Page 40 of Pretender

I almost breathe in an ice cube and clear my throat. He’s effectively disarmed me. I expected him to tell me to lighten up. Or that I’m overreacting.

‘Stop being so dramatic.’

“So. Umm. I’ve only seen Pretty Woman,” I say, hoping to lighten the mood again with a topic he likes. “What happens in the other rom-coms on their various dates?” I feel silly about shooting down his compliment (as fake as it may have been), and I just want us to have a good time.

He hums, sipping his gin, seemingly unaware of my mental battle.

“They usually do well,” he says after a beat. “Convincing everyone they’re a couple. People ask classic questions like ‘how did you meet’, ‘how long have you been seeing each other’, blah blah.” He waves a hand and continues on his gin, the ice cubes clinking merrily in his plastic cup.

“Okay, so we said two weeks. Let’s agree the rest tonight. What else?” I sip my gin, the cold ice meets my warm lips, and I can’t help but hum in enjoyment. This is bloody delicious.

“There’s a certain level of PDA.” He holds up his free hand. “But as I said, only what you’re comfortable with.” He shifts on his bench. “And usually, in the movies … they fall in love.”

I spray my mouthful of gin and tonic.

All. Over. Aiden.

“Oh my god,” I breathe, covering my mouth. Frozen.

He’s drenched.

His face is scrunched up, and he looks … cute. Not handsome, not a businessman or Mayfair empire builder, but like a young man with gin all over his face and just fucking adorable.

I start laughing as I’m about to apologise.

“I’m … so … sorry,” I manage to get out between breaths and laughs. Without thinking, I scramble out of the picnic bench, pulling my cardigan off my shoulders and hurrying around to him to wipe his face. It’s too far to run to the bar for napkins. I can’t leave him like this.

Still laughing at his face, I stand next to him, while he grabs the cardigan with both hands and buries his face in it.

He blinks his eyes open. “Wow, a gin shower.” He disappears into the cardigan again, breathing deeply. His laugh muffled by the fabric.

“I’m so sorry,” I say again, and another laugh forces its way out. He straightens up and stares at the navy cardigan in his hands.

“Why am I wiping my face with your jumper?”

“It’s a cardigan. And I don’t know. The bar seemed too far.” I shrug and huff. “It’s pretty much water, and I assume you’re not wearing makeup, hah. I just didn’t want to leave you like that any longer.”

He shakes his head and laughs again. “Thanks for the … fancy napkin.”

I sit down next to him, but with my back to the table so I can see him properly in this darkening space. The huge gin and tonic is definitely relaxing my normally awkward self.

“Nice to hear you laugh,” he says. “Even if it’s at me.”

“Please, tell me about your mum,” I say, feeling uncomfortable again under his gaze.

Aiden swivels as far as the bench will let him, facing me more straight on. “Where do I start? She grew up in a small fishing village in Sicily. She met my father in the city when she was nineteen and he was twenty-two.” Aiden’s eyes are on his drink now, a small smile playing on his lips. “Anyway, that doesn’t matter.” He swirls his cup, the ice cubes rattling.

Aiden clears his throat and lifts his gaze back up to mine. “After a week or so, he asked her to come with him to Florence, where he’s from, and she said yes.” He shrugs. That’s it?

“What happened next?”

“Well, his parents weren’t happy that he wanted to marry a poor Sicilian girl he met on a holiday, so he took Mum to England instead, and they started a clothing design company together.”

“Oh my gosh.”

“It was hard work to do build that from scratch with no money from the family, but they loved it,” Aiden says, staring blankly into the evening air. “My dad died when I was eight, and the company crumbled without him.” His brow is knitted, and he shakes his head.

“Oh. I’m sorry you lost your dad so early, that must have been very hard.”