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Calling a halt with Dan was clearly the right thing to do if she was so ridiculously dependent on him that she could no longer handle her family on her own. But she couldn’t ruin Adam’s excitement. Not tonight. She’d simply have to reschedule things.
And in the meantime at least she wasn’t handling her mother’s shock by herself. She took a new flute of champagne gratefully from Dan and braced herself with a big sip.
‘I’m sure it must just be a publicity stunt,’ her mother was saying.
Denial. Her mother’s stock reaction to news she didn’t want to hear.
‘It’s not a publicity stunt,’ Adam said. ‘We’re getting married.’
He beamed at Ernie, standing beside him in a slim-cut electric blue suit. He certainly looked the perfect match for Adam.
Her mother’s jaw didn’t even really drop. Disbelief was so ingrained in her.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, darling,’ she said, flicking an invisible speck of dirt from Adam’s lapel. ‘Of course you’re not.’
Adam’s face took on the stoic expression of one who knew he would need to press the point more than once in order to be heard. Possibly a few hundred times.
‘It’s the next logical step,’ he said.
‘In what?’ Her mother flapped a dismissive hand. ‘It’s just a phase. You’ll soon snap out of it once the right girl comes along. Bit like Emma with her vegetarian thing back in the day.’ She nodded at Emma. ‘Soon went back to normal after a couple of weeks when she fancied a bacon sandwich.’
‘Mum,’ Adam said patiently, ‘Emma was thirteen. I’m twenty-nine. Ernie and I have been together for nearly a year.’
‘I know. Sharing a flat. Couple of lads. No need to turn it into more than it is.’
Emma stared as Adam finally raised his voice enough to make her mother stop talking.
‘Mum, you’re in denial!’
As she stopped her protests and looked at him he took a deep breath and lowered his voice, speaking with the tired patience of someone who’d covered the same ground many times, only to end up where he’d started.
‘I’ve been out since I was eighteen. I know you’ve never wanted to accept it, but the right girl for me doesn’t exist. We’re having a civil partnership ceremony in six weeks’ time and I want you all to be there and be happy for me.’
‘I’m happy for you,’ Emma said, smiling tentatively.
Happiness she could do. Unfortunately being at the wedding might be a bit trickier. Her plans with Alistair lurked at the edge of her mind. She’d been so excited about going away with him. He’d showered her with gifts and attention, and for the first time in her life she was being blown away by being the sole focus of another person. And not just any person. Alistair Woods had to be one of the most eligible bachelors in the universe, with an army of female fans, and he had chosen to be with her. She still couldn’t quite believe her luck. Their trip was planned to the hilt. She would have to make Adam understand somehow.
He leaned in and gave her a hug. ‘Thanks, Em.’
She had grown up feeling overshadowed by Adam’s achievements. Just the look of him was attention-grabbing, with his perfectly chiselled features and foppish dress sense. And that was just now. She couldn’t forget the school years, where for every one of Emma’s hard-earned A grades there had been a matching two or three showered effortlessly on Adam. His flamboyant, outgoing personality charmed everyone he came into contact with, and her mother never ceased championing his successes to anyone who would listen.
It hadn’t been easy being her parents’ Plan B. Competing for their interest with someone as dazzling as Adam was an impossible, cold task.
‘I blame you for this, Donald,’ her mother snapped at her father. ‘Indulging his ridiculous obsession with musical theatre when he was in his teens.’
Sometimes Emma forgot that being her parents’ Plan A was probably no picnic either.
Adam held up his hands.
‘Please, Mum. It’s not up for discussion. It’s happening with or without your approval. Can’t you just be pleased for us?’
There was an extremely long pause and then her mother gave an enormous grudging sigh.
‘Well, I can kiss goodbye to grandchildren, I suppose,’ she grumbled. ‘We’ll have to count on you for that now, Emma. If you can ever manage to find a man who’ll commit.’
She glared pointedly at Dan, who totally ignored the jibe. Emma had been wondering how long it would be before her biological clock got a mention. Terrific. So now Adam could carve out the life he wanted without bearing the brunt of her parents’ wrath because they had Emma lined up as their biological backup plan to carry on their insane gene pool.
Going away with Alistair was beginning to feel like a lucky escape. She just needed to get her plans back on track.
* * *
Dan scanned an e-mail for the third time and realised he still hadn’t properly taken it in. His mind had been all over the place this last day or two.
Since the night of Adam’s exhibition, to be exact.
There was a gnawing feeling deep in his gut that work didn’t seem to be suppressing, and he finally threw in the towel on distracting himself, took his mind off work and applied it to the problem instead.
He was piqued because Emma had ended things with him. OK, so her plans to dump him publicly hadn’t come off, thankfully, but the end result was the same. She’d drawn a line under their relationship without so much as a moment’s pause and he hadn’t heard from her since. No discussion, no input from him.
He was even more piqued because now it was over with he really shouldn’t give a damn. They were friends, work colleagues, and that was all there was to it. Their romantic attachment existed only in the impression they’d given to the outside world, to work contacts and her family. It had always been a front.
His pique had absolutely nothing to do with any sudden realisation that Emma was attractive. He’d always known she was attractive. Dan Morgan wouldn’t be seen dating a moose, even for business reasons. That didn’t mean she was his type, though—not with her dark hair and minimal make-up, and her conservative taste in clothes. And that in turn had made it easy to pigeonhole her as friend. A proper relationship with someone like Emma would be complex, would need commitment, compromise, emotional investment. All things he wasn’t prepared to give another woman. Tried, tested and failed. Dan Morgan learned from his mistakes and never repeated his failures.
It had quickly become clear that Emma was far more useful to him in the role of friend than love interest, and all thoughts of attraction had been relegated from that moment onwards. It had been so long now that not noticing the way she looked was second nature.
But the gnawing feeling in his gut was there nonetheless. Their romantic relationship might have been counterfeit, but some element of it had obviously been real enough to make the dumping feel extremely uncomfortable.
He’d never been dumped before. He was the one who did the backing off. That was the way he played it. A couple of dinner dates somewhere nice, the second one generally ending up in his bed, a couple more dates and then, when the girl started to show signs of getting comfortable—maybe she’d start leaving belongings in his flat, or perhaps she’d suggest he meet her family—he’d simply go into backing-off mode. It wasn’t as if he lied to them about his intentions. He was careful always to make it clear from the outset that he wasn’t in the market for anything serious. He was in absolute control at all times—just as he was in every aspect of his life. That was the way he wanted it. The way he needed it.
He was amazed at how affronted he felt by the apparent ease with which Emma had dispensed with him. Not an ounce of concern for how he might feel as she’d planned to trounce him spectacularly in front of all those people. His irritation at her unbelievable fake break-up plan was surpassed only by his anger with himself for actually giving a damn.
Feeling low at being dumped meant you had feelings for the person dumping you. Didn’t it?
Unease flared in his gut at that needling thought, because Dan Morgan didn’t do deep feelings. That slippery slope led to dark places he had no intention of revisiting. He did fun, easy, no-strings flings. Feelings need not apply. Surely hurt feelings should only apply where a relationship was bona fide. Fake relationships should mean fake feelings, and fake feelings couldn’t be hurt.
That sensation of spinning back in time made him feel faintly nauseous. Here it was again—like an irritating old acquaintance you think you’ve cut out of your life who then pops back up unexpectedly for a visit. That reeling loss of control he’d felt in the hideous few months after Maggie had left, walking away with apparent ease from the ruins of their relationship. He’d made sure he retained the upper hand in all dealings with women since. These days every situation worked for him. No emotion involved. No risk. His relationships were orchestrated by him, no one else. That way he could be sure of every outcome.
But not this time. Their agreement had lasted—what?—a year? And in that time she’d never once refused a date with him. Even when he’d needed an escort at the last minute she’d changed her schedule to accommodate him. He’d relied on her because he’d learned that he could rely on her.
And so he hadn’t seen it coming. That was why it gnawed at him like this.
You don’t like losing her. You thought you had her on your own terms. You took her for granted and now you don’t like the feeling that she’s calling the shots.
He gritted his teeth. This smacked a bit too much of the past for comfort. It resurrected old feelings that he had absolutely no desire to recall, and he apparently couldn’t let it slide. What he needed to do now was get this thing back under his own control.
Well, she hadn’t gone yet. And he didn’t have to just take her decision. If this agreement was going to end it would be when he chose—not on some whim of hers. He could talk her round if he wanted to. It wouldn’t be hard. And then he would decide where their partnership went.
If it went anywhere at all.
He pulled his chair back close to the desk and pressed a few buttons, bringing up his calendar for the next couple of weeks with a stab of exasperation. Had she no idea of the inconvenience she’d thrust upon him?
Not only had Emma dumped him, she’d really picked a great moment to do it. Not. The black tie charity dinner a week away hadn’t crossed his mind the other evening when she had dropped her bombshell. It hadn’t needed to. Since he’d met Emma planning for events like that had been a thing of the past. He simply called her up, sometimes at no more than a moment’s notice, and he could count on the perfect companion on his arm—perfect respect for the dress code, perfect intelligent conversation, an all-round perfect professional impression. There was some serious networking to be had at such an event, the tickets had cost a fortune, and now he was dateless.
He reached for the phone.
It rang for so long that he was on the brink of hanging up when she answered.
‘Hello?’ Her slightly husky voice sounded breathless, as if she’d just finished laughing at something, and he could hear music and buzzing talk in the background, as if she were in a crowded bar or restaurant.
From nowhere three unheard-of things flashed through his mind in quick succession. Emma never socialised on a work night unless she was with him; she never let her phone ring for long when he called her, as if she was eager to talk to him; and in the time that he’d known her she had never sounded this bubblingly happy.
‘What are you doing a week from Friday?’ he said, cutting to the chase.
‘Hang on.’
A brief pause on the end of the phone and the blaring music was muted a little. He imagined her leaving the bar or the restaurant she was in for a quiet spot, perhaps in the lobby. He sensed triumph already, knowing that she was leaving whoever she was with to make time to speak with him.
‘Tying up loose ends at work, probably. And packing.’
So she was storming ahead with her plans, then. The need for control spiked again in his gut. He went in with the big guns.
‘I’ve got a charity ball in Mayfair. Black tie. Major league. Tickets like hen’s teeth. It promises to be a fabulous night.’
He actually heard her sigh. With impatience, or with longing at the thought of attending the ball with him? He decided it was definitely the latter. She’d made no secret of the fact she enjoyed the wonderful opulence of nights like that, and he knew she’d networked a good few new clients for herself in the past while she was accompanying him—another perk of their plus-one agreement.
For Pete’s sake, she had him giving it that ludicrous name now.
Their usual dates consisted of restaurant dinners with his clients. Pleasant, but hardly exciting. Except for Dan’s own company, of course. Luxury events like this only came up occasionally. He waited for her to tear his arm off in her eagerness to accept.
‘What part of “it’s over” did you not understand, Dan?’ she said. ‘Did you not hear any of what I said the other night?’
It took a moment to process what she’d said because he had been so convinced of her acceptance.
‘What I heard was some insane plan to desert your whole life as you know it for some guy you’ve known five minutes,’ he heard himself say. ‘You’re talking about leaving your friends and family, walking out of a job you’ve worked your arse off for, all to follow some celebrity.’
‘It would be a sabbatical from work,’ she said. ‘I’m not burning my bridges there. Not yet. And you make me sound like some crazy stalker. We’re in a relationship. A proper grown-up one, not a five-minute fling.’
He didn’t miss the obvious dig at his own love life, and it made his response more cutting than he intended.
‘On the strength of—what was it?—half a dozen dates?’ he said. ‘I always thought you were one of the most grounded people I know. You’re the last person in the world I’d have expected to be star-struck.’
He knew from the freezing silence on the end of the phone that he’d sunk his foot into his own mouth up to the ankle.
‘How dare you?’ she said, and a light tremble laced her voice, which was pure frost. ‘It was obviously too much to hope that you might actually be pleased for me. Yes, Alistair is in the public eye, but that has nothing to do with why I’ve agreed to go away with him. Has it occurred to you that I might actually like him because he’s interested in me for a change? As opposed to the grandchildren I might bear him or the fact I might be his carer when he’s old and decrepit. Or...’ she added pointedly ‘...the fact that I might boost his profile at some damned work dinner so he can extend his client list a bit further because he never quite feels he’s rich or successful enough.’
She paused.
‘You’re saying no, then?’ he said. ‘To the all-expenses-paid top-notch Mayfair ball?’
He heard her draw in a huge breath and then she let it out in a rude, exasperated noise. He held the phone briefly away from his ear. When he put it back her voice was Arctic.
‘Dan,’ she was saying slowly, as if he had a problem understanding plain English, ‘I’m saying no to the Mayfair ball. I’m through with posing as your professional romantic interest so you can impress your damned client list while you date airhead models for a week at a time.’
Had he really thought this would be easy? It occurred to him that in reality she couldn’t be further from one of his usual conquests, of which currently there were two or three, any of whom would drop everything else at a moment’s notice if he deigned to call them up and suggest getting together.
You didn’t get as far up the legal career ladder as she had by being a ‘yes’ girl. But her easy refusal bothered the hell out of him. He’d expected her to agree to resurrect their agreement without even needing persuasion. Had expected her to thank him, in fact.
The need to win back control rose another notch with her unexpected refusal of his offer, and also her apparent indifference to it. It put his teeth on edge and gnawed at him deep inside.
‘How about helping me out with this one last time, then?’ he pressed, confident that in an evening he could quickly turn the situation around. Reinstate their agreement and then decide what he wanted to do with it. End it, change the terms—whatever happened it would be up to him to decide, not her.
‘Dan, you don’t need my help,’ she said patiently. ‘I’m in the middle of dinner and I haven’t got time to discuss this now. It’s not as if you’re short of dates. Grab your little black book and pick one of your girlies from there. I’m sure any one of them would love to go with you.’
There was a soft click on the end of the phone as she hung up.
That went well. Not.
THREE
‘Let me just recap. You’re in a relationship with Alistair Woods—the Alistair Woods, the man who looks a dream in Lycra—and you’re not planning on mentioning it to Mum and Dad?’
Adam’s eyebrows practically disappeared into his sleek quiff hairstyle and Emma took a defensive sip of coffee. The fantasy she’d had of disappearing around the world on Alistair’s arm and calling up her parents from Cannes/LA/somewhere else that screamed kudos, to tell them she would be featuring in next month’s celebrity magazine, had turned out to be just that. A fantasy.
Because Adam was getting married.
Her big brother, Adam—who never failed to make her laugh, and who was so bright and sharp and funny that she’d never for a moment questioned her role in family life as the forgettable backing act to his flamboyant scene-stealer. Of course she had paled into insignificance in her family’s eyes next to Adam—not to mention in the eyes of schoolteachers, friends, neighbours... But only in the way that everyone else had faded into the background next to him in her own eyes. He was simply someone who commanded success and attention without needing to put in any effort.
She couldn’t exit her life without telling Adam, and she’d asked him to meet her for coffee to do exactly that. She’d even tried to sweeten the news by buying him an enormous cream bun, which now sat between them untouched. If she’d thought he’d simply scoff the bun and wave her off without so much as a question, she’d been deluded.
‘You’re not going yet, though, right? You’re at least waiting until after the wedding?’
‘Erm...’
He threw his arms up theatrically.
‘Em! You can’t be serious! How the hell am I going to keep Mum under control without you? I can’t get married without my wingman!’
‘Woman,’ she corrected.
He flapped both hands at her madly.
‘Whatever. You saw what Mum was like the other night. The wedding is in Ernie’s home village. He’s got a massive family, they’re all fabulously supportive, and if you don’t come along our family’s big impression on them will be Mum telling everyone I’ll get over it when I get bored with musical theatre and meet the right girl.’
‘Dad will be there,’ she ventured. ‘Maybe you could talk to him beforehand, get him to keep Mum on a short leash.’
‘He’d be as much use as a chocolate teapot. We both know he’s been beaten into submission over the years. Since when has Mum ever listened to him? She just talks over him. I need you there.’
His voice had taken on a pleading tone.
