A rep for Oliver, who’s regularly named on European rich lists, insists the pair is just friends, despite Garrard being well patronized by the rich and fabulous for its wedding collections.
Are those wedding bells a Little Bird hears?
Join us in wishing Evie better luck this time around.
#Eliver
Under the column there’s something else.
APOLOGY.
On the eighth, we published images of Evelyn Fairfax and Fin DeWitt together, implying they are in a relationship. TheCity Chronicleunderstands this is not the case. Mr. DeWitt and Mr. Deubel are friends and business partners. The images have since been removed, and we regret any offense or pain caused to those involved.
I suddenly feel very cold. “This is not what we spoke about.”
“Sometimes plans change.”
“No shit, because you said you were going to get your lawyers involved—this is not a legal injunction. This is just more manipulation!” I guess that means his lawyers aren’t responsible for Mitch’s alternative-reality story being deleted, along with the photos of Fin and me.
“This way was more immediate.”
“Do you have any idea what it looks like?”
“Of course. It looks like lovers visiting a jeweler.”
“It implies you bought me a ring!”
“A good guess,” he says, tugging on his cuffs. “Because I did.”
“You’re sure she didn’t get that from you?”
“No, Eve. I did not tell a journalist I was about to propose to you.”
“But you want people to think we’re getting married.”
He shrugs and, as though bored, slides his hands into his pockets.
“You said the stuff on the internet wouldn’t matter, because the guy with the house wouldn’t see it.”
“It was shortsighted of me.”
“He has seen it?” Panic blooms in my chest at what this might mean for me. For Nora.
“No, not as far as I know. But there were other factors to consider.”
“What factors?” I demand, throwing my hands up.
“Nothing that need concern you.”
“Because you’d prefer to keep me in the dark.” I swing away, take four rapid steps, then launch his phone back at him. He catches it with a scowl.
He ought to be happy I didn’t throw it at his head.
“I haven’t lied to you,” he mutters, sliding it away.
“Not even by omission?”
“You’re being very melodramatic this morning.”
