Chapter Ten
Elliott woke the morning after striking a deal with Julia Richardson and immediately questioned her sanity.
Fake girlfriend. She'd agreed to pretend to be in a relationship with a woman who couldn't make toast without triggering the smoke alarm. Not just agreed, she’d actively pushed for the arrangement. Shaken hands on it like it was a sensible business arrangement and not complete madness.
From the sitting room came a groan, followed by the creak of springs. Julia, presumably discovering that the couch was as comfortable as a bag of rocks. Elliott felt a flicker of guilt and squashed it firmly. This was a business arrangement. Guilt had no place in business.
It was a business arrangement and… And, if she was being honest, was more self-serving than she’d like to admit.
Yes, getting to keep her flat was a good thing.
And, let’s face it, there was a solid chance that Julia would be leaving in the near future.
She couldn’t stick it out for that long, surely.
But there was more than that. This was a connection. A small one, right now, but the closest that Elliott had ever come to ‘knowing the right people.’ Gabby Richardson was a star. A star who could make or break the career of someone who, say, wanted to publish their very first cookbook.
She dressed in jeans and a faded t-shirt, dragged her fingers through her hair, and emerged from the bedroom.
Julia was upright on the couch, blonde hair defying gravity in several directions. She looked adorably rumpled. Elliott filed that observation under "not relevant" and made straight for the kettle.
"Morning," Julia said.
Elliott grunted. Coffee first. Conversation later. That was the rule.
She made her coffee strong and black, took a long sip, and felt her brain start functioning properly.
"We need to talk," she said.
"That sounds ominous."
"It's practical." Elliott leaned against the counter. "If we're going to convince your mother we're actually together, we need our story straight. And we need to practice."
"Practice?" Julia's voice went up an octave. "Practice what?"
"Being a couple." Elliott said it like it was obvious, which to her it sort of was. "When was the last time you were in a relationship?"
Julia went pink. "That's not relevant."
"It's completely relevant. If you go rigid every time I touch you, your mother will notice." Elliott set down her mug. "So?"
"Two years ago," Julia admitted. "Sophie. Three months. She said I was too accommodating."
"Shocking." The word came out drier than Elliott intended, though it was accurate. Julia accommodated everyone. It was exhausting to watch.
"What about you?" Julia asked.
Elliott's chest went tight. "Five years. Rachel. It ended badly. Moving on."
She didn't elaborate. Didn't mention the words Rachel had used. Cold. Unfeeling. Incapable of real connection. Didn't mention how Rachel had looked at her like she was fundamentally broken.
Julia, mercifully, didn't push.
"So, what's our cover story?" Julia asked.
Elliott pulled out her phone. "Details. How we met, how long we've been together."
"We met when I smashed a cake into your face."
"Not romantic. Try again."
Julia considered. "You were working here when I arrived. I was charmed by your skill and sparkling personality?"
"My personality doesn't sparkle. It barely glimmers." But Elliott's mouth twitched. "Fine. We met through the bakery. I was helping Milly, you arrived, we talked. Simple. A bit whirlwind, perhaps, since we’re already living together, but that’s what lesbians are famous for, isn’t it?"
They worked through it systematically. A mere two weeks together. First date at the pub. Elliott liked Thai food and proper sourdough. Julia, apparently, had a weakness for fish and chips.
"Fish and chips?" Elliott couldn't help her tone.
"Don't judge me."
"I'm not judging. Just surprised." Elliott almost smiled. "The daughter of Gabby Richardson likes fish and chips."
"The daughter of Gabby Richardson likes lots of things she's not supposed to," Julia said, and there was unexpected bitterness in her voice.
Elliott filed that away too.
"What else?" Julia asked.
"Pet names."
"Sorry?"
"Couples have pet names." Elliott felt deeply uncomfortable. "What do you want me to call you?"
"Julia's fine."
"That's your actual name."
"Then I don't know. What did your ex call you?"
Elliott's jaw tightened. Rachel had called her plenty of things. None of them affectionate. "Nothing worth repeating. Forget pet names. We'll avoid them."
"My mother will notice."
"Then something bland. Love. Darling. Something generic." Elliott rubbed her temples. "This is ridiculous."
"You wanted to practice."
"I wanted to establish a cover story. I didn't want to debate 'sweetheart' versus 'babe.'"
"I vote neither."
"Agreed." Elliott straightened. "Right. Physical contact. We need to be comfortable with it."
Julia's expression did something complicated. "Like what?"
"Hand-holding. Standing close." Elliott held out her hand, trying to ignore her accelerating heart rate. "Come on."
Julia stared at Elliott's hand like it might bite. Then she stood and crossed the space between them.
Her hand was warm sliding into Elliott's. Soft, delicate fingers that had probably never done real work. Elliott's palm was rough from years of kneading dough, handling hot equipment. The contrast was noticeable.
They stood there holding hands, and Elliott tried to think clinically. Practice. Preparation. Nothing real.
Except Julia's hand was very warm. And her thumb was doing this unconscious stroking thing against Elliott's knuckles that was distracting.
"This is weird," Julia said.
"Extremely." Elliott squeezed once, then let go before she thought too hard about it. "But necessary. If we can't hold hands without looking tortured, your mother will see through us."
"She'll see through us anyway."
"Not if we're convincing." Elliott met Julia's eyes. "The more real this looks, the better. For both of us."
For both of us. That was key. The more Gabby Richardson believed this relationship, the more she'd see Elliott as part of Julia's life. Part of the business. And if Elliott became indispensable, if Gabby saw her as talented and worthy…
Maybe Elliott would finally get the recognition she'd been working toward.
Strategic. Practical. Nothing more.
A knock came from downstairs.
"That'll be Tara," Elliott said. "Time to perform."
TARA WAS ARRANGING pastries when they came down. She looked up, her eyes immediately tracking the distance between them.
"Morning," Tara said.
"Morning." Julia grabbed her apron. "How are you?"
"Fine." Tara's voice was flat.
Elliott studied her. The beanie pulled low over her cropped hair. The hunched shoulders. The averted eyes. Something was off, had been since the haircut.
"Sleep well?" Elliott asked.
"Sure." Tara didn't look up.
Awkward silence. Julia rushed to fill it. "So Elliott and I were discussing…um…"
"The fact you're dating?" Tara's voice held amusement. "Yeah, you’ve got a bit of work to do if you’re going to convince your mum of that."
Julia went red. Elliott felt her own face warm.
"It is fake though, right?" Tara looked between them. "Obviously fake."
Elliott kept her voice neutral. "What makes you say that?"
"You're standing three feet apart and look like you're facing execution." Tara grinned finally.
Fair point.
"We're working on it," Elliott said.
"Work faster. Mrs. Richardson doesn't miss details." Tara pulled off her beanie, ran a hand through her short hair, then tugged it back on.
Not helpful.
"Right." Elliott said, moving toward the kitchen. "I'll start the morning bake. Julia, front of house. Tara, prep?"
"Obviously." Tara shot Julia a look. "You two are terrible at this. Primary school Christmas play level. You have realized that, right?"
Again, unhelpful. But she wasn't wrong. Elliott clenched her teeth. She’d just have to try harder, wouldn’t she?
The morning was a disaster. Julia drifted into the kitchen, stood too close, then jumped away like Elliott had burned her. Elliott tried "darling" once and nearly choked. They were wooden, unconvincing, awful.
Tara watched with barely concealed amusement.
By noon, Elliott was ready to abandon the whole scheme. This would never work. Gabby Richardson was too sharp. She'd see through them immediately.
The bell chimed. Jamie walked in with a pot.
"Soup delivery. Butternut squash with sage." He set it down and grinned. "So. Girlfriends?"
"Don't start," Elliott warned.
"I think it's lovely." His smile was mischief. "How long together?"
"Two weeks," they said in unison.
"And your first date?"
Elliott's mind blanked.
"We went to…" Julia started.
"The pub," Elliott finished. "For drinks."
"Lovely," Julia added.
"Very romantic," Elliott said flatly.
Jamie laughed. "You're both terrible liars." He handed them bowls. "But Julia's mother? Terrifying. I spent an hour with her yesterday. Felt like an audition. She asked about my training, suppliers, business plan. Thought she'd demand tax returns. Also, I think she touched my bum."
"That's her," Julia said.
"Are you going to sue her for sexual harassment?" Elliott asked with interest.
Jamie ignored that. "She asked about you too." He said, looking at Elliott. "Your background, training, school. I played dumb. But she'll ask you directly. She won't accept vague answers."
Elliott's knuckles whitened around her spoon. "I don't have impressive answers. Didn't go to culinary school. Learned from Milly. That's it."
"That's not nothing," Julia said.
"To someone like your mother? Might as well be." Elliott set down her bowl. The familiar inadequacy crept in. Never good enough. Never serious. "This is a mistake. She'll see through me. Through us."
"She won't. We'll make it work."
"How?"
"I don't know yet. But we will." Julia reached across and took Elliott's hand.
The touch was unexpected. Warm. Julia's fingers squeezed gently, and something in Elliott's chest loosened.
"We're in this together, remember?" Julia said.
Together. Business arrangement. Mutual benefit.
So why did Julia's hand feel less like a prop and more like an anchor?
Jamie made an approving sound. "See? Almost convincing. Maybe not hopeless."
"Vote of confidence appreciated," Elliott said dryly.
"Anytime." Jamie turned, heading out. "Elliott? Not having formal training doesn't make you less of a baker. Your pastries are the best I've tasted. I've eaten at fancy places. Don't let Julia's mother make you feel otherwise."
He left before Elliott could respond.
Tara appeared. "He's right. You're really good."
"Thanks," Elliott said quietly.
"And you two? Getting better. That hand-holding looked almost real. You might just impress that potential mother-in-law yet."
Elliott glanced down. Julia was still holding her hand. Had forgotten to let go. Their fingers intertwined, Julia's thumb doing that stroking thing again.
Elliott's instinct was to pull away. She didn't do casual affection. Didn't do comfortable touching. But Julia was looking at her with something soft in her eyes, and pulling away felt wrong.
"Monster-in-law," Julia said, breaking the moment.
Elliott's mouth twitched. "Accurate."
"She's not that bad. High standards," said Julia, blushing at her own audacity.
"For everyone but herself." Elliott pulled her hand away gently. "Don't apologize for her. She's put you in an impossible situation. It's okay to be angry."
Julia blinked. "I'm not angry."
"You should be."
"Maybe I'm a bit angry."
"Good. Anger's better than that people-pleasing thing you do."
"I don't people-please."
"You absolutely do. It’s tiring to see."
"Well, you don’t have to live in my flat if you don’t want to watch me." Julia stopped. "Sorry. That was rude."
"That was honest." Elliott almost smiled. "See? You can do it. Now imagine talking to your mother like that."
"I'd rather not imagine my death."
"Fair."
They looked at each other across the counter. Julia's hair had dried in soft waves. She had flour on her cheek. Her eyes were warm, almost honey-colored in the afternoon light.
She was, Elliott thought, really quite pretty.
If only she had a backbone. If only she'd stand up to her mother, claim her own life, stop apologizing for existing. Then maybe she'd be someone Elliott could respect.
But the ends were justifying the means here. She didn’t have to respect Julia to pretend to be her girlfriend, did she?