Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Sorry,” I mutter. “Sorry, can I just push past?”
Yet again, I’m regretting the cake as I try my best to squeeze through all the bodies in the bar.
Horatio meets me halfway, a smile on his face that makes him look so devastatingly handsome, I’m in fear for my knees and the cake.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hey,” he responds.
And for a moment, we just stare at each other. And I think if anyone was looking at us at this very moment, they wouldn’t suspect for one minute that this was fake. They certainly wouldn’t suspect Horatio’s been bewitched by an exploding love potion. I bet it looks about as real as it feels.
My whole body tingles under his attention. My heart seems to skip a beat. Those butterflies lose their little heads. And my spirits lift all the way up to the ceiling.
It’s really good to see him. Have I actually been missing him?
But then the spell is broken as someone barges into me, and I fall forward, the cake box smushing against Horatio’s broad chest. Luckily, the box is pretty solid, and his arms come out automatically to steady me, and save the sponge.
“I brought a cake,” I explain.
He drags his eyes away from my face and down to the cake pinned between our bodies.
“A birthday cake,” I explain.
“You… you made me a birthday cake?” And am I mistaken, or does he sound genuinely touched?
“Well, I did sort of force you to bake brownies in the run-up to your own birthday,” I say, “which is frankly an unforgivable crime.”
His lips twitch.
“Unforgivable.”
“And it is your birthday,” I add, “and everybody should have a cake on their birthday.”
“Of course they should,” Tiggie says, popping up from nowhere beside the two of us. “That’s why there’s one over there.”
She points over Horatio’s shoulder, and I have to duck to the side to see around him, spying a spectacular cake, all shiny with chocolate ganache icing and decorated with impressively handcrafted chocolate webbing, standing proudly at the back of the bar where a private area has been roped off and the bodies of people are a lot less dense.
“Oh,” I say, my shoulders sagging.
“Is it a Victoria sponge?” Horatio asks, taking the cake from my hands, our fingers brushing against each other as he does.
“Yes. If I’d known chocolate was your favourite …” I shake my head.
“Victoria sponge is my favourite.” He peers into my eyes. “No one’s ever baked a birthday cake for me before … I mean, not apart from my mom.”
“Oh,” I say because I’m not sure what else to say.
He balances the cake in one hand and takes hold of my elbow with the other.
He doesn’t need to steer me through all the people because all the people automatically clear a path for him. I guess that’s the advantage of being really damn big and really damn tall. No one fancies being rugby tackled by such a giant.
We reach the roped-off area, where I spy Damien and Prim already here, guzzling Prosecco in a corner and whispering to each other fervently.
Damien is wearing a bright electric-blue suit with no shirt underneath the jacket.
At least he is wearing clothes and his mane of hair is ginger tonight.
Tiggie trots off to join them and I spin my gaze around the other people gathered here tonight.
There’s no one else I recognise, which surprises me.
I’ve lived opposite Mr Hottie for nearly two years, apparently.
You’d think I’d recognise a few faces. Friends or relatives that pop round.
Even one or two of those ex-girlfriends. But I don’t. Not one face.
Horatio places my cake down next to that magnificent chocolate creation, making me wince because my cake looks pretty pathetic in comparison.
“Did the bar arrange the other cake?” I ask him.
“No, my work colleagues,” he says, manoeuvring me away from the cakes and into the throng of his friends. He starts introducing me to people, his hand on the small of my back the whole time, sending delicious shots of electricity up and down my spine.
He introduces me as Molly, his girlfriend and his next-door neighbour.
“Girlfriend?” one woman says with a trill little laugh.
I think she’s called Tasha or Pasha or perhaps Gnasha.
A pair of diamonds are pinned to her ears and designer heels strapped to her feet.
More diamonds are looped around her slim wrist and her nails are filed to sharp points.
For a moment I wonder if she might be a vampire blending in with all these civvies, but I don’t experience the prickle of magic I usually do when I meet another paranormal person out here in the normal world.
She’s almost as tall as Horatio, and she whispers something in his ear and titters again.
He manages a polite smile in return and is about to lead me away, when she grabs my hand and says, “I’m so sorry about the cake situation.
I had no idea Horatio had a girlfriend. He’s never mentioned you.
” She gives me a sad, little smile that, as someone now familiar with faking it, I can tell is about as unreal as they come.
“And I had no idea you were arranging a cake, so I went out and got that one from Ricardo’s.
Have you heard of Ricardo’s? He makes the best cakes in the whole of London!
They are divine. I had to pull a few strings, of course, and it cost a small fortune, but I promise you it will taste like heaven.
And Horatio does have a weak spot for chocolate.
” Something flashes in her eyes – and am I really sure she isn’t a vamp?
“And sophisticated, complex, and well-made things, don’t you, darling?
” She turns her head and flashes Horatio a much more convincing smile.
I’ve never been very good at the whole bitchy girl thing. Maybe that’s how I ended up best friends with a demon. Most passive aggressive insults float right over my head without even leaving a scratch. But even I am pretty sure those last words of hers were meant as an insult aimed squarely at me.
“I’ve always preferred homemade cakes,” Horatio says sharply, pulling me away.
“Are you trying to say I’m homely?” I whisper-hiss at him, once we’ve stepped away from the vamp-wannabe.
“What?”
“I’m pretty sure you just compared me to a homemade sponge?”
“Did I?” he says, looking confused.
Everybody else is very polite. I shake a lot of hands. I say a lot of how-do-you-dos. But, though they may be polite to my face, I’m not blind to twitching eyebrows and flashes of astonishment.
I can’t blame these people. I am the antithesis of Horatio’s usually preferred girlfriends. I’m not tall and elegant and model-like. I’m not wearing a designer dress fresh off the runway. My dark roots are showing, and the ends of my hair are dyed pink and not an expensive shade of blonde.
After I’ve shaken about twenty hands and kissed at least fifteen cheeks, I’m finally introduced to a man similar in age to Horatio, though much shorter and slighter, and with a lot more colour in his outfit.
“This is Alex,” Horatio says. “My best friend. I’m going to leave you in his relatively safe hands while I find you a drink.” He narrows his eyes at his friend. “Do not tell her any horror stories.”
Once he’s left the two of us alone, I say, “You’re Alex. The best friend. I’ve heard lots about you.”
“And you’re Molly,” he replies. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“You have?” I say, slightly stunned.
Then I realise Alex is Horatio’s oldest friend, and they’ve done the whole fake-dating thing before. Maybe Horatio has told Alex all about our arrangement. Although hopefully he’s omitted the parts about me being a witch who happened to bewitch him with an exploding love potion.
“Oh yes. Talks about you all the time,” Alex says, grinning at me behind his glass of Prosecco and waggling his eyebrows. “Can’t believe he finally got the guts up to ask you out.”
“Got the guts up?” I mutter, not understanding what he can mean.
Alex leans forward. “So now he’s out of earshot, what do you want to know? I’m willing to divulge everything!”
“That sounds tempting! Although, I can’t imagine there’s much to tell. He’s a very well-behaved boy.”
“Don’t be fooled. He has at least one parking ticket.”
I laugh. “Well, I have at least ten and I can’t drive and don’t own a car.”
Alex chuckles and takes a swig of his drink. “He told me you were funny. And cute.”
“You talk a lot then.”
“Nope, not for a couple of months.” He rolls his eyes. “You know Ho – always very busy.”
“Ho!” I say in outrage. “You call him Ho?”
“Let me guess,” Ho’s friend grins, “he told you he didn’t have a nickname?”
“He’s such a sneaky little liar.”
“I told you – he has that whole angelic face thing going on, but underneath he’s a demon.”
I glance towards my friend who really is a demon and gulp. “You know, most best friends I’ve met are usually trying to convince me that their besties are actually much nicer than they seem. You’re doing the opposite.”
“I’m trying to give him an edge.”
“You don’t think his absurdly good-looks do that for him already?”
“Molly, are you saying you’re dating my best friend for his body?” he teases. I’m debating how to answer that when, he adds, “I saw you met Tasha.” I nod. “I’d watch out for that one. She’s been trying to get her nasty claws into Horatio for about a year.”
“Or her fangs into his neck,” I mutter.
“What?”
“Err, nothing.” I take a sip of my drink. “So did they ever … has he ever …”
“Not to my knowledge.” Alex laughs again. “He can’t stand the woman.”
“Then why is she here?”
“They work together. He has to be nice.”
My fake boyfriend reappears with a glass of bubbly for me and another for his friend.
“I approve,” Alex tells him, “Molly here is very lovely and interesting and spunky. Probably way too interesting for you.” He leans closer. “His previous girlfriends have tended to be a little – how should I put it? – vacant.”
“Natalie was a high-profile criminal lawyer,” Horatio protests, sending a spike of jealousy through my belly.
“And she was about as entertaining as a cabbage!”