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“And this actress—she’s going to be supporting you, is she?” Susan asks. She doesn’t even need the subtle glance to her left to know that Finn’s gaze is currently boring into her. No doubt because she hadn’t told him. Well, too bad. If she has to pretend to be back together with him, he’ll have to pretend he already knows all this, won’t he?
“Mulled wine, Hattie?” Kristen asks.
“God no. Do we have any non-stewed alcohol alternatives? I swear I saw some prosecco in the fridge earlier.”
“She’ll be demanding champagne, next,” Finn calls from the dining table. “Hollywood rubbing off on you, Hatt?”
Hattie rolls her eyes, patting down her blond curls. “For the last time, Dylan’s not in Hollywood. But, yes, I’d love a champagne,” she adds, grinning broadly and showing her teeth. Finn snorts as he returns to the coloring.
Mark hands Hattie a glass of prosecco. “Hopefully, this will live up to your highbrow taste, ma’am.”
“You’re not all going to be this annoying when Dylan gets here, are you?”
Mark puts a hand on his heart. “As if. Dylan’s the one we like.”
Hattie aims a punch at him, which he dodges with a laugh, while Mel stands there, feeling slightly on the sidelines. It had taken her a while to get used to the constant teasing, the easy banter between the siblings. She supposes she wasn’t prepared for it at first, growing up as an only child. She loves her parents—knows she’s lucky to have them. But when she first met Finn’s family it had been like a sensory overload. She thought she’d gotten used to it, but now it’s like she’s forgotten the rhythm, forgotten how to be part of a big family.
“Right, dinner’s ready!” Susan calls from behind the Aga. “Can one of you lot please lay the table?”
“I’ll do it,” Mel says immediately, glad to have a purpose. Hattie helps, showing her where everything is, while Kristen instructs Freya to take her coloring into the living room—presumably having already eaten.
“Can I go on the iPad?”
“I suppose so,” Kristen says. “It’s Christmas, after all…”
There is a general surge of movement as wine is poured and two big saucepans are put in the middle of the long wooden dining table on mats. As Mel finishes putting down the cutlery, Finn grabs her hand, pulls her down into the seat next to him. Then places a hand, very deliberately, on her knee.
She ignores the way heat flashes to her core at the touch and instead gives him a—what she hopes is subtle—warning look.
He cocks his head, the picture of innocence. We’re in the public eye, aren’t we?
She jerks her knee away from him. Yeah, well, my knee isn’t.
His lips twitch, on the edge of a smirk. Your fault for not being more specific. But he lifts his hand in a little sign of surrender. Unlike her, he hasn’t bothered changing since they arrived, his dark green, long-sleeved T-shirt creased slightly from the journey.
He catches sight of her earrings, his brow creasing. He reaches out, as if to touch them with the tips of his fingers, then drops his hand to the table. His gray-green gaze finds hers, and for a moment she holds it. The corner of his crooked mouth quirks up—not a full smile, but more real this time.
“This smells amazing, Susan,” Mel says loudly.
Susan waves a hand in the air as she takes a seat, wooden chair legs scraping over the stone floor. “Oh, it’s just a curry. Quick and easy.”
Mark opens his mouth to say something, but Kristen interjects. “It’s not spicy—don’t worry.”
There is a moment of quiet as plates are filled with rice and steaming curry, and Mel uses the excuse to eat and not say anything.
“So, Finn—how’s the house in Wales?” Mark asks.
Finn looks up the length of the table toward his brother. “It’s coming along really nicely.”
“What’s the profit margin?” Mark, as a conveyancer, tends to get carried away when talking about houses—Mel remembers that from when she bought her flat.
“Mark,” Kristen says with a sigh, “he’s only just got here.”
“I’m just wondering. Have you seen the house, Mel? What do you reckon?”
All eyes around the table turn to her—except Finn, who picks up his wine to take a sip.
“Ah…” Shit, she’s falling at the first hurdle. She makes a show of swallowing food that is not in her mouth.
