“If I wasn’t pretending to marry him, I’d have had no reason to see him again.”
She doesn’t say anything else, just reaches over and squeezes my hand. We both watch as my phone goes nuts between us.
“Oh, joy,” she says dryly. “They’ve caught on to who he is.”
“Shit, really?” I unlock the phone and not only is there a bunch about hisshow-stoppingperformance, they’ve now linked him to me. To our engagement. Which is probably a good reason for him to have turned off his phone. “I need to get to him. The show should be over by now, maybe I’ll head to his house–”
There’s a knock at my front door, and as much as I want to believe it’s Christian, the air is thick with the ominous hint of a conversation I don’t want to have.
“Should we pretend we’re not here?” Elle asks.
The knock comes again, more insistent this time.
“I don’t think that will help.”
“They can’t force you to answer the door.”
“And if it’s Christian?”
She pins me with the type of look that explicitly tells me to grow up. It’s not him. We both know it, but I hold up hope anyway as I stand from the table and approach my front door. The moment I open it, Gran walks in, followed closely by Clifford.
Her watery blue eyes sweep the room before settling on me and Elle.
“Émile, my darling boy.” She reaches up to kiss my cheek. “You need to fire your cleaners. It’s like a fraternity house in here.”
Somehow I manage a pleasant smile. I don’t need to look around to know that there’s nothing wrong with my apartment. “I don’t have cleaners.”
“We’ll need to fix that.” She nods at Clifford. “Message Ian and have him send someone.”
“With all due respect”—it’s getting harder and harder to say those words–“I’m not in the market for a cleaner.”
Clifford chortles. “Perhaps his little husband is doing it for him.”
“Excuse me?”
“Isn’t that what they’re called? Gentleman you can pay. House husbands or some such.”
My teeth actually grit together so hard I’m worried I’ll lose a molar. Or punch him. It’s a fifty-fifty split. “I certainly hope you’re not referring to Christian.”
“I’m only saying, old chap,” Clifford raises his hands, “he’s not exactly …oursort of fellow. Know what I’m saying?”
Before I can answer, Elle pipes up. “Silly me being a clueless girl and all, but I’m not following. Could you elaborate further on that?”
“Well, because … you know. He’s … he grabbed aperfectlyrespectable man’s behind, and—I’m sure no one here failed to notice—heshovelswhen he eats. Like he’s on some kind of prehistoric expedition. I’m surprised he didn’t take an eye out with those elbows. Everyone I spoke with was quite horrified.”
“Unsurprising considering most of the people you speak with are like you.” I keep my voice pleasant, and the fact I’m insulting him goes directly over his head. The need to punch him has slipped dangerously close to forty-sixty territory, though.
“Aren’t you going to offer me a seat?” Gran asks.
I know I’m supposed to. I know it’s what’s expected of me, but I also think it’s too much of a coincidence that they’ve shown up now, with the perv off on one of his rants, and honestly? I have no interest in whatever conversation they’ve brought to my doorstep.
“Actually, I was just heading out. I’m sure you’ve seen my fiancé isn’t having the best day and he needs me.”
“Sit. Down.” The sudden, ringing tone is unexpected and harsh.
I sit.
Glance at Elle who’s just done the same.