Chapter 36
EVIE
As the summer days begin to shorten and the evenings cool, my connection to Oliver—our tentative relationship—takes a turn into ridiculously cute. We walk Bo together in the evenings, often stopping for an ice cream as we stroll through one of London’s royal parks. On weekends we drink coffee by the river, and after dark, you can find us drinking cocktails at exclusive rooftop bars.
We kiss on street corners, canoodle under lampposts, and sneak smooches wherever we can, not caring who might be watching. It’s like my life has become someone else’s Instagram feed with a filter that might well be called new beginnings . It’s not a highly curated feed—there are no fakes. I’m not a woman standing in front of a man asking him to take a dozen shots just to get one perfect one. Each moment has its own kind of perfection, even the ones where steam of frustration seems to shoot from Oliver’s head. Moment after moment, everything between us just seems so natural.
Not to be confused with naturism.
My mind bends to that night at Kensington Palace. The night we gave in to our attraction and ultimately agreed to be together without fear of expectations. Oliver, my inadvertent hero, was so sweet, even if the sequence of events wasn’t exactly perfect.
Oliver’s sweet kisses and words. His tender touches with his handkerchief.
Then one of London’s finest tactfully clearing his throat.
My panic as Oliver unhurriedly righted my dress.
My hand in his as he shielded me from the officer’s torchlight ... nimbly stuffing my ruined panties into his pocket.
The frightening size of the police officer’s tactical weapon. (Not a dirty joke.)
And the imagined headline in my head: VET CHARGED WITH PUBLIC INDECENCY FOR HAVING SEX IN THE KING’S GARDEN—SHE’S TO BE DEPORTED!
That would be so much worse than a lousy Pulse Tok video.
But then to my absolute relief (thanks to Oliver’s charm), the police officer directing us “lost souls” to our car.
I like Oliver. I like him a lot. I tried not to, and I didn’t trust him. But we’re working through that now. On those long walks, we’ve had a lot of time to talk, because I won’t make the same mistake as before. I refuse to get ahead of myself, no matter how my heart skips when he’s near.
No more power games.
No more telling me after the fact.
No more making decisions for me, even if he thinks it’s the right one!
I will be present this time. I won’t be the slow-boiling frog, losing herself in the watery soup.
Beyond that, things are good. Uncomplicated. We’re just enjoying each other, without plans for the future. Or maybe I’m fooling myself because I do think about Lucy more than I ought to. I can’t seem to bring myself to ask what happened. Maybe I’m not as cool as I think. But then, I did almost marry a man who’d been screwing half of London. “One bitten, twice shy” is an understandable position, I think.
But sometimes I catch Oliver looking at me like he’s tracing the shape of my face, committing it to memory as though I might disappear. And when we make love, he trembles with such intensity, it seems almost like fear.
I could be imagining things. Maybe it’s my own feelings I should be examining.
“There you are.” Over the back of the couch, Oliver’s face appears in my line of vision. I don’t hear what he says; rather, I read the shape of the words on his lips as I pull my Beats from my ears.
I make to sit up when he presses me back with a kiss. “Stay where you are. I’ll come and join you.” Rounding the couch, he slides off his jacket and drops it to the chair, then his fingers move to his tie.
“Slowly,” I purr, dropping the headphones and my phone to the floor. “Give a girl a moment to watch the devil strip from his workday skin.”
His tie slides from his collar with a slick , and Oliver continues his saucy striptease. He halts when he gets to his belt. “Want to help?”
“Oh. I see we’re having dinner in.”
He laughs, low and dirty. “We’re meeting Mandy at eight o’clock, but a snack between meals never harmed anyone.”
“I could go for a little something,” I purr.
His lips twist at my words.
“Okay, not so little, then.”
“Wait. Where’s the fluffy terrorist?” he asks, as his fingers move to his belt.
“In my bed, I expect.” It’s where he sleeps. Mostly. Somehow each night, he winds up in bed with me and Oliver. Which Oliver loves ... not a whole lot. But he tolerates.
“Don’t move,” he mutters, heading for my room. A moment later, the door closes, and then he’s back, climbing over me, his knees bracketing my thighs, such wickedness sparkling in his eyes.
“Now, where were we?” His tie is suddenly dangling from his fingers as he lifts my wrists over my head.
“Where? I think the devil was about to take me to heaven.”
“That is not how you get your dick sucked.”
I almost choke on my latte, and I’m pretty sure some of it comes out of my nose. “Yara!”
“Oops. Sorry. Did I say that out loud?” Her gaze slices left, then right, then she gives a shrug, satisfied she hasn’t offended anyone’s sensibilities. Mine apparently don’t count. “Take a look at it,” she adds, flipping her phone around to face me.
“At what—ew, Yara! Put that thing away.”
We’re catching up over coffee in a fashionable Italian coffee shop after work, though it’s arguably almost Negroni time. Unless you’re a fluffy labradoodle, when all day is puppuccino time.
“I bet he’s heard that before.” Yara gives a dirty laugh. “He says I can have it all night long.”
“Oh my God.” I press my hand over her phone until the screen is facing the table. “Do you want the poor woman behind me to have a heart attack?”
Yara eyes the blue-haired octogenarian over my shoulder, taking in her twinset and leather pants.
“She looks like she can handle it. Not his dick, obviously. That’s a UTI in the making.” She glances at the screen again. “But I think you’re right. She can probably see it from over there.” She sets down her phone, folding her arms against the table. “All night long,” she says almost wistfully. “A few years ago, I wouldn’t leave a rave until six in the morning. These days, the only thing I want to do all night is sleep. The prospect really excites me.”
Unable to resist the lure for long, she picks up her phone and taps the screen back to life. “That thing must be nearly a foot long. I mean, what does he expect me to do with the other six inches? It’s not a Subway sandwich you can halve and wrap up for later.”
I drop my head between my hands. “Online dating is a cesspit.”
“It’s all right for you, sitting in your ivory shagging tower.”
“My what?” My head jerks up.
“Not that I’m not jealous or anything,” she says, narrowing her eyes for effect. “I’m totally jealous,” she adds, leaning closer. “I reckon this one only has holes in his pocket. And you know what the holes are for.”
“It’s his. He can play with it as often as he or his Tinder date likes.” I pick up my cup and take a sip.
“This isn’t Tinder. He’s a man my parents want to meet. They found him on one of the matrimonial sites.”
“You’re considering an arranged marriage?” My eyebrows ride high with surprise.
“Blame my recent reading choices.” She leans back in her chair, running her finger through a dusting of spilled cocoa powder. “Though I don’t think there are many billionaire-mafia bad boys on the apps the parentals are viewing.”
“ Apps plural. Wow.”
“It keeps them occupied,” she says with a shrug. “It was, apparently, the least I could let them do when my biological clock ticks so loud my mother isn’t getting any sleep.”
“But you don’t even live in the same city.”
“Which is exactly my mother’s point.” She blows out a long breath. “There’s no harm in looking, right?”
“I guess not.”
“If you ever meet my mum,” she says, flicking a lazy finger my way, “never mention you picked Oliver up wearing your wedding dress. She believes in manifesting.”
“It’s not like we’re in love,” I say with a laugh.
When I look up, Yara’s lips are pursed. “Methinks the lady’s prickly protest is too much. You two are so cute. He makes you happy, and he punched that twat out, saving me the trouble of setting up a GoFundMe to pay for the aunties’ flights.”
I wonder if she’d think him so great if I told her what he said to Mitchell. Not that I would. It’s kind of weird that I wasn’t offended. Weirder still that I was a little turned on. But I’ve since decided I like the idea of Mitch’s erection shriveling when he thinks of me. Second best to his dick falling off, of course. Speaking of dicks ...
“Do your parents know this guy is sending you dick pics?”
“I’m not sure it would make a lot of difference, given my vagina is about to close up for good. Plus, he is the cream of the crop. He’s a real doctor.”
“Oh, a doctor.” My answer is the verbal equivalent of an eye roll.
“Yep, that top-tier individual.” She grins. This is a conversation most vets are familiar with. “Because it’s not like we have to learn the pharmacology, physiology, and anatomy of literally a million species.”
“Well, not literally. More like a hundred or so, but our education covers animal behavior, internal medicine, surgery, dentistry, and ophthalmology. I mean, just who are the true general practitioners?”
“Preach!” she says holding up evangelical hands. “Good thing other people’s opinions don’t stop me loving my job.”
“Me either.” But it doesn’t stop my blood from boiling sometimes.
“So, how is tall, dark, and drop-your-knickers hot?” Yara asks, reaching for a tiny sachet of sugar.
“Oliver?”
“Unless there’s someone else you’re currently dropping your knickers for?”
I wouldn’t have the time. Or the energy. The man keeps me very satisfied. “Oliver is good.”
“And ...” She draws the word out, her eyes dancing.
“And I’m good, thanks for asking.”
“And ...” She gives an excited little wiggle in her seat.
“Together we’re really, really good.” And that is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. It’s also ignoring all the icky stuff like Where is this going? and How much do you really like me? along with Can you see yourself falling for me? and Do you want to have kids, and, if so, how many?
“That’s so exciting! I told you this was going beyond rebound status,” she says, skimming a sugar packet my way.
“I’m not really thinking about the future,” I say with a perfect disregard for the truth. How can I not think about it? I sometimes obsess. “After what happened with Mitch, I’m taking things as they come.” And avoiding those mistakes. The way I see it, my visa is just around the corner, and then I guess we’ll see where this goes.
“That’s fair,” she agrees. “But don’t close your mind to opportunities. He did buy all those glasses for you, remember?” She presses her hands over her heart, doing that cartoon-heartthrob thing.
“Such a dork,” I mutter, smiling as I think of all the things he’s done for me. The denials he’s made when there really is no arguing with how sweet he can be.
“How is Riley, by the way? Have you heard from him lately?”
I nod. “I spoke to him a couple of days ago. The surgery went well, the external fixators are hell, and he’s starting physio.”
“Ouch.” Yara shudders, then reaches for her cup. “If you ask me,” she says, putting it down again, “a man doing anything for you is the pinnacle of manhood—the hottest version of said man.”
“You mean Oliver?”
“Who else?”
“Yeah, you could be right.” Not that I plan on telling him or anything. He’d probably accuse me of being up to something.
“Also, love and happiness have been known to spring from stranger wells.”
Yara doesn’t know the roots of this thing sprouted in blackmail. But can I really shout blackmail when it’s suited my purposes too?
“Stranger wells.” I harrumph.
“What?”
“Name a relationship with a stranger beginning than a woman in a wedding dress hurling herself into a stranger’s car.”
“Okay.” She drops her hands to her lap and appears to think for a little while. “So, my cousin, Sam. She was out with some bloke on a first date, a blind date. Anyway, she said he was a horror, that the only way she’d get through the date was with alcohol. So, there she was, ordering a drink at the bar, when this other dude, off his chops, barged up and pretty much ordered over her. Jumped the queue!”
If there’s one thing that will make a Brit pissed off, it’s queue (or line) jumping.
“She was well annoyed and elbowed him in the guts as she turned around to give him a mouthful. The bloke got in her face, and her date got up from their table to defend her. There was a massive fight, and to cut a long story short, she’s been happily married for three years now.”
“To the horror of a date?”
“No. He was a conspiracy theorist—one of the tin hat brigade. She married the policeman who carted her off to the station. Brawling in a pub is a public-order offense.” She holds out her hands as a kind of ta-daa! “The lawman and the lawbreaker. Stranger wells.”
“Cute.” But not quite as convoluted as my own meet-cute and all that’s followed. A tale of cheating exes, blackmail, a fake relationship turned kind of real, a stately home grab, lions, tigers, and ... puppies!
My love life is a zoo. But it’s about to get worse.