“Evelyn Fairfax?” A woman in a gray pantsuit stands on the threshold, a guy in business casual next to her. He has one hand sunk into his pocket; in the other he’s holding a leather folio.
“Yes, that’s me.”
“My name is Rebecca Brown, and this is Vernon Hall. We’re here from His Majesty’s Immigration Department.”
Oh, shit!My brows bounce; my mood too. “Hi! Hello! How can I help you?”
“We’re here for your appointment. Your visa inspection?”
“I ...”don’t know what they’re talking about. “I already have my biometric card, notification that everything is hunky dory. A done deal?”Hunky dory? Where in the heck did that come from?
“Not quite,” Rebecca says. “It has come to our attention that the relationship aspect of your visa might have been breached.”
“I’m not sure how,” I answer, fixing on a smile. “Mine is a business visa, not a relationship one.”
“Well,” the man by her side mutters gruffly. “There appear to be some discrepancies. It’s a favor to you that we’re here.”
I give myself an internal shake and turn a dazzling smile on the pair. “Well, then I guess you’d better come in.” Moving back from the door, I grasp my robe at my chest. “Please excuse the state of theplace,” I demur, eyeing the clothing explosion on the sofa. Oliver and I might’ve gotten a little frisky on the couch last night. “We’ve just gotten back from a trip,” I say, stuffing a pair of my panties behind a velvet throw cushion.
“Yes, we’re aware,” Vernon says at the same time Rebecca says, “Anywhere nice?”
The pair then exchanges a look that seems like awholeconversation. I cannot for the life of me decipher what it means as their gazes return to me.
“Nice?” I nod as a myriad of images flash through my head. Some of them sweet. Some of them sexy. And none of them suitable for public consumption. “Yes. At least, I think so.”
The door to the bedroom opens, and Bo bursts out, shortly followed by an absolutely beautiful but very naked Oliver.
“Eve? Who was at the ... oh, hello.” I begin to giggle as his hands move to his junk at warp speed. He shuffles sideways behind one of the sofas. “I didn’t realize we had guests,” he says, ridiculously half crouching behind it.
“Oh, I think we get that, honey.” I turn to Rebecca with a small shrug. “Well, I guess you now know I’m not with Oliver for his money. But where are my manners! Please, take a seat. Can I offer you something to drink? We have wine and whisky ... I think there might be some vodka in the fridge?”
“It’s ten o’clock in the morning.” Not only is Vernon grumbly, but he’s also very judgy.
“Sorry, we’re still on vacation mode, and it’s always five o’clock somewhere!”
“Let’s get on with this, shall we?” the man mutters.
I decide I like Rebecca better, even if she’s pink faced from ogling my man. But I direct them to the dining table, sliding last night’s post-sex-recovery room service (club sandwich for Oliver, fries and mayonnaise for me) to one side.
“Can I just ask,” Oliver begins, swiping up a throw pillow from the couch to use as a modesty shield, “who are you, and what are you doing here?”
“This is Rebecca and Vernon. They’re here about my visa interview.” With a shrug, I mouth,“What the fuck?”
“Eve’s visa was arranged with an immigration lawyer. It’s been awarded already. What exactly is this about?” Oliver asserts with as much dignity as a naked man can.
The pair looks at the paperwork. Heads shake and mutters are made.
“The application is for a spousal visa,” Rebecca murmurs, still red cheeked.
“Your second visa application,” Vernon adds snidely.
Gee, thanks for the reminder, Vernon.
“No, there’s been some mistake. That’s the wrong category of visa.”
“That’s all you have to say?” Vernon demands. “Nothing to explain the reason for two spousal visas?”
“No, not really.” I narrow my gaze, suspicious. Is Vernon from the immigration department or the morality police?
