She laughs and has another sip of champagne.
“Eat something,” I tell her. “We don’t want you falling over and ruining that beautiful dress.”
She pulls a face and helps herself to a blini topped with smoked salmon, cream cheese, and a sprig of dill. “It’s not mine,” she says, taking a small bite. It leaves a smear of cream cheese on her top lip, and she removes it with her tongue. That small movement sends an electric shock to my groin. Holy shit. It’s been ten years. How can she still do that to me?
“You stole it?” I joke, trying to cover how unsettled I feel.
She rolls her eyes. “It’s my friend’s. We’re a similar build, although she’s a few inches shorter than I am. Unsurprisingly.” She looks around, her gaze taking in the expensive designer gowns the other women are wearing, their elaborate hairdos, the sparkling jewelry. “I don’t really belong here.”
“Bullshit.” I watch her gaze come back to me. “You’re the most beautiful woman here tonight.”
She blinks, and I can see her trying to work out whether the compliment is genuine. Then she laughs and eats the rest of the blini. “Still a fan of hyperbole, I see.”
“I don’t say anything I don’t mean.”
She stops in the process of licking her fingers, then leans back in her seat, smiling. “You were always incredibly flirty. I see nothing’s changed.”
“I meant it,” I tell her. “Even then.”
“You were eighteen,” she says gently. “I was twenty-three. That’s too much of an age difference.”
“And now?”
She lifts her eyebrows, then chuckles. “You’re incorrigible.”
“I’m serious.”
She’s glancing over at the bar, though, and I don’t think she heard me. She’s looking for Caesar.
Now, as I did back then, I feel a sharp stab of jealousy. My brother was in the same year as Wren at university, and he’s also five years older than me. He’s always run faster. Thrown farther. Won all the scholarly awards without even having to try. Everything came easily to him. I had to work three times harder to win the same awards that meant nothing because he’d already achieved them.
“Why are you here?” I ask, my voice sharper than I meant it to be.
Her gaze comes back to me. “I’m a primary school teacher. I helped organize the Children’s Art Auction.”
The Ashford Foundation runs a program where schoolchildren create artwork that gets auctioned at our regular galas. This year they’ve produced paintings, handmade crafts, and illustrated storybooks, and earlier the guests bid on them and raised a significant amount of money.
“You organized that?” I ask, surprised.
“Oh, I just helped the kids.” She helps herself to a tiny, caramelized onion tart. She’s being modest, I think. She wouldn’t have been invited to the ball if she just helped out in her spare time.
“So… why are you seeing Caesar?”
She stops with the tart halfway to her mouth. Moistens her lips. Then takes a bite. “Just meeting up with an old friend,” she says in a tone so casual I know it’s not casual at all.
There’s obviously more to it than that, but she doesn’t want to tell me. Well, that’s her prerogative, unfortunately. I can’t force her to confess.
I swirl the Scotch around, cooling the Glenlivet over the ice, then have a mouthful. She watches me, the expression in her eyes unfathomable.
“Nice watch,” she says eventually. “Patek Philippe? You really have gone up in the world.” Her eyes gleam.
I bristle at the implication that I’m spending money on fripperies. “I work hard. And I like beautiful things. I’m not going to apologize for it.”
She blinks. Then she says softly, “I appear to have touched a nerve. I’m sorry. I wasn’t implying anything. It was an observation, that’s all. When we knew each other, all you and Caesar cared about was rugby and cricket. Now, your technology is used all over the world.”
I wait for my racing heart to calm down. I’m not really annoyed at her comment. I’m angry that Caesar arranged to see her tonight, and he didn’t tell me.
“I still care about rugby and cricket,” I say mildly. “I’d be watching the Black Caps play India in the bar right now if my attention wasn’t distracted by a beautiful woman.”
