Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
OLIVER
Edward and I wedge ourselves into the corner table at Café Bohème, the kind of place that thinks mismatched chairs with peeling paint are a design choice rather than evidence of financial distress.
The café is practically drowning in Christmas—fir boughs strangle the light fixtures, the top of the bar is lined with leering nutcrackers, and a mechanical elf in the corner giggles every time a server hustles by on their way to the kitchen.
It’s over the top in a way that would normally make even a holiday fan like myself twitch a bit, but this year…
Well, this year, I don’t mind it.
But I do mind that the table rocks every time Edward or I so much as breathe, threatening to send our flat whites sloshing over their rims. I also mind the sauced Father Christmas murdering “Love is All Around” on the bagpipes outside, each wheeze of the bellows perfectly timed to make conversation impossible.
“For the love of—” I wince as he honks out a note that could curdle milk. “Is busking whilst pissed a holiday tradition now?”
“Should I go ask to see his license?” Edward asks, steadying his cup as the table lurches again. “Somehow, I doubt he has one. That might scare him up the block.”
I sigh, shaking my head. “No. It looks like he’s taking a smoke break. We’ve been granted a reprieve.”
“Thank God.” Edward rubs his temples. “I’m already battling a headache. I’m getting too old for holiday parties every night.”
I grin. “Matilda’s office celebration was a banger, was it?”
He snorts. “Hardly. That’s why I ended up having that third Scotch. Not all climate scientists are as riveting as my lovely wife.”
“I bet,” I say, chuckling. “Feel free to skip my soiree tonight if you need a night to recover.”
Edward arches a brow. “Really?”
“Really,” I say. “I mean, I can promise you better music and food, but architects aren’t really known for our riveting small talk, either. And I know you have a lot more on your plate this holiday season, now that you’re a husband and head of the family.”
My brother’s shoulders sag. “Thank you for understanding. I think a night in would do us both some good. Poor Matty’s been exhausted by the shopping this year.” He arches a wry brow. “Apparently, our family is a bit ‘odd’ and difficult to buy for.”
I feign confusion. “Really? Us? Odd? I thought every family had a cutthroat pudding contest and a collection of horny holiday antiques displayed in the entryway of their ancestral home.”
He winces. “God, don’t remind me. I thought Matilda’s mother’s eyeballs were going to pop out of her head the first time she saw the elves with the giant you know whats…” He motions vaguely to his crotch, then up toward the ceiling in an arcing motion.
“Oh, I know,” I say, grinning. I can’t wait for Emily to see them. I expect she’ll laugh her head off.
I hope her meeting is going well. Once she lands the job, the rest of her time in London will be fun, frolic, and festive, smooth sailing.
And when it’s time for her to go…
Well, we haven’t discussed our options just yet, but if things are still as fantastic between us as they are now, maybe I’ll go with her for a month or two. I can work from the New York office, and it’s not like London is any fun between Christmas and when the tulips start popping in March anyway.
And by then, maybe Emily and I will have hammered out a long-term game plan to get her living in the U.K. for good.
It’s certifiably insane to be plotting plane flights and visa options a week in, but I really, really don’t like the thought of saying goodbye to this woman.
My woman.
At least, I’m hoping she’ll soon officially be mine.
I have quite a romantic “be my girlfriend” plan plotted for tonight, involving the office rooftop, an antique ring on a chain, and a cheeky poem to keep things from feeling too over-the-top.
I think she’ll love it, and I’m nearly certain she’ll say yes.
Please, let her say yes…
“Speaking of elves with giant dongs,” Edward says, pulling me from my moony “man in love” thoughts, “what fresh hell are you planning to unleash at the White Elephant this year? Mother made me promise to make sure you didn’t take things too far.
She’s worried the fire department might not make it to the house in time.
They’ve cut staff in the village, you know. ”
I sigh. “I’ve told her a hundred times—that wreath bursting into flames was a freak accident. I still have no idea how it happened. It was nowhere near the candles on the table. I can’t be blamed.”
“She’s pretty sure you can,” Edward says. “The fire was your fault for bringing a cursed object into our home in the first place. Seriously, a Victorian hair wreath, Olly? Could you be more morbid? And at Christmas, too.”
“In my defense, I wasn’t aware the hair was harvested after the Victorian was deceased,” I say, sipping my coffee before muttering behind the rim, “Or that the particular hair in question might have belonged to a woman who murdered people with soap.”
Edward makes a soft, but deeply horrified sound.
“Soap is a bizarre way to kill people,” I double down. “And we probably did the world a service by bringing that wretched thing into a happy home where such cursed darkness couldn’t possibly survive. So, it promptly burst into flames, never to wreak havoc upon the living again.”
My brother’s lips twitch, but he still looks decidedly unamused. “Right. Well, in any event, I’ve made Mother a promise, and I intend to keep it. We all know this year is…difficult. For all of us, but especially for her.”
Sobering, I nod. “Yes, of course.” I study what’s left of the foam in my cup, debating for a moment before I add in a cautious voice, “Though, to be frank, it hasn’t been as miserable as I thought it would be. At Grandmother’s on Saturday, I…” I shrug. “I would have sworn I felt him there with us.”
“Me, too,” Edward says, meeting my gaze for a quick beat before looking away. “I thought maybe it was just the grief playing tricks, but…”
I shake my head. “I don’t think it was. I mean, you know how much he loved a party. Especially a Christmas party.”
Edward smiles, sadly, but fondly. “He was a beast this time of year. Remember how he kept stealing Mother’s mulled wine last year, even though he wasn’t supposed to drink with his medicines?”
“And laughing like an imp,” I add, throat tight. “He always appreciated my extra effort for White Elephant.” I sigh. “I think he’d be especially delighted by this year’s offering.”
My brother’s gaze sharpens on mine. “Which is?”
Fighting a grin, I demure, “I don’t want to ruin the surprise. I promise, it isn’t cursed or flammable, and was obtained through…mostly legal means.”
His brows shoot up. “Mostly legal? What does that mean? Either something is legal or it’s not, Olly.”
“I would argue that there are actually shades of gray when it comes to—”
“Oliver, I swear, if the constable shows up at our Christmas luncheon, I will be forced to… I, well… I will have no choice but to…” He huffs out a breath. “I don’t know what I’ll do, but something will have to be done.”
Taking pity on my poor, uptight brother, already buckling under the strain of his new title and responsibilities, I decide it’s worth breaking tradition to put his mind at ease. “Relax, Eddy. It’s just a Westminster speedbump. For mother. I drew her name again this year.”
“What?” He blinks, then frowns as he connects the dots. “You mean one of those hideous concrete sleeping policemen?”
“The same,” I say. “I bribed a man in the public works department to liberate one for me. I hid it in the old larder at the country house, wrapped in paper and topped with a big red bow, ready and waiting for the big reveal.”
“Oh God, she’ll hate it,” he says, looking torn between amusement and revulsion. “She’s been complaining about how tacky they are for at least a decade.”
“Oh, much longer than that,” I agree cheerfully. “I remember her grousing about them when we were small. I’m going to offer to put it in the garden for her, right next to that rhododendron she loves so much.”
Edward snorts. “She’ll send it straight to the attic with all the other things she’s too embarrassed to have downstairs. You’re going to end up lugging fifty pounds of solid concrete up three flights, mark my words.”
“Likely. But it’ll be worth it,” I say, glancing at the clock on the wall above the giggling elf.
10:12. Huh. Strange that I haven’t heard from Emily…
The presentation was scheduled for forty-five minutes, tops. They had someone else coming in to present at ten.
I flip my cell over on the table to see if I missed a notification, but I’m still all caught up.
“Nothing from Em?” Edward asks.
I shake my head. “No, but maybe the meeting ran long. I’m sure she’ll text soon.”
Edward smirks. “Well, well…looks like Matilda was right.”
“Right about what?”
“It’s serious this time,” Edward says. “You and your American. I said it couldn’t be, or you would have said something after you two met in New York, but…” He shrugs. “Looks like I was wrong.”
Guilt twists through my gut. I hate lying to Edward. I also hate breaking promises, but surely, Emily will understand. And Edward can be trusted. He’ll take our secret to the grave if I ask him to.
“About that…” I exhale. “There might be more to the story.” I fill him in on what really happened—the night Emily and I met, the instant scandal, the fallout for her business, and our decision to tell a few white lies in the name of making the scandal seem less scandalous.
By the time I finish, his eyes are as round as our coffee saucers. “Well, hell. That’s completely mad, but…it looks like your plan worked.”
“Thanks to Ronan and his midnight ride upon a concrete lion,” I add.
“I mean, that didn’t hurt,” Edward agrees with a laugh. “But you were well on your way to putting the scandal to bed on your own. You’re a charming couple. And for two people who have known each other such a short time, remarkably natural together.”