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‘But what did he do that’s so terrible?’
We were at Eton together. ‘He was a lying, thieving little snot of a bully. Damian and I had to kick his short arse more than a few times.’
‘A bully?’ I say, shocked. ‘But he does all this amazing work for charity. That doesn’t sound like the kind of thing a bully does. He must have changed. It’s a long time ago,’ I add.
‘Leopards don’t change their spots, Nat,’ he says.
I smile at the quirky British expression, despite my confusion.
‘Why were you going to dinner with him, anyway?’ he asks as he manoeuvres the Porsche out of the carpark with one hand.
I say what’s been on my mind since Cannes. ‘Why? Am I not allowed to go to dinner with a guy you don’t approve of, but you can just get engaged without even telling me?’
The words are out before I can stop them, and I hold my breath, my heart thudding. I’ve broken the unwritten rule of not mentioning anything about our relationship.
I look out the windscreen at the smatterings of oncoming cars and the headlights dazzle me as I wait for his response.
‘I’m not getting engaged,’ he says flatly.
I summon every fragment of courage and challenge him. This is something I’ve wanted to talk to him about ever since I saw the article in the paper, but I’ve been too afraid of the consequences to broach the subject. Not that I’ve had much of an opportunity with him avoiding me all the time.
‘That’s not what the media says.’ My voice is small and soft, and I realise I don’t want to keep pretending I don’t care, as if he hasn’t broken me with his dating antics all over the papers.
‘They make it up as they go along and say whatever they want,’ he snaps, lowering his foot so we pick up speed.
I’m frightened of the answer he might give, but desperate to know the truth, so I push the words out of my dry throat, ‘Do you love her?’ My cheeks burn again as I make myself look at him.
His face tells me all I need to know, and he shakes his head and there’s resignation in his eyes. He runs his hand through his thick wavy hair, and I long to reach out and touch him.
‘No,’ he says.
He’s not forthcoming and his monosyllabic reply tortures me. If I don’t find out what’s going on now, I may never know, so I push on despite my aching soul.
‘Is it serious between you, though?’
He looks at me again, and sighs. ‘No, it’s not. If you must know, we’re fake dating to please our grandfathers. That’s all there is to it.’
‘Fake dating?’ I ask, relief rushing through me. ‘What’s that?’
‘It’s silly. Something my brother, Caspian, told me about. We Rochesters can’t have any kind of personal life without the press hounding us and making up lies. Sometimes it’s easier to put on a show for them so they’ve got something to talk about. You know, feed them a narrative, and throw them off the scent so they don’t know what we’re really up to.’
‘What do you mean by your grandfathers?’
He flicks a button, and the car roof slides back and the evening summer wind rushes over us and soothes my hot skin.
‘Lizzy Archer’s grandfather and mine are old friends and they want us to marry because they see us as the perfect strategic alliance for both our families.’
Inhaling sharply, I try to steady my breathing and act nonchalant, as if his answers don’t mean the difference between life and death to me.
‘And what does she think about it?’ My voice is low, and my senses are spinning as I say the words.
‘She’s in love with someone else.’
The tension drains out of my tight chest and the knots in my stomach unfurl.
He doesn’t love her.
That’s all I take in and it’s all that matters. The rest of it is just detail.
