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“Jesus,” I mumble under my breath. I knew today would be draining, but I’m already so exhausted from keeping secrets, from the shelter stress, and getting absolutely zero sex, I need a holiday from my life right now.
“Way to play it cool, sweetheart.” Harrison’s deep voice makes me jump, reminding me that I’m not alone. “You okay?” He takes my hand and presses the back of it to his lips. In moments like this, when he touches me without thinking, I have to remind myself that this is temporary and it’s a business arrangement. He’s doing it because it’s a part of our deal, the doting fake husband. And that’s fine, I’m great at business deals.
So, I nod and smile. “As good as can be expected. Listen—”
My mother breezes into the hallway, interrupting me before I can say ‘sorry for my fucked-up family’. “Zoey, how lovely you’re on time,” she snides, already getting dig number one in bright and early in the evening.
I stiffen as I lean towards her, not letting go of Harrison’s hand as she does her usual air kisses. Her eyes flare with interest when she spots Harrison, and my blood runs cold at the thought of her flirting with him.
“Mother, you know Harrison.”
He extends his hand with his usual cool smile and gentlemanly manner, and she doesn’t hesitate to place her hand in his. “Good to see you again, Mrs Bancroft. I trust you’re well?”
Oh God, kill me now.He’s too perfect, killing it in the fancy pants fake husband role. Round one goes to Harrison.
“I’m well, thank you. Come, John is waiting for us in the formal area.”
She turns, leaving us in an invisible cloud of her perfume, as Harrison looks at me quizzically. I lean in towards him to explain. “Formal living room is posh people talk for ‘I’m a wanker with too much money and huge house.’”
He stifles a laugh, rolling his lips between his teeth, his eyes flaring with amusement. “You forget I walked these halls when we were kids,” he whispers, regaining his composure.
We pass some family portraits of me and the twins when we were young and cute, and Mum could get me to pose without sticking my tongue out for pictures. That lasted until I was five, and then the family pictures became only of the boys. I’m not bitter because I hated being dressed up and told to sit still.
As we enter the living room, I’m not even going to call it what my mother calls it because it’s ridiculous. My father sits in his usual high-winged brown leather chair, already a whisky in hand and a scowl in place. He stands, and his expression lessens when he sees Harrison.
“Harrison, it’s good to see you again,” he says, striding towards him and shaking his hand when they meet.
“Mr Bancroft, it’s good to see you too.”
“Please, call me John.” My father has two settings, scowling and businessman. Sometimes, they overlap but I’ve not seen him be nice to anyone but my brothers in years, so his reaction is a bit of a shock. “Zoey,” he greets me coldly, and inside I shrivel, because there’s just too much distance between us for him to ever be nice to me. I grimace in response, wishing I could be anywhere but here.
“Let me get you a drink, seeing as though Zoey has forgotten all her manners.” My mother grazes past Harrison, not meeting my eye but letting that second dig of the night sting just as they always do. I notice Harrison stiffen as she walks by, and he flicks his scrutinising stare around the room.Buckle up, buddy. We’ve got at least a couple of hours of this. Maybe I can convince Seren to undercook the chicken so we all have to go home early with food poisoning.
I stop as I notice my own thoughts. I’d rather risk salmonella than be in the same room as my parents. Oh, what a wonderful life.
“Zoey?” Harrison’s voice brings me out of my daze of imagining throwing up instead of being here.
“I’m sorry, I spaced.”
“That’s okay. You’ve been busy working late this week.” He gives me one of his genuine smiles and rubs the back of my hand in a way that makes the organ in my chest do a double beat. “Would you like a drink?”
I nod softly. “Just a soft drink or water, please.” Because if I have alcohol, I’ll make a scene, and I don’t want to do that tonight.
“Harrison? Owen said you were here. I didn’t realise you were coming tonight,” Max smiles, striding over from the patio to his best friend. They shake hands and hug like they always do, and I have a pang of regret for possibly destroying their friendship over my trust fund. Max hugs me too and the guilt settles like a led weight in my stomach.
“Please don’t be mad at me,” I whisper into my brother’s ear. He pulls back, confusion marring his face when I turn to Harrison, hoping he understands why I have to do this. “Harrison and I are married.”
I’m met with silence. The kind that is suffocating because no one knows what to say or if they should be the first to say something.
“What the fuck?” Max eventually curses. “How… when…” he fumbles, running a hand through his hair.
Harrison holds my stare, reassurance gleaming in his brown eyes, and I feel myself take a cleansing deep breath. “Zoey and I have been seeing each other for a while, but we didn’t want to upset anyone, but when we were in Vegas… well, we almost got married and we realised that it was what we both wanted.”
Silence again. “It was planned, but it also wasn’t. We wanted it to be intimate,” I explain to everyone while they openly gawk at us.
“Typical,” my mother snorts, and I glare at her. “Well, it is Zoey. You always were unable to follow the rules. Now, you’re married. I suppose I should be grateful it’s Harrison and not some charity case you felt you needed to save.” Her words are bitter and hurtful and something that should chip away at my self-esteem, but I learned a long time ago to put up shields with my mother. However, that doesn’t always stop my inner child from screaming.
“Congratulations would suffice, you know,” I snarl, holding her disapproving glare.
