“You’re wrong,” I say, leaning against the banister. “Canapés are designed for elegant events. If we asked these guests, they’d agree that this is neither the time nor the place to dig into a burger.”
“They’d all say that, but they wouldn’t mean it,” he retorts smugly.
“I’m not going to stand here and argue all evening about canapés with you.” I sigh.
“Why not? I’m happy to stand here and argue withyouall evening.”
I’m so taken aback that I can’t think of anything to say or do. As if what he said wasn’t enough, he then reaches over and tucks a lock of my hair that has fallen over my eye back behind my ear.
Yeah. I know.
The closest thing I’ve had to sex inmonths.
“Emily,” he says softly, as my heart rate speeds up and my cheeks grow hot under his intense eye contact.
Oh, God, he’s so close. And he’s moving closer. Uh-oh. Break the eye contact, Sophie.
BREAK THE EYE CONTACT BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE.
Suddenly we hear heightened voices from upstairs. He lifts his head away from mine and looks up in concern. I follow suit. It sounds like an argument and it’s coming from one of the bedrooms. Since we’re standing next to the banister, we hear them first but it isn’t long before others around us are glancing up curiously.
“What do you think is going on?” I ask Tom.
Part of me hopes he’ll reply by stripping off his shirt, going “Who cares?,” and then kissing me passionately.
That doesn’t happen.
Instead he looks panicked and says, “Uh-oh. That sounds like Cordelia.”
“And Annabel,” I add, grimacing.
We leap into action, leaving our drinks on a table and marching upstairs to see what’s happening before anything can get out of hand. We follow the sound of the argument to a closed door at the end of the landing. I raise my hand, glance at Tom, who nods in solidarity, and knock.
The door flies open and we’re greeted by Annabel in an eye-catching yellow sequin dress, apparently about to explode with anger.
“Thank goodness,” she says dramatically, before pointing at Cordelia. “Someone needs to control her.”
“Hi, Annabel! Wow, you look amazing,” I begin, hoping to lighten the mood of the room. “Like a bauble!”
She wrinkles her nose. “Excuse me?”
“A very pretty, sparkling bauble. Never mind. Everything OK in here?” I ask chirpily.
“Everything isnotOK,” Annabel replies, so loudly that I usher Tom in quickly and shut the door behind us, desperate for the rest of the guests not to hear and to go on enjoying the party.
“What’s going on?” Tom asks, giving Cordelia a weary look as though he’s been put in this position many times before.
“Nothing,” she says. “Annabel accused me of something and I was defending myself, that’s all.”
“I came up here and found her snooping around in my room with the door shut.” Annabel bristles.
“I got lost. I was looking for the bathroom.”
“Please!” Annabel snorts. “You’ve been to this house before. You know where the bathroom is.”
“I think I came here once, years ago,” Cordelia says, bored. “We always hung out at your flat, not your parents’ house.”
“That is such a lie! You are such a liar!” Annabel cries. “You came here all the time!”
