Shit, I can’t breathe!
I really can’t.
I can’t breathe!
My hands fly to my neck in the universal sign for choking, panic flooding through me as my vision starts to blur.
This can’t be it. This can’t be how I die! I’m too young to choke to death on Christmas pudding in front of London society and my sexy fake boyfriend, who is now looking like a veryworriedfake boyfriend.
“Emily?” Oliver’s panicked voice assures me I must look as terrified as I feel. “Emily!”
Suddenly, his arms are around me from behind, hands positioned below my ribs. He lifts me out of my seat and into the air, performing the Heimlich with surprising competence. He heaves me up once, twice, and then—pop!—the object comes flying from my mouth.
I gasp and cough, air flooding back into my lungs as my heart hammers with gratitude. I’m alive! I’m still alive.
And Oliver’s still holding me, his body trembling against my back.
“Christ, Emily, are you alright?”
I pat his arm with what I hope is a reassuring hand. “Yes, fine. Sorry. I was choking.”
“You sure as hell were.” He lowers me to my feet before gently turning me around. Leaning down, he squeezes my shoulders, searching my face with wide, worried eyes. “And now? Is everything all right? Are you?—”
“I’m fine,” I say, my cheeks heating. “Just mortified that I almost choked to death and ruined the celebration.”
The table erupts into reassuring murmurs that I “didn’t ruin anything” and “we’re just so glad that you’re all right, dear!”
But it’s Oliver who commands my full attention as he pulls me close, kissing my forehead with a shaky sigh. “Thank God, love. You scared me.”
And for a moment, Ifeelloved.
I feel likehislove, before Agnes pipes up with a laugh, “Well, at least it looks like all the gagging was for a good cause.”
Oliver and I glance over to see Lady Thornfield-Rowe holding up her fork, a slightly cakey ring dangling from the tines. My cheeks start to burn again as I realize that must be what I horked across the table.
Her brown eyes dance as she adds, “Looks like we might be hearing wedding bells again sooner than later, Vivian.”
“Oh, the ring!” The matronly woman in the brown dress, whose name Ithinkis Lady Maybeth, breathes, “Oh, my goodness, you found the wedding ring! Good show, Emily!”
“Thank you?” I say, my voice still a little wheezy as I glance Oliver’s way.
“It’s a holiday tradition,” he explains, looking slightly embarrassed. “Christmas puddings sometimes have treasures baked inside. Coins for wealth, silver wishbones for luck, rings for?—”
“Marriage within the year,” Agnes finishes triumphantly. “Looks like you might not be escaping London so easily, Ms. Darling. So, let’s hope the press goes a little easier on you from here on out.”
“Whatever do you mean, Agnes?” Vivian asks, sounding so genuinely confused, it’s clear that shehasn’tseen the pictures.
But judging from the range of expressions at the table—horrified, amused, knowing, second-hand-embarrassed, and even more amused—she’s the only one who hasn’t.
Soon, they’re all staring at us, waiting to see how we’re going to explain ourselves to Olly’s mother, and my cheeks feel like they’ve been set on fire.
Thankfully, Oliver recovers more quickly than I do, offering in a placating tone, “We’ll discuss that later, Mother. I should get Emily outside. She still looks pale. I think a walk in the winter air would do her good.”
I nod quickly. “Yes, thank you, Olly. It would. It really would.”
“Most welcome, but no need to thank me, darling. Your health is my top priority, today and every day,” Oliver says, helping me to my feet. His arm stays firmly around my waist as he addresses the table. “If you’ll excuse us?”
“Of course, dear.” Vivian still looks concerned, but willing to let the moment pass. For now. “But please call me later. I want to know you’re both all right.”
