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“I wasn’t going to say anything. I only came over to make sure that you’re okay.”
“Sure you did,” she eyes me warily, sighing again. “It was the dismounting that proved a little too much for me. Which isyourfault.”
My mouth drops open as I bluster at her. “How is itmyfault?”
She shrugs, wincing in pain at the gesture. “You didn’t show me how to do it.”
I close my mouth and purse my lips. True enough. But I wasn’tthereeither.
“You have my apologies,” I smirk at her.
“Your apologies aren’t going to stop me from getting a massive ass bruise on my ribs.”
My eyebrows fly up. “You fell off and bruised yourribs?”
How the hell did she manage that? She must have contorted into a seriously weird position on the way down to land on them.
“They got me this stool thing to dismount onto,” she mutters. I can picture it and wince sympathetically.
“I promise I’ll be there next time to catch you.”
Angie’s face snaps back to mine, a comical mixture of pain and horror.
“There will be nonext time,” she hisses, but I grin, shaking my head slowly.
“The saying is literally to get back on the horse. Once your bruises have faded, we’ll try again. And this time, I’ll be there to catch you.”
We’re stuck in a silent stand-off until Sarah addresses herself to Angie, drawing her attention away from me and across to the other sofa.
“Your dress is amazing. Where did you get it?” Sarah drawls, syrupy sweet. My eye almost twitches with the effort to not roll it. Ryan clearly told her she had to be seen to be nice to Angie in front of Uncle Bill.
My eyes flicker over Angie’s form. I hadn’t particularly noticed her dress, distracted first by Uncle Bill’s unusual fussing, and then by her pain. She’s wearing a cream-colored dress with tight sleeves down to her elbows and red flower motifs at the high neckline and the nipped waist.
Angie looks good in it, but not as good as she looked in her riding attire this morning. My mouth practically watered at the sight of her glorious curves on display.
“Harrods,” Angie replies, fiddling with the hem of her dress where it lies on her knees, which are pressed together tightly, like she’s unused to wearing a dress like that. “Luka picked it out.”
Luka? Who the fuck is that?
“Who’s Luka?” Tiffany smirks, jumping into the conversation. At least she’s asking the right questions.
“The love of my life,” Angie beams back at her, catching everyone’s attention. The what? She didn’t mention any of this when we were riding this morning.
“If he’s the love of your life, why isn’t he here?” Sarah asks, wide-eyed, and Uncle Bill laughs.
“Luka is a personal shopper with Harrods. He dresses Angie.”
“Luka is a guardian angel sent from heaven,” Angie corrects him, pointing her finger in his direction and frowning. Uncle Bill laughs harder, returning his attention to Beau and their book conversation.
The girls talk about shopping for a while, and Ryan and I join in when they discuss Christmas gifts.
“Angie.” Uncle Bill cuts across our conversation, and she glances at him expectantly. Like she’s a puppy, and he’s her master. “What’s that other book we wanted to be published?”
“The Art of Light and Dark,” she replies promptly. “Cara D’Anvers. She’s an up-and-coming writer out of North Carolina.”
The entire room is silent now, and Beau’s eyes are narrowed on her face. Fuck. Is she out for his job? Isthatwhy Uncle Bill brought her here? To see if one of us will be replaced with this chick who sees Uncle Bill as a father figure?
Shit. At drinks before dinner last night, Uncle Bill asked her some obscure financial question, and she answered perfectly when Max said he would need to look into it.
