Chapter 22 Becky
Becky
S he felt as if she was in a goldfish bowl. If they didn’t stop staring at her, she was going to leave as her sister had just done.
Becky had watched them slip out of the room without a word to anyone. They’d been hand in hand, which had to be a good sign, surely.
Hopefully they were fixing whatever was wrong, and she felt relief that she felt nothing but warm, sisterly feelings for both of them, and also a pang of guilt because in normal circumstances she would have known something was wrong in Rosie’s life and she would have been there for her.
It hadn’t crossed her mind that while she was staying away, her sister had been in trouble. Her sister had needed her. She’d assumed that she and Declan were living in wedded bliss.
Still, that was for later. Right now she had problems of her own.
Her own spontaneous announcement had led to consequences she hadn’t foreseen. Fixing the mess she’d got herself into wasn’t going to be easy, and would involve hurting people she loved, including Will’s mother, whose unbridled delight in the situation was uncomfortable to witness.
She could see her, huddled with her own mother and grandmother and she had no doubt who they were talking about.
Becky hated being the focus of attention and right now she and Will were definitely the focus.
“You’re tense,” Will said and she flicked her gaze to their parents.
“Can you blame me? They’re gossiping. I can see it from here. What are we going to do?”
He took her hand and squeezed it. “We’re going to join them.”
“Are you mad?”
“No. The way I see it, if we join them, at least they can’t talk about us behind our backs.”
They crossed the room and Will kept a firm hold on Becky’s hand.
“You two look as if you’re having fun.” Audrey beamed at them and Becky decided that Will’s mother was the one person who might give her grandmother a run for her money in terms of tactlessness. They’d obviously been dipped in the same gene pool.
“It’s good to have a chance to catch up with everyone,” Will said calmly and his mother smiled.
“I’m just glad it’s all finally out in the open.”
Out in the open?
Will sighed. “Mum—”
“We used to talk about it,” Audrey was saying, “Didn’t we, Jenny?”
“Talk about what?” Her mother sent Becky an apologetic glance. She looked distinctly uncomfortable.
“Becky and Will. When they were growing up, we used to say how perfect they’d be together.”
What?
Becky gaped at her mother in disbelief and saw her blush furiously.
“Well, obviously we were only having fun. We weren’t serious.”
“I was serious! So were you!” Audrey laughed and nudged her. “You were worried that the two of them were such close friends and so comfortable together they might not notice that they had deeper feelings.”
Her mother had thought that?
She’d never said a word to Becky. Never tried to matchmake or encourage their relationship in any way.
She’d never commented on Becky’s relationships at all, and Becky had always been grateful for that because her relationships had mostly been brief and unsatisfactory and definitely not something she wanted to put under the spotlight.
But it seemed that hadn’t stopped her mother from conjuring up her own scenarios.
The thought of her mother and Audrey enjoying a coffee together while discussing her and Will made her want to bolt from the room.
She was contemplating doing just that when she felt Will’s hand rest on her back, firm and reassuring.
“We’ll leave you to your reminiscing,” he said. “It’s Christmas. Becky and I are going to dance.”
Dance? Was he kidding? And what did Christmas have to do with anything?
True, other people were dancing (and she might never forget the sight of Mrs Everly using tinsel in place of a feather boa), but Becky didn’t dance.
“I don’t—”
“Tonight you do.”
“Off you go, the pair of you!” Audrey waved them away, not even pretending to be subtle in her approach. “We can see you’re struggling to keep your hands off each other.”
Becky chose the lesser of two evils and let Will tug her into the middle of the room.
“I hope this idea of yours turns out better than the last one,” she muttered. “Joining them was not a good idea.”
“Agreed. Sorry about that.”
“I’m not sure if dancing is the frying pan or the fire,” she said, “but just remember I really don’t dance, so if you’re not careful you might spend Christmas wishing you’d specialized in broken bones rather than hearts.”
He smiled and pulled her against him, picking up the rhythm of the music. “I know you don’t like dancing. But I thought you’d prefer this option to listening to my mother planning our wedding.”
She looked up at him in despair. “I had no idea my stupid announcement would escalate in this way. They’re unstoppable. It’s horrific. Now can I dig a hole and lie down in it?”
“No.” He steered her to the left to avoid colliding with someone. “It’s below freezing out there and the ground is too hard to dig. Do you know how many people have heart attacks from clearing snow in low temperatures?”
In other circumstances she would have laughed and they would have had a fun conversation about statistics, but she was beyond smiling. “This is awful . Do you think they’ve really been talking about us for all these years?”
“I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change anything.” His hold on her tightened. “What they want, or don’t want, is of no relevance to us.”
“Easy for you to say. When I break up with you, they’re going to hate me.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
What was he talking about? Of course it was going to happen.
“Also they’ll assume I’ve gone crazy.” She rested her hand on his shoulder and felt the curve of hard muscle under her palm.
She kept thinking of the moment the night before when he’d emerged from the shower and the image was so distracting she missed his next question. “Sorry? Did you say something?”
“Why will they think you’re crazy?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Because no woman with a brain would—” She stopped, and felt her cheeks heat.
He raised an eyebrow, waiting. “No woman with a brain would—?”
“Be in a relationship one minute, and break up the next,” she said lamely.
“Right.”
He watched her for a moment, his gaze lingering on her flushed face, and she kept thinking about that kiss and hoping deep down that he might find a reason to do it again.
And thinking about the kiss made her think of other things and suddenly she could picture them together, and she knew exactly how it would feel.
She had a horrible feeling he could read her mind and to cover the awkward moment she tried to spin him closer to the Christmas tree.
Unfortunately Percy chose that same moment to join them on the dance floor, and he had less of a clue about dancing than she did.
He inserted himself between them and Becky stumbled.
She would have lost her balance if Will hadn’t anchored her firmly against him.
She dug her fingers into his shoulder, conscious of the hard press of his body against hers. “Oops, sorry.”
“No problem. You caught me by surprise.”
She couldn’t catch her breath. “I did warn you about my dancing.”
“You did.” He held her tightly. “Although I think Percy takes the blame for that particular move. He seems to think it’s his turn to dance with you.”
“The dogtrot is his favourite dance, didn’t you know? It’s the canine version of the foxtrot.” She was desperately trying to ease the tension and maybe she succeeded a little because Will laughed.
“I’d like to see that, but I claimed you first so he’s going to have to wait in line.”
I claimed you first.
She felt a surge of heat and a delicious tightening low in her pelvis, all of which was inappropriate given the reality of their situation. Pretending to lust after each other was one thing. Actually lusting was something else entirely. She felt as if she’d broken an unspoken rule. Crossed a line.
Aware of just how physically close they were, she tried to ease away from him, but he pulled her back, anchoring her body to his.
Why was he holding her so tightly? And then she realised that he was behaving like her lover, which was the role she’d cast him in.
He was playing his part. He was doing it to help her.
She should be grateful. Instead she felt hot and unsettled.
This was a romantic thing to do and she didn’t think of herself as a romantic person.
She felt like someone who had been given a part she hadn’t auditioned for.
Normally she hated dancing because it highlighted how uncoordinated she was, but with Will for some reason she had no problems. His movements were smooth and assured, his hold on her secure.
It was probably because he kept her welded against him that she had no opportunity to take a wrong step or move in the wrong direction.
She was aware of the hard pressure of his body against hers and she realised that she wasn’t the only one who was aroused.
The hum of conversation and the notes of the music slid into the background and for a moment it was just the two of them, everything around them forgotten except for the twinkle of fairy lights and the soft glow of the Christmas tree.
She was painfully conscious of the warmth of his hand on her back and the hot flare of desire low in her belly.
She’d never thought of dancing as particularly erotic (at least not when she was doing it), but with Will it felt less like a dance and more like a prelude to something. And she wanted that something more than she’d ever wanted anything. She wanted him.
The realisation slammed into her, leaving her breathless.
Will.
When he’d agreed to go along with her spontaneous announcement, she’d been grateful. She’d failed to anticipate how well he’d play the part, or the depth of her response.