Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
ROMAN
I feel like an impostor amongst the softly spoken, richly dressed horde of guests at the rehearsal dinner. A whole new wave of family and friends has descended on the mansion ahead of the big day for another show of wealth.
It’s the fanciest dinner I’ve ever seen.
There are candles everywhere. Hundreds of them litter just about every surface.
I hope they have some fire extinguishers tucked away somewhere, as there aren’t any visible.
And with the amount of champagne that’s being put away left, right and centre, I don’t fancy the candles’ odds at staying upright.
Or many of the guests, to be fair.
For a bunch of rich folk, they fairly know how to party.
And this is only a sit-down dinner. How the other half live.
There’s a string quartet playing a delicate instrumental piece in the far corner of the elaborately decorated ballroom.
The tables are dressed in linen starched to within an inch of their lives, and the atmosphere bubbles.
I can’t decide if it’s excitement for the nuptials or an underlying tension.
Knowing what the family do for business, it wouldn’t surprise me if there are rivals and grievances hiding behind veneered smiles.
Maggie is at my side, looking top-notch in a halternecked red dress.
It’s a far cry from the boyfriend jeans and oversized jumpers I usually see her in, and while I appreciate the dressy look, I can tell it doesn’t make her feel comfortable.
It’s like someone’s thrust her into the limelight, and she’s vulnerable under the scrutiny.
Little does she know that long before she dragged me down the stairs and fastened me to her car, I’d noticed her.
Obviously, I had rules about not dipping your wick so close to home, but it didn’t mean I hadn’t seen her.
Hadn’t noticed the way she stops in the alley to pet the stray cat, consistently trying to convince him that he should move in.
Or the way she always chats to the shop owner next door, even when he has the most run-on stories in the universe, without looking bored.
Or the way she hides behind that mane of curls when she blushes.
No, Maggie’s never been invisible. Only out of bounds.
She presses close to my side, only half on her chair, while she toys with the hem of my blazer. All evening, she’s been leaning in and filling me in on who’s who. It’s been incredibly hard to focus after our interrupted make-out session earlier.
Narrating the evening to cope with the insidious looks Eddie keeps throwing at us.
‘That man there,’ she whispers, subtly nodding, ‘the one who looks like Winston Churchill, fell into a vat of tanner? That’s Sir Benjamin Hargreaves. He owns three newspapers and thus the arseholes of half of the MPs.’
‘The MPs?’ I echo quietly. ‘Like blackmail?’
‘His press is far from non-biased. If one of them annoys him, they’ll be lured into a dodgy situation and splashes across the headlines before they can pull their pants back up.’
Hargreaves laughs at one of his seatmates, slipping an arm around a woman who looks decidedly uncomfortable. My skin prickles instinctively.
‘That’s his new wife.’
‘Has anyone told her?’ I ask.
‘I think she’s hoping that she can fuck him hard enough to stop his heart.’
Maggie keeps going, like she can’t stop.
‘The woman in the insane emeralds is from the Kowalczyk family. They’re in logistics. They make things disappear or reappear elsewhere, depending on what a client needs.’
‘Right. Like… containers.’
‘Sure… containers.’ Her mouth twists.
She points again, ‘That’s a Spanish royal. A minor one, but still. I’m pretty sure Eliza had a wild night with him once at University.’
I glance over and nearly choke on my water because this royal is chatting with Evan like old pals.
‘Why is he here?’ I ask.
Maggie’s shrugs. ‘Networking. Everyone needs connections.’
Across the room, Eddie’s mood is written all over his face.
He’s tightly wound, like a snake waiting for the right moment to wrap around my neck and choke the life out of me.
I’m trying not to stare back, because the last thing I need is a testosterone showdown at Maggie’s dad’s dinner. It proves difficult. Taking your eye off the skulking spider always leads to it disappearing.
Champagne bubbles on my tongue, dry and sharp. I keep my sips to a minimum after my morning of boozy indulgence. I’ve already slammed back some painkillers for the day-drinking headache that I know is approaching.
Dinner begins with a procession of courses: everything as over-the-top as possible. There’s foam. There’s smoke. I can’t decide if it’s food or one of those awful teen discos I used to go to. A night of snogging amongst foam that would stain our clothes and get us a bollocking come wash day.
James Rutherford has arrived for the celebrations, Maggie’s soon-to-be step-brother. He’s handsome. Even to me. All sharp angles and eyes that pierce. Maggie lets me know he’s every bit as deadly as he looks, and that he and Eliza have a healthy—or perhaps exceedingly unhealthy—rivalry.
A rivalry that is largely based on who can take out the targets with the highest rewards first.
Or who can do it the most heinously.
Even thinking about it makes it hard to swallow my food. Eliza looks like she should be sauntering along a catwalk, not hunting down scum and dispatching them.
‘You’ve always lacked finesse, Eliza,’ James says pleasantly, as if he’s talking about something that isn’t meeting out death.
Eliza smiles like butter wouldn’t melt. ‘And you’ve always confused volume with competence. Like most guys, I’m guessing you’re compensating for something…’
James’s jaw tightens before he takes a slow, measured sip of his wine.
‘That’s rich coming from you,’ he replies.
Maggie nudges my knee under the table and slides her hand into mine. A squeeze of solidarity, perhaps?
Halfway through dessert, our table descends into full-blown butchery bragging, and I wonder if my face is as green as my belly feels.
The table around us is laughing while Eliza talks in half-hushed excitement, loud enough that I can’t ignore her, but not so loud as to alert other tables to the stomach-turning discussion.
‘—and honestly,’ Eliza says, swirling her wine, ‘he just wouldn’t shut up. Just kept talking. Talking. Talking. And if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a man who doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.’
‘Noted,’ I whisper to Maggie, who looks equally as revolted by the conversation.
James grins, thoroughly enjoying every word. ‘So you strangled him with his own innards?’
Eliza’s eyes widen in mock surprise. ‘James. Don’t be crude.’
‘It’s literally what you did. Your reputation precedes you.’
‘Yes, but the way you say it makes it sound… messy.’
‘It was messy, I heard that one loop burst and left him drowning in his own…’
Nope. Not listening to that. I scan the room, loosening my tie as a hot flush washes over me.
People laugh around the table as I try to drown out the conversation.
Maggie looks like she might faint into her pudding. Her smile is robotic, and her eyes saucer wide, the colour draining from her cheeks.
I lean closer, murmuring, ‘You alright?’
‘Mm-hm,’ she lies. ‘It’s just a lot coming from my little sister, you know, used to play Barbies.’
‘Maybe Operation would have been more her style.’
A microphone appears out of thin air.
A member of staff presses it into Maggie’s hand. I don’t remember her saying anything about speeches. Maggie looks at the microphone like it’s a live grenade about to blow in her face.
If anything’s blowing in her face—
No. Roman. Focus. The last thing I need to add to this evening is a fucking boner.
‘Oh,’ she says, loud enough that heads turn. ‘Oh. No. That’s— I—’
Evan beams at her. ‘A few words, darling. For the guests. You’re the eldest.’
Maggie’s throat bobs as she reluctantly gets to her feet, fidgeting with the bottom of the microphone and looking ready to make for the nearest exit. I pull my chair back a touch because if she’s going, I’m going with her.
Her knuckles grow pale where she grips the mic too tightly, and when she first tries to speak, there’s an ear-splitting feedback screech. Red fills her cheeks as she winces.
Then she looks at her dad, and her shoulders drop an inch. Resignation.
Evan appears tired tonight. Likely my fault for our drinking session. But it was that or more golf, and I’m bloody awful at it.
‘I—right. Hello.’ Her voice wobbles. ‘Thank you all for coming. I know it’s a long way for a lot of you. And the weather is decidedly wet, as usual.’
Polite laughter ripples.
‘I just wanted to say that I’m grateful that you’re all here. For my family. For Dad and Priscilla. Us kids. Well, we’re not kids, obviously. I’m almost thirty, for god’s sake.’ Oh god. She’s babbling. ‘But you know what I mean, we’re their kids. Not Priscilla’s, obviously. Well, James is…’
She pauses and swallows as people stare.
‘I’ve spent a long time living in London, as many of you know,’ she says, words tumbling. ‘Like I can opt out of family life. Because sometimes distance makes things easier. And I joke about it, because joking is easier than admitting I’m scared of getting it wrong.’
My chest tightens as the mic quakes in her grip.
‘But lately I’ve realised that maybe not being involved is its own kind of risk.’ Her gaze flicks briefly to Priscilla. ‘That leaving everything to other people doesn’t necessarily keep anyone safe.’
Confused looks pass between the other family members, everyone trying to figure out where Maggie is going with this.
‘I know I’ve resisted what’s expected of me, but maybe it’s time I stepped up properly. Took some responsibility.’
Oh no.
Her eyes lift, and I see a decision click into place. One that I know she’ll regret in the morning when the moment has passed. She’s caving to pressure, and while I may not have truly known her long, I know she doesn’t want this.
Because she thinks it will protect her father if she’s close.
Because it might make her dad happy to have her there.
No matter what she needs.
Eddie leans forward in his chair, looking like that lizard who gets the eggs in a favourite childhood movie of mine.
My chair crapes back, and before I know it, I’m on my feet, not the focal point of many of those stares.
‘We’re all very much looking forward to seeing Priscilla and Evan tie the knot tomorrow, where Maggie looks forward to taking her role as a bridesmaid very seriously. She knows it’s a huge responsibility, and I’m sure you’ll all agree we’re very proud of her.’ I say.
A smattering of applause follows a moment of confusion.
I step closer to Maggie and take her face in my hands. Is it to maintain my part in her ruse, or to claim her in front of everyone, including that dickhead Eddie?
Either way, I tip her chin upward and kiss her as though my life depends on it.
Maybe it does.
Or maybe I’ve just signed my death warrant.
It’s not a polite peck. It’s a kiss that I hope tells her to stop talking before she throws herself in the deep end with an anvil around her neck. A kiss that has a drunken table hollering while a camera flashes.
Fuck.
Let’s hope that doesn’t end up in front of anyone who knows who I am. It’s then that I feel Eddie’s gaze slice over me like a blade. Eddie knows.
Maggie kisses me back until she pulls back with a startled stare.
‘Just breathe and ride it out.’ I keep my voice to a whisper.
We sit down, both of us scarlet-faced as people stare. Her hand finds mine under the table and grips it so tight it aches.
Eddie’s expression promises pain.
I lean in close to Maggie’s ear. ‘Don’t make massive life decisions just because of a suspicion. It doesn’t change who you are. Or what you want.’
‘Thank you, I just feel so guilty. We need to find out what’s in that cabinet.’ Then softer, she adds,’ I can’t believe you kissed me in front of everyone.’
‘Why wouldn’t I? I like kissing you.’
She doesn’t look like she fully believes that. ‘Because this isn’t real. And you’re a ten, and I’m—’ she gestures vaguely at herself, as if the concept of Maggie speaks for itself ‘—at best a four. On a good hair day.’
I turn fully toward her, ignoring the fact that half the table is still watching us like we’re the entertainment.
‘Only an idiot would think you’re anything less than perfect.’
She blinks at me, thrown. ‘I’m not perfect.’
‘Weirdly perfect,’ I grin. ‘Which is the best kind.’
Maggie assesses me like she’s waiting for the punchline. ‘I don’t think you’d know weird if it slapped you in the face.’
‘I’m game if that’s what you’re into, you little oddball.’
It takes her a couple of seconds to process what I said before she play-shoves my shoulder. ‘Maybe you’re even weirder than me.’
‘Probably.’
Around us, the dinner continues. People return to their desserts while Eliza launches into another story, and James tries to outdo her with his.
And Eddie, well, he doesn’t look away from me once.