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“All right, all right. Will you at least cook with your shirt off, then?”
“Are you making demands?”
“Yes.”
I laughed and reached down, then pulled off my t-shirt. “There. Is that better?”
She grinned. “I’ve always wanted a half-naked man to cook in my kitchen.”
I held out my arms and bowed. “Your wish is my command.”
“Careful.” She sipped, peering over the rim of the wine glass. “That could get dicey.”
“Oh, don’t worry.” I leant over the island and cupped her chin. “If your requests are in line with me taking my shirt off, I’m more than happy to do whatever you’d like me to do.”
Her lips curved up. “I’m holding you to that.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX – SOPHIE
The Truth Hurts
Pretending is a tough one.
I would know. I’d been doing it for long enough, but my newest act was one I’d never been prepared for.
Pretending as though I wasn’t falling in love with Hugo.
After his dad’s pseudo not-a-date, it’d become uncomfortably clear to me that the feelings I’d developed for Hugo were beyond anything I could have imagined. I didn’t want to use the L-word because that came with a world of issues.
And vulnerability.
I wasn’t that great at vulnerability.
I didn’t know what I was going to do when I left. I was the one who kept bringing it up, but ever since that dinner date where I’d sliced off half my knuckle, I hadn’t been able to.
Forgetting that whatever we shared had a time limit had been my biggest mistake.
Because I almost had forgotten. For more than just that one night.
And now, with two days to go until the party, I was remembering again.
“We have a problem.” Helena ran into the library and shoved the door closed behind her. “Sophie.”
“What? Is something wrong with the party?”
She pressed her lips together. “Camilla’s here.”
I froze. Absolute terror hurtled through me, and nausea churned my stomach.
What?
What was she doing here?
There was no way she was here. She wasn’t supposed to be back in the UK—never mind here.
“She’s what?”
“Camilla’s here.” She held her hands flat against her stomach. “Oh, Soph, I—”
