“Who?”
He frowns. “Your boyfriend. You know, the guy you were seeing?”
Oh, yes. George.
That guy I cleverly made up to stop myself getting too close to Tom, which would be unprofessional and would lead to a world of trouble. It would be smart and sensible to keep up with this pretense, and make sure absolutely nothing can happen between me and my client’s brother, who doesn’t even know my real name.
Under no circumstances should I change this imperative story.
“I’m not seeing anyone,” I blurt out.
DAMN IT.
Look, I blame the champagne and Tom’s cologne. There’s really nothing I can do.
“Really? I hope you’re OK,” he says, watching me carefully.
“I’m great. Anyway, how amazing are these decorations?” I say hurriedly, desperate to change the conversation. “The baubles on the tree are the size of my head!”
Way to go, Sophie. Very sexy chat.
“Yeah, well, Lord and Lady Derrington never do anything by half.” He sighs.
A waiter stops next to us and holds out a silver tray of canapés.
“May I tempt either of you with a delicious red-wine-braised and deep-fried oxtail with horseradish cream?” he says, with pride.
We politely decline and he waltzes off to another group.
“What are your feelings on canapés?” Tom asks, as he watches the waiter go.
“I’m sorry?”
“How do you feel about them?” he asks. “Because I’m not a fan.”
“What? How can you not be a fan of canapés? They’re delicious mini portions of food.”
“They’re completely useless,” he argues, moving closer to let another guest pass. “What’s the point? They don’t fill you up, they’re awkward to eat. Why don’t people serve sandwiches at events?”
I blink at him. “Because then you’d be serving sandwiches before a meal! Canapés are like little tasters of what’s to come. Or, at an event like this one, which doesn’t include a sit-down meal, they keep guests content. They keep hunger at bay.”
“You know what else keeps hunger at bay? Sandwiches.”
“This is ridiculous. You can’t seriously be arguing that people should serve full-onsandwichesat a Christmas party like thisone. It wouldn’t make any sense! I couldn’t stand here eating a sandwich while talking to other guests!”
“Why not? Are you embarrassed about how you eat a sandwich?”
“No! I just wouldn’t want to be stuffing my face with one while I ask the Countess of Derrington about her holiday plans.”
“So, you’d rather have a teeny-tiny barely existent bite of oxtail that does absolutely nothing to fill you up and is so small you can’t really taste it anyway.”
“You cannot say that canapés don’t taste of anything. Many wonderful chefs and caterers can create a tiny morsel of full flavor,” I argue, wondering when I became so passionate about canapés. “It’s anart.”
“The truth is that no one at this party wants any of these bizarre, posh bites that are as satisfying as air,” he says, gesturing at the other guests. “What they really want is proper food. I mean, look at these.” He points at a tray of food passing us as another waiter works the room.
“What can youpossiblyhave against mini burgers?”
“Nobody in their right mind has ever eaten a burger and said, ‘You know what? I wish this was an eighth of its size,’” Tom says, throwing his eyes to the ceiling. “Just bring me a normal-sized burger!”
