Page 74 of How to Kill Your Rival

‘Just saying, while the humanist and everyone else is here…’

‘James.’

‘Don’t worry, I can wait as long as it takes.’

23

JAMES

Maggie, Roman, Eliza, Fraser and I head to The Busted Lantern the minute the older generation heads to bed.

We pile into the corner booth, all damp from the rain and pink-cheeked from the walk. It’s a good thing we’re used to each other, because personal space isn’t included with the complimentary roast potatoes. The copious amounts of champagne we’ve drunk and the romance of the day might also play a factor.

Gaston trots in and settles down under the table, nestling over Maggie’s feet.

The quiz is due to start. Good old Dougie delayed the usual start time as a wedding present to Maggie, who loves a wee quiz.

We enter as The Killer Kin, which is Maggie’s idea. A little on the nose, if you ask me. While most of the locals are made up of people who either work in or for our industry around here, you never know when a stranger will rock up to the pub.

Roman looks at the entry sheet. Looks at Maggie.

‘Do I count as kin now that we’re married?’ he asks.

‘You bet your sweet arse you do.’ She laughs. ‘Not that I haven’t counted you as my family for a while. But now you legally belong to me, Mr Hamilton.’

Eliza, Fraser and I all look up at that.

‘You took Maggie’s name?’ Eliza asks.

‘Yeah.’ Roman shrugs. ‘She had second thoughts about taking mine, so I took hers.’

There’s a stab of jealousy that hits low in my gut. I’d take the Hamilton name in a heartbeat.

Dougie reads out the first question. The pub breaks out into barely whispered whispers. Our table is particularly giggly and loud. We get some dirty looks, which only makes Eliza and Maggie giggle more.

‘It’s 1834,’ I say.

Fraser shrugs, and Roman is just looking at Maggie, all soppy-eyed.

‘I’m pretty sure it’s 1856,’ Eliza insists.

‘Mmm. No,’ I say. ‘It’s thirty-four.’

I’m like 96 per cent sure.

‘No, it isn’t,’ she says.

I lift my hands. ‘We’ll go with fifty-six then.’

Eliza narrows her eyes and writes 1834. Instead of satisfaction filling me, I narrow my eyes. She doesn’t back down.

‘Now when you’re wrong, it’ll be your fault.’

Fraser shakes his head at the two of us, and I realise that the people around this table all know about us. At least, I assume Roman does, being that Maggie tells him everything.

I slide an arm around Eliza’s waist. She freezes momentarily until she comes to the same conclusion as me and relaxes into my hold. I’ve wanted nothing more than this. Eliza in my arms, relaxed and happy.

When the first round of answers comes, Eliza is insufferable. The answer was 1854.