Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
OLIVER
Having Lexi next to me at the dinner table with my parents, my sister Sofia, and her fiancé Jeremy feels like the first time I’ve had someone on my side here in…well, ever.
Not that my sister isn’t supportive. She’s just very much a peacemaker who takes her royal duty seriously and tries to straddle the line between backing me when Mum and Dad are being unreasonable or harsh and toeing the royal party line.
She and Jeremy live on his family’s stud farm outside Cambridge, but they’re here for the run-up to the wedding, which is being held at a small, old stone church in the village.
It was one mighty relief when Sofia and Lexi hit it off the second my sister pulled her into a hug and told her she must be a “real trooper” for putting up with me.
Yup, Lexi tolerated me for a whole two-hour meeting at my New York apartment before coming here to spend two weeks with me.
When she barreled onto the plane and used her persuasive powers to get me to stick to our agreement and let her come, I was worried I was making a giant mistake and that bringing her here under this fake-girlfriend ruse would be a total disaster.
But everything she’s done so far has made this visit a lot more fun than it otherwise would have been.
Not to mention she found the fucking bug in my room that I would never have known was there. So at least I know to be on my guard from now on.
If whoever planted it has been doing it for years, since I was a teenager, they must have heard some bloody awful things.
Wanking, for a start. An inordinate amount of wanking.
And God knows how many late-night rants in which I replayed that day’s conversations with my parents in the way I wished I could have had them—a way in which I told them exactly what I thought, rather than biting my tongue for the sake of trying to be the good son that they never thought I was anyway.
Yeah, the spies would have heard an inordinate amount of profanity too.
But right now, with Lexi in the chair next to me in the family dining room—there’s a state dining room in the more formal part of Glenwither that has all kinds of old royal shit in it—I have a sense of being less alone than I’ve ever felt before.
I guess if I’d ever had a real girlfriend who’d lasted long enough for me to bring her home, I might have experienced it before now.
The bartender I was seeing before I moved to the US never came here because I’d tried to keep the whole thing a secret to protect her.
Then when the press blew our cover, my parents said she wasn’t the “type of girl” I should bring home. Shame on them.
Sometimes I almost envy Sofia and Jeremy. Almost, because I wouldn’t crave to be engaged to a boring English toff who runs Daddy’s thoroughbred stables. But he dotes on my sister and she obviously adores him, and that’s all that matters.
When she brought him out to New York to meet me a couple of years ago and I watched them share little glances and in-jokes, I knew she’d struck relationship gold.
I also knew I’d be lucky if I ever struck bronze. Because what woman with any sense would ever take the tabloids’ favorite party prince seriously as a relationship contender?
“That’s an interesting way of using cutlery.” My mother’s eyes have been scrutinizing Lexi’s knife and fork usage for a while.
Lexi looks up, having rested her knife on her plate after cutting her steak, then switched the fork to her right hand and stabbed the chunk of meat with it.
She pauses with the fork halfway to her mouth, probably unsure it’s her who’s even being addressed since no one actually used her name.
“Me?” she asks.
My mother nods and picks up her glass of white wine.
“Oh,” Lexi says. “Yes, I guess you don’t do it like that here. This is how I was raised to eat. It’s considered good manners in the US.”
“In the US.” My father shakes his head and releases a disgusted sigh, while making sure he gets the perfect carrot-to-steak ratio on the fork which is, very Britishly, in his left hand.
Lexi turns her head to look up at me. “Have I done something wrong?”
Oh my God, the concern behind the depths of those blue eyes makes me want to put my arm around her and kiss her to reassure her.
Actually, she’s supposed to be my fucking girlfriend, so I’m going to do exactly that.
The second my hand touches her shoulder she flinches and pulls away the tiniest bit, but a moment later, she obviously remembers that we’re supposed to be a couple and gives into it, leaning in and allowing me to pull her closer.
“Absolutely not, my love.” I kiss her gently on her forehead. More than the brush her lips gave me in the garden, but not enough to leave any moisture behind—that would be rude. “Of course it’s not bad. It’s just different.”
I slide my hand across Lexi’s back as she returns to her upright position, a flush to her cheeks.
It’s the exact same shade of pink in the exact same spots that appeared after I pulled the hair away from her face while we were sitting on the bathroom floor earlier.
Fuck, I wanted to kiss her then too. But in a much less polite way.
We might have been joking with all the shower shagging noises, and it was definitely fun, a whole new variety of fun for me—the way we laughed together, the way she mocked my dirty talk, the way it made me think of her actually in the shower with water running dow—
“Americans do a lot of things differently,” my mother says.
I drop my knife and fork to my plate with more of a clatter than I intended. “Like what, Mum? What other American behaviors besides scandalous silverware usage do you object to?”
“How about you tell us how you two met?” my sister pipes up in the super cheery voice that’s a sure sign she’s activated her peacekeeper mode.
“Yes,” Jeremy adds, in his role as the perfect, supportive fiancé. “I hope it’s as fun a story as ours.”
He reaches under the table, seemingly rests his hand on Sofia’s leg, and they giggle.
They met when he clipped the wing mirror of her car and she rolled down her window to yell at him.
Jeremy bought her lunch to apologize, and that was that.
She moved into his house on the grounds of the stud farm two months later.
“Oh, okay.” Lexi looks at me again for reassurance. Which is an oddly amazing feeling.
This is a woman who’s brave enough to want to live her life in dangerous war zones and yet, right now, she’s seeking my support. Though I am very experienced with this place and this family, which very often feel like the center of an international conflict.
It was pretty short-sighted of us not to think we needed to come up with a cute tale of how we met. But we’ve been so entirely focused on the book that the practicalities of this whole pretend relationship situation didn’t occur to me.
“Why don’t you tell the story,” Lexi says.
Shit, I’m all out of ideas. And my brain is definitely not good under pressure.
“Oh, you know you do it more justice than I do.” I nudge her playfully with my elbow. “You’re the professional storyteller in this relationship, after all.”
“Was it through that god-awful football club?” Dad asks.
Lexi’s eyes flash to mine for a second, before she takes a breath and turns to my sister.
“Didn’t have anything to do with the Boston Commoners,” she says, completely ignoring my father. “I’m afraid it’s a pretty dull story. We met at Oliver’s apartment in New York.”
Okay, that’s not what I was expecting.
“I went to interview him.” She picks up her glass of red wine. “Have you been there?” she asks my parents.
They both huff, almost simultaneously, like why on earth would they ever consider traveling across the Atlantic unless it was absolutely necessary for royal duties?
“Oh, you should,” Lexi gushes. “It’s beautiful. And has the most mind-blowing view of the Empire State Building I’ve ever seen.”
“We loved it,” Sofia says before resting her hand on Jeremy’s arm. “We must go again soon.”
Jeremy nods. “As long as I can get cover at the stables, we’ll go whenever you like.”
They’re such the perfect picture of togetherness that I sometimes wonder if they’re taking the piss.
“What, exactly, were you going to interview my son about?” my mother asks. “We don’t much care for interviews.”
“Oh, the usual stuff.” Lexi waves her hand around. “British royal moving to America. The whys and wherefores and how he’s adjusting to life in the US. That kind of thing.”
“And when did this article come out?” My father spits out the word as if Lexi couldn’t possibly write anything worthy of the term, even though he’s never read a single word she’s published.
“Oh, it didn’t go ahead in the end.” Lexi picks up her knife and fork and slices a chunk of cauliflower in half. “After we’d spoken for a while, Oliver decided it probably wouldn’t be the best thing for the family if he did it. And he didn’t want to let anyone down.”
Of course it’s all a lie, but my heart swells with pride and admiration. There she goes again. Her mind is so fucking smart. And so fucking quick. She managed to come up with a story that not only gave them a verbal poke in the eye, but also made me look good.
And she didn’t have to do any of that.
Wow, that desire to have my mouth on hers has flooded right back again.
With all eyes on her, Lexi rests her knife on her plate like it’s performance art, switches the fork to her right hand, stabs the cauliflower, then slowly lifts it to her mouth.
“Hm,” my mother says, pushing her plate away as if also shunning the very idea that I might take any part of my inherited duty seriously.
“Lexi.” My sister uses her bright, must-create-family-harmony voice. “The stylist has sent me some great suggestions for a dress for you for the wedding. I must show them to you. And the hat and shoe choices are so cute.”
“Oh, thank y—”
“She’s coming to the wedding?” My mother’s tone more befits a sentence like You just shat on my plate.
“Of course.” Sofia’s clearly distressed that her efforts to maintain harmony have had the opposite effect.
My mother closes her eyes and purses her lips. “I don’t think there’s any need for that.”
Dad sinks his head into his hands.
Lexi shoots me a look out of the corner of her eye and, obviously sensing the cocktail of anger and frustration rising inside me, rests the tips of her fingers on my bicep. “It’s okay,” she says quietly.
And while I’m certain she couldn’t give a flying fuck about coming to the wedding, I’m not allowing anyone to exclude the person everyone believes is my serious girlfriend from an important family occasion.
Because that means one day they’d do it to a real one, and I cannot allow that precedent to be set.
“I think there’s every need for it,” I say.
“Think of the press, Oliver,” my mother snips. “Think of your sister. This is her day, not yours. The only thing the media will care about is who the mystery woman on your arm is, rather than how beautiful Sofia looks.”
Jeremy strokes the back of Sofia’s head with a proud smile, as if to emphasize that his bride will indeed be the most beautiful creature imaginable.
“I will be getting plenty of attention,” Sofia says. “To be honest, I could do with spreading it around a bit.” I’m certain her giggle is an effort to defuse the tension.
“If Sofia is happy to have my girlfriend at her wedding, then she’s coming.” Again I wrap my arm around Lexi and pull her toward me, more firmly this time, and I drop a full-blown kiss onto the top of her head. It smells of honey and a little bit of the plane’s leather headrests.
“Oh my God,” Mum says. “Craig, aren’t you going to say something about this?”
Having just shoved his mouth full of the remaining steak and potatoes on his plate, Dad isn’t really in a position to say anything about anything right now.
“More wine?” Jeremy reaches for the bottle of white to top up Mom’s glass. “Lexi, has anyone ever told you your name sounds like a superhero? I keep imagining posters that say ‘Lexi Lane by day, News Buster by night’ or something.”
My sister giggles and gives him an oh, you pat on the arm.
“Marjorie,” my mother screeches.
And almost before she’s finished those three syllables, our cook appears through the door from the kitchen.
“Yes, ma’am?” Marjorie says with a startled smile, clearly sensing the tension.
“Dessert, please. Then I’m going straight to bed.”
Ah, yes.
Bed.
How the hell are Lexi and I going to figure out that one?