Right, silly me.
He pushed open a plain dark door at the end of the passage and held it for me. Inside, a narrow corridor ran ahead with framed black-and-white photographs of alumni along the walls. The brown-and-white tiled floor was worn smooth in the middle from decades of people walking the same path.
“Mr. Roth.” A young woman with a clipboard held out a hand. “We’re ready for you. The minister’s just arrived.”
Liam nodded. “Thank you. And this is my partner, Andrea Jones.”
We shook and smiled, but the word landed somewhere in my stomach.
Hispartner. Still not real, but an upgrade from pretend girlfriend, anyway.Did that mean something?No, of course it didn’t, that way madness lies.
The woman led us along the corridor and through another door into a small room covered in wood paneling. Old-looking portraits in dark frames filled most of the space. Hugo waited there in a gray suit, looking much more formal and reserved than he had the other night.
I smoothed the fabric of my chocolate-brown cocktail dress.Was I overdone?It was impossible to know what to wear to something like this. I should have checked with Bonnie, but I didn’t want her to know I was out of my depth. Despite what Ben had said at dinner, we would most definitelynotend up as friends. Bonnie clearly despised me, which was weird.What had I actually done wrong in hereyes?
Liam looked completely unbothered. He wore a midnight-blue suit with an open-neck white shirt, the jacket cut close through the shoulders and waist. His black shoes were polished but lived in enough that it was clear he didn’t dig them out for special occasions, like mine.
“Liam.” Hugo shook his hand. Then to me, with a brief, polite smile, he said, “Andrea. Thank you for coming.”
“Of course,” I said.
“One or two housekeeping things,” he added, turning back to Liam. “I’ll speak first. You’re ten minutes after me. Questions will be chaired, so nothing unpredictable.”
Liam nodded. “Understood.”
A knock came on the door, and the woman with the clipboard stepped in.
“They’re ready for you.”
We followed her through the building and out into a square garden at the back. There was a lawn, a few trees, benches along the walls, and another brick building opposite with tall windows and a set of double doors.
Inside, the high chamber was already mostly full. The walls were painted a deep red, the seating set in tight, rising rows around the central floor. Dark wood ran along the benches and railings. It really did look like the Houses of Parliament that I’d seen on the TV—just a slightly smaller version.
There couldn’t have been more than a hundred people inside—older, mostly, the kind who looked like they sat on committees and made important decisions. A handful of younger faces were scattered between them, with notebooks open on their laps.
People turned as Hugo entered, and a few began to clap as he moved down toward the front, Liam following. He paused to glance back and make sure I was behind him, but a steward touched my arm lightly and pointed me toward a seat a few rows up, just off the aisle. Close enough to see Liam without leaning forward, at least. I smiled awkwardly and watched Liam peel off to the front.
Hugo reached the central table and set his folder down. The room settled almost immediately, and he began to speak. Something about pressure on the NHS and long-term planning.
Liam sat there waiting, his expression hard to read. I’d have been sick by now with the pressure of all this prestige and expectation, but he didn’t look nervous at all. He looked completely at home—easily the most handsome man in the room.
How the hell wasIhere withhim? This was his world. Oxford. The sort of place built for people like him, whatever anyone liked to pretend.
I noticed the room begin to clap again and realized Hugo was done. He turned slightly in his chair, gesturing to Liam.
“And now,” he said, “Mr. Roth.”
Liam stood, keeping his eyes down. He had a faint smile on his face like he was looking forward to delivering whatever it was he wanted to say. He rested one hand lightly on the table and waited for the room to grow quiet.
“Thank you, Mr. Stewart,” he said. “And thank you for letting someone from the private sector into the building without a full background check.”
A small ripple of laughter moved through the room. His voice sounded different, echoing around the chamber—confident and deep, as if everything he said made sense and he was just telling people what they already knew.
God, he looked like a movie star. He sounded like one, too.
And I’d actuallysleptwith him.
“I know there’s a simple version of this conversation,” he said. “Public good on one side. Private capital on the other. Opponents by definition.”
