“Ashton? That’s a boy’s name, isn’t it?”
“So is Martin.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” I give a quick shake of my head.
I’d opened the door to my flat three weeks ago to find a pink box the size of a large dollhouse on the front step. A woman stood next to it, but I didn’t pay her any attention, thanks to the whimpering and the scrabble of paws against cardboard. My heart hammered as I’d crouched down as though the box was a bomb. I knew what I’d find inside, and I was so terrified. I wanted that insistent, wriggling, fluffy thing, but I was so petrified of what it might mean. The legacy of my childhood Bess. Love is tricky. Fleeting. It’s hard to be worth it. But then the box had burst open, and this soft, sandy-colored love bug of a Labrador puppy had leaped into my arms. She’d had a pink satin bow around her neck, and I was just done for.
The very nice lady who accompanied her handed me pedigree certificates, pet insurance documents, a card for an account at a local veterinary clinic, vouchers for a doggy daycare place nearby, and the delivery schedule of a year’s supply of gourmet puppy chow. She’d also delivered an envelope with a handwritten note.
It was her ears that sold me. I saw them and was instantly inspired by your self-proclaimed fondness for floppy things. I hope she will improve your taste in companions and, yes, I do include myself in that wish. Because, Peanut, I send this wriggling and floppy thing in lieu of the very hard thing you inspire in me near constantly.
Yours in affection,
N.
It was hardly the “you must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire you” declaration, a la Mr. Darcy. It still made me as fluttery as reading that passage had during my teenage years.
I still have the note, and I’ve read it a dozen times.
Daily.
A fancy car and a pedigree pooch. He dreams of me. He wants me.
The man has a very strange idea of friendship.
“Shall we dance?” I ask as I peel the back of my thighs from the seat like chewing gum.
“You haven’t said what you’ve named her,” Tamsin complains, following me.
“Well, given she’s not a boy,” I reply almost at a shout as the music gets louder as we get closer to the dance floor. “I’ve named her Gertrude.” I throw a grin over my shoulder. “Don’t tell me you don’t like it because it suits her, and it’s already grown on me.”
Tamsin opens her mouth but doesn’t answer as a surge of people push her into me.
“Shit,” she mutters, holding out her drink to stop it from spilling. “I wish we’d had the foresight to book a table.”
“I’ve got better things to do with my money than waste it on ridiculously priced booze just because it’s served at the table. I’ve got responsibilities now.”
“Who’s looking after the Labra-baby this evening?”
“Uncle Sandy.” Maybe Uncle Sandy’s butler. They’re probably fighting over her. She’s just so adorable.
“With contacts like your brother, couldn’t you have gotten us into the VIP area?” she complains with an exaggerated pout.
“I think you already know the answer to that.” I mean, I probably could, but I hate mixing with that crowd. I’d rather be on this side of the velvet rope where no one cares who your family are, or what they can do for you.
“Seriously?” she answers, unimpressed.
“The grass isn’t always greener on this side of the fence. It’s not all mega bank books and fancy balls. You know, Princess Diana worked in a kindergarten before she married Prince Charles? And that she used to clean for her sister. Lady Diana, the cleaning lady.” I push out a harsh breath because if Sandy ever asked me to clean his house, I’d bloody his nose.
“What’s your point?”
“Being an aristocrat isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be.”
“Yes, but you get to mop up your tears with trust funds full of fifty-pound notes.”
“Only I didn’t get the inheritance.”
“I just find that so … Urgh! Haven’t the aristocracy heard of the emancipation of women?”
“It is what it is,” I answer, metaphorically kicking away her soap box. I don’t need her demanding a revolution on my behalf. “And I like how it is. I have my freedom. I don’t have to worry about leaking roofs and conservation works, deer culling, or staff. I can do what I please when it pleases me.” In theory, at least.
“Yes, but between us, we have a limited number of kidneys to sell, so let’s find someone with a big wallet to fund our drinks tonight. Unless you’re thinking of stealing someone else’s kidney, of course.”
“Shall I give my friendly local roofie dealer a call?” Obviously, I mean that arsehole Giles.
“I suppose you’d better if we’re going down the organ theft route tonight.”