“You’re welcome, love. You okay?”
“Mostly.” The word hits the air as wobbly as my smile.
“Poor lamb.” She makes a sympathetic click of teeth and tongue. “Let me pass on something my dad told me a long timeago, God rest his soul. He said that if a man shits himself in public, it’s usually because he has a bigger stink to hide.”
I resist the urge to wrinkle my nose. Ida’s dad was no poet, but I guess he wasn’t wrong. Marrying me to get his hands on a property. Screwing Oliver’s assistant. It could be the tip of the iceberg.
“Your dad sounds like a smart man.”
“Not really. He fell down a manhole, drunk. Broke his neck. Anyway, you take care,” she adds brightly as she disappears behind the closing door.
Well, okay.Head down against the deluge, I step out into the rain ... and straight into a puddle. “What in the name of—”
A car door slams in the distance, but I’m too busy to pay attention as I try to determine if that’s mud stuck to the sole of my wet sneaker (or something worse) as I curse the stars, the universe, and humanity in general. I’ve even forgotten the parked Bentley as someone calls out my name.
“Evelyn Fairfax?”
I lift my head and narrow my eyes at the woman with a polka-dot umbrella walking toward me. She holds out her free hand, but not in greeting, as she flashes me some kind of ID.
“My name is Una Smith. I’m with theCity Chronicle. I wondered if you have a few minutes to chat.”
“No.” And hell no. “I’m in kind of a hurry.” Gaze averted, I move past her, wet sneaker and all.
“‘Savage Bride Reads Out Cheater’s Text Messages Instead of Vows.’”
I pivot with an incredulous “What did you just say?”
“There’s also ‘Bridezilla’s Revenge.’”
My feet shuffle against the wet ground. I’m unsure if I want to know what she’s talking about or if I want to run away.
“Those are only two of the headlines I’ve seen. We at theCity Chroniclewould like to give you the option to tell your side of the story in our London society column, A Little Bird Told Us.”
“There is no story.” I turn away quickly.I’m not the only bride to have changed her mind, to have stood up for herself.
“It wasn’t that you changed your mind, but the manner of your retaliation.”
Shit. I said that? I only thought ... “I have nothing else to say.”
“Evelyn,” she calls after me. “Women everywhere are cheering for you. I won’t be the only journalist interested, but I’ll be the best to tell your story!”
“Hello, Eve.” Another voice, one that shouldn’t feel like a swallow of whisky in a cold, empty stomach.Warm. Intoxicating. Welcome.
The pull of him is inevitable as I turn to the rear window of the Bentley, Oliver’s fire-bright gaze fixed on me.
“Go away,” I mutter, forcing myself into an undignified wet-foot limp past him. Tires hiss against the wet asphalt, but I don’t stop. I’m pretty sure he’s not about to mow me down. I haven’t annoyed him that much.Yet.
As the Bentley pulls alongside me, I keep my attention ahead.
“Get in the car.”
My, what a drawling command. Maybe I should try that tone for myself. “Oliver? Go suck my lady dick.”
“I did. We both liked it.”
“Are you serious right now?” I think my jaw just unhinged as my feet come to a stop and I glare at him. Mostly to cover how my body doesn’t seem to have gotten the memo that we don’t like him.
“I never joke about sex. Get in the car. Please,” he adds as an obvious afterthought. Damn his perfect jawline; the universe isunjust, because if Oliver’s looks matched his personality, he’d havea face like a troll.Or maybe the devil, because wasn’t the devil an angel once?
