Chapter 12
What was I thinking in agreeing to go with him?
I am woefully unprepared for this. I’m the least sophisticated person on the planet, and I can guarantee that the people I’m going to meet tonight are the epitome of refined sophistication.
My idea of Christmas party wear is a questionable festive jumper, jewellery that lights up, and always a novelty headband.
I give up on the earrings, poke my feet into the highest heels I own, and head for the stairs.
Ollie’s waiting in the entrance hall, and when the floorboards creak under my feet, he turns around and audibly gasps.
‘Wow.’ He pushes out a breath and my face heats up because the dress could be considered sexy, but only with someone more elegant than me inside it.
It’s made of glittery black satin, simply cut, strappy and floor-length, and it accentuates the right curves while disguising the unwanted ones.
The holy grail of dresses that I haven’t had a chance to wear since I bought it, but I shoved it into my suitcase before I left London, assuming there might be some formal dinner or something involved in hosting Christmas.
‘Have you seen How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days?’ he asks as I descend the stairs, trying not to overbalance in my heels, and wishing I hadn’t put quite so much garland on the banister rails. ‘That moment when Kate Hudson steps out in the yellow dress and Matthew McConaughey is speechless?’
I nod as I reach ground level, and he holds his hand out and when I slip my fingers over his, he lifts our hands and invites me to do a twirl.
‘I just had that moment in real life. You look… breathtaking.’ His voice comes out as a throaty whisper, making him sound actually breathless, and my cheeks get even hotter.
‘Thank you.’ I don’t hide the fact that I’m appreciating his look too. ‘You are stunning. It’s like stepping out with a prince, but no actual prince could ever come close to you.’
He laughs that self-conscious, embarrassed laugh like he knows I mean it but he doesn’t believe it.
He’s wearing a black suit that’s even smarter than his usual workwear, and a bowtie instead of a regular tie, and although he looks gorgeous, he looks nowhere near as attractive as he does in an oversized hoodie and socks that jingle.
It might be nice to have a reason to get dressed up once in a while, but I already can’t wait to get home later, especially to get out of these heels.
We go over our backstory on the hour’s drive to the office, and he keeps glancing over at me while driving, and I’m trying not to think about how the silky material of his suit trousers would feel under my fingers.
When we arrive, he races round to help me out of the car, and walking in with my hand through his arm makes me feel ten feet tall, even though my heels are only four inches.
A conference room at the office has been cleared of furniture, apart from a buffet table filled with a spread of pigs in blankets, sausage rolls, brie and cranberry swirls, mini quiches, and vol-au-vents.
The food options are much fancier than the décor, which consists of nothing more than a sad-looking Christmas tree decorated with threadbare gold tinsel and fairy lights that are flickering with age rather than intention.
My dark hair is straightened and held back at one side with a glittery red bow, and Ollie holds it aside to murmur into my ear. His voice, so low and so deep, along with his lips brushing against the shell of my ear sends a tingle down my spine that’s impossible to hide.
‘That’s Dand Brenton and his wife Orla,’ he says as a couple approach us.
‘Dand?’
‘Short form of Andrew,’ he hisses quickly, without a chance to say anything more before they’re on top of us.
‘Don’t tell me this is the infamous Lucy!’ Orla has hauled me away from him and is holding my shoulders and peering at me like I might disappear at any moment. ‘We thought for sure he was single and he’d completely invented you!’
‘Nope, I’m here.’ The nerves return and I sound like a school child in morning registration, especially when I let out a wholly unnecessary peal of laughter at the idea of not being real. Imagine that.
Dand Brenton finishes shaking Ollie’s hand and comes over to shake mine as well. ‘It’s beyond a thrill to finally meet you. What a delight. No wonder Oliver’s been keeping you all to himself.’
‘I’m glad to have finally made it,’ I stutter as everything we rehearsed immediately leaves my head.
They’re both in their fifties. Dand is short with dark hair and is the definition of rich and subtly wanting everyone to know it, from the designer logo prominently displayed on the lapel of his classic suit to the flashy gold jewellery.
Orla is much taller than her husband with poker-straight blonde hair.
She’s wearing a mini dress that looks like it’s made of liquid silver and carrying a clutch bag that probably cost more than a year’s London rent.
Ollie reaches out and takes my hand. ‘Yes, this is Lucy. My darling wife has finally had a chance to join us tonight.’
‘We should celebrate!’ Orla apprehends a waiter with a tray of filled glasses, takes two off for her and Dand, and then invites us to do the same. ‘Champagne?’
‘I’m driving.’ Ollie holds a hand up when she tries to insist.
‘Lucy?’
‘No, thanks, I’m… driving in solidarity,’ I say. The one thing I must do tonight is keep a clear head, which is already a bit fuzzy solely from Ollie’s aftershave and the way he keeps squeezing my hand.
‘Oliver!’
‘And this is Halston Galligan and Michelle.’ Ollie bends down to whisper quickly in my ear again.
‘This is never Lucy!’ Michelle embraces me in a cloud of curly brown hair and orange-scented perfume. ‘You exist! We were certain he’d made you up!’
She air kisses me on both cheeks and pulls back far enough to look at me, but instead of it being in a judgemental way, I really do feel like they’re struggling to get over the surprise of actually meeting me.
‘What a lovely couple you make. After all this time, it really is a privilege to meet Oliver’s wife!’ Halston shakes my hand too. His greying hair perfectly matches his understated silvery-grey suit and general air of stillness next to Dand’s energy.
I mumble a thank you. My other hand is still in Ollie’s and I take a step back so I’m standing next to him, our arms pressing against each other’s, and he squeezes my fingers again.
‘How convenient that our party didn’t clash with your parents’ visit this year,’ Dand says.
‘Ah yes, down south. In England.’ For absolutely no reason, I play up my English accent and it comes out sounding like I’ve stepped out of a Regency novel.
He and Orla share a confused look. ‘I was under the impression they came here? We’ve told Oliver to invite them along many times!’
‘Oh, yes, right, from down south, obviously,’ I correct myself. ‘And then I go to visit them at Christmas with the children while Ollie joins you on the Christmas break.’
‘Never much of a break though, is it?’ Michelle rolls her eyes and has another sip from her glass of wine.
‘I must say, Lucy, those are a bold footwear choice with your ankle.’ Orla’s eyes run down my dress to my feet.
‘My ankle?’
Ollie gives my hand a sharp tug and I look up at him and his eyes widen, and I realise what he’s trying to say. ‘Oh, yes, right, my ankle. It’s… er… all better now!’ I say breezily, despite not knowing what I’d apparently done to it.
‘Oh, goodness me, yes, and your leg last year,’ Michelle adds. ‘You’re a brave woman to choose heels like that.’
‘My leg…’
‘When you broke it,’ Ollie fills in. ‘Falling off that horse when we took Maisie riding.’
‘Yep, well, I’ve always been a quick healer. So quick I’d almost forgotten!’ Again, the peal of laughter is overkill and I stop abruptly, which probably makes me sound even more possessed.
Eventually, someone else comes in and the bosses and wives go to greet them, leaving us alone to go over to the makeshift bar that’s been set up and get a glass of sparkling water each.
I stand next to him, my arm through his, looking around at all these people that Ollie must know, listening to ‘Fairytale of New York’ that’s coming through the speakers, and I feel like we’re playing characters tonight.
Oliver and Lucy. Two different people than who we really are.
Is that something Ollie is doing every day at work too?
I’m intending to stay close to him all night, and from the way his hand is clinging onto mine, he doesn’t intend us to get separated either, but it isn’t long before Halston insists he say hello to some very important client or other.
I move to go with him, but Michelle swoops in with a buffet plate of mini tartlets in her hand.
‘Is there anything worse than business talk at a party? Come and have some nibbles and fill us in on all the gossip! Honestly, you can take the men out of the office but you can never prise the office away from the men!’
She slips her arm through mine to pull me over to the buffet, and Ollie’s already being dragged towards the other side of the room, and he looks back with a powerless grimace.
This feels like a situation that has all the potential to go horribly wrong, but at the same time, I can’t make a scene about being surgically attached to my supposed husband all evening because then they really will suspect something.
‘So are you better now?’
‘Better?’ I munch on cheese straw distractedly.
‘That sounded like a nasty time you had with smallpox. However did you pick it up?’
I promptly choke on the cheese straw. ‘Oh, I, um… Just unlucky, I guess.’
Couldn’t he even have told them something that exists in this century? Smallpox has been eradicated for decades. No one has it any more.