Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 105183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
“Amelia, wait,” he says when I have one foot on the road, my arse still in the seat. I still but don’t look at him. “This isn’t how I want our first date to end.”
First date? Jesus Christ. Yesterday wasn’t a first date. It felt like we bypassed all the usual stages of dating and hopped straight to full-blown. At least, it feels like that to me. And is that the problem? I feel like this is something and he doesn’t? I’m in more trouble now than I was an hour ago. My God, my head could pop.
I pull a smile from nowhere and turn to him. “We’re good,” I say, leaning over and kissing him. “Thank you for the ride back.”
The frown that passes over his face is deep but fleeting. “Welcome. I’ll call you?” It sounds like more of a question than a statement. Not very Jude at all.
“Okay.” Another chaste kiss before I get out. As I walk away, my heart sinks with every stride. I’m very quickly falling from my high. Falling. My heart clenches. No no no.
I push my way through the front door and meet Clark in the hallway. He looks me up and down as I make a pointless effort of smoothing the creases on the clothes I wore yesterday. “There you are,” he says. “Mum was about to report you missing.”
I roll my eyes and drop my bag. “I’m ten minutes late.”
“In the history of Amelia Lazenby, you have never, and I mean never, been even one minute late. Ten minutes is practically another day in your world.”
“You’re being ridiculous.” I drop a kiss on his cheek and pass him. “Are Grandpa and Grandma here?”
“In the lounge,” he calls after me. “Um, Amelia, dear sister?”
“What?” I turn and find my brother with his face pushed up against the window by the front door.
“Why’s that fancy car from Arlington Hall driving off down the road?”
I freeze, my mind emptying. “Um . . .” Think. “What car?” Idiot.
Clark turns, his lips straight. “My dream car. The rare one. Only two of its kind in the country. And one happens to have been at Arlington Hall, and now is driving out of the close where our parents live.”
My whole face twists. I’ve got nothing.
“Oh my fucking God, you’re seeing that bloke from Arlington Hall.”
Seeing? Fucking? Falling for? “Not exactly.”
“I knew there was something going on after he had me by the throat! A parking space? I knew you were acting weird.”
“You’re so dramatic.”
“You’re seeing him, aren’t you?”
“What qualifies as ‘seeing’?” I ask weakly.
“Fucking.”
“Clark!”
“I thought you were focusing on your career? That’s why you ended things with Nick.”
“I ended things with Nick because he wanted more than I’m comfortable with right now.” I pace toward Clark, looking over my shoulder to make sure we’re still alone. “Don’t you remember telling me you thought Nick ruined me?”
“That wasn’t code for fuck the next man you find.”
“It’s nothing. I had a date and—”
“He dropped you off here the next morning? Just a date?”
Indignant, I huff. “My private life isn’t any of your business. And I’d appreciate it if you keep your big, fat trap shut.”
Clark recoils, injured. “And is that code for don’t tell Mum and Dad?”
“Scout’s promise,” I grate, throwing our childhood tradition in his face.
“You weren’t in the Scouts,” he grumbles.
“If you include all the nights I camped in the garden with you because you were too chickenshit to do it on your own, I count as a Scout.”
“Low blow.”
“Deal with it.” I pivot and head for the lounge to see Grandpa and Grandma.
“Here she is!” Grandpa sets his broadsheet aside, and Grandma drops her knitting needles. “You’re late.”
“It’s fashionable, Grandpa,” I say, bending and dropping a kiss on his old, wrinkly face before going to Grandma.
She squeezes my cheeks, scrunching her nose and pushing it to mine. Then she stills. Sniffs. “You smell like a man, Grand Girl,” she whispers. “A very lovely-smelling man.”
Fucking hell. “You’re imagining things, Grandma.”
She hums, suspicious, releasing me, as Mum and Dad bowl in. “Ah, finally,” Dad says, looking at his watch. “Can we eat now?”
“Amelia, darling.” Mum rushes to me, her oven gloves on her hands, and checks me over. Checks there is no evidence of where I might have been. “Are you okay?”
Good heavens. “I’m fine, stop fussing.” I go to the couch and drop to the seat, dragging Dad’s copy of the Financial Times onto my lap. “What’s for lunch?”
“Your mum’s famous roast.” Grandpa smacks his lips and rubs his belly before sheepishly glancing at his wife of nearly sixty years. “Not as good as yours, dear.”
I smile and open the paper, burying my face in the first article. War. Trading ceased. Shares to drop. They’re all trigger words that would have me devouring the information with interest and worry, except my mind is elsewhere. And isn’t that evidence enough that I’m stepping out of the frying pan with Nick and into the fire with Jude Harrison? I huff and slam the paper shut.