very moving.
“Thank you so much, Agnes.” Edward’s voice is polite, but he’s clearly uncomfortable in the face of so much attention. That probably explains why he suddenly makes a point of motioning my way. “And who is this charming addition to the table? I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”
“Edward, meet Miss Emily Darling, an incredible woman I met during my last trip to New York, who has mercifully decided to date me,” Oliver says, summoning a wider smile from his brother. “Emily, my brother, the best man I know, who is, as you’ve just learned, also very handy with fish.”
“So good to meet you, Edward,” I say, grinning as I take his offered hand.
“Oh, the pleasure is all mine, Emily, I assure you.” Edward gives my fingers a friendly pump. “Anyone who makes Olly smile like that is someone special, no doubt about it. So, how long are you in London?”
“Until January 5th,” I say, instantly feeling terrible again.
Edward is so nice! And he seems genuinely excited that his brother’s found a partner. Lying to him is upsetting, so upsetting that I quickly scoop up a large
bite of Christmas pudding to ensure that I won’t have to lie to anyone again for at least the next minute.
Thank goodness for Rule One.
And thank goodness to whoever baked this treat…
The rich, spiced cake practically melts on my tongue, and I can’t help the soft moan of appreciation that escapes my lips.
“Good?” Oliver murmurs, his fingers curling around my thigh beneath the table.
The touch makes me suck in a turned-on breath, pulling something far too hard to be cake into the back of my throat. I try to move it discreetly to the front with my tongue, already panicking about how to spit something out in present company without looking like a feral gutter snipe with no table manners.
But it turns out I shouldn’t have bothered.
Ican’tspit it out.
I also can’t swallow it.
Heck, it’s so far back there, I can barely breathe.
I try to sip in oxygen. Fail. Try again, and?—
