But none of that made her feel any better. She wasn’t yet ready to be placated. She still had another secret of her own that she needed to offload, and she couldn’t, not until this one was unburdened. Disappointment made her angry. ‘Actually, that’s not true,’ she replied evenly. ‘Daddy knows plenty about you. He had a report done up.’
Alex paled. ‘What?’
‘It’s standard. He does it to pretty much everyone.’
‘Pretty much?’
‘Not Holly.’
He looked genuinely shocked, so stunned she felt almost sorry for him. Almost. ‘He had a report done on me?’ he repeated.
‘Yes. That’s how he knew about the Princeton project. It wasn’t me who told him.’
‘B-but . . .’ His mouth kept opening and closing like a guppy fish, questions forming and being discarded before he could get the words out. ‘What – did he get in a PI? Has he been having me followed?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘No, nothing like that. Just paperwork. It’s really not a big deal, he wasn’t dishing for dirt. He was just trying to find out your interests to put you at ease,’ she said, watching the shock flicker across his features like shadows. ‘So he already knows what you’re all about, is what I’m saying. He knows you’ve got integrity . . .’ She realized she was mollifying him and resentment crept into her tone. Why was she having to make him feel better? ‘Although I’m not quite so sure now.’
‘What does that mean?’ His voice broke slightly with the emotion, rendering him boyishly young at a stroke.
‘You told me you’re a Chelsea fan,’ she said simply, watching as the confusion cleared to understanding.
His shoulders slumped. ‘. . . Oh. You’re talking about Miles.’
‘He told me you’d never heard of Drogba and that you kept calling it Stanford Bridge.’
‘Yeah, it wasn’t my greatest moment. Or ten. Why did you even tell him?’
‘Because you had told me you supported them!’
‘Ta, I’m American. I’ve seen, like, five soccer games my entire life!’
‘Then why lie about it?’
He sighed, looking stressed. ‘Because in one of our first conversations, you said your brother was a fan and I wanted to find a way to . . . bond with him. For you.’
‘So, what? You were going to start suddenly supporting Chelsea? Start swotting up on their team, their past record?’
He shrugged. ‘Why not? I live here now. I’ve got to pick a team if I’m ever going to be allowed into your pubs. I hadn’t really thought it through.’
‘Well, it backfired. Miles is now decidedly not a fan of yours. My parents might think you’re the greatest thing, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t like liars. You blew it with him.’
‘Okay, well then, I’ll put it right. I’ll . . . I’ll—’
‘No, stop! Just stop faking it! He’ll see right through you. Miles can spot a bullshitter twenty miles off. He’s already texted me twice, asking what the hell I’m doing with you.’
‘He has?’ Alex’s face fell. He looked bewildered and she suspected it was an unfamiliar feeling for him – being disliked.
‘Just stop trying so hard. You can’t pretend to be someone you’re not.’ In spite of her determination to the contrary, she felt her anger thaw at the sight of him so crestfallen. She gave a groan of exasperation. ‘Look, you thought that was a shortcut to bonding with Miles, I get it. And I know you’re trying to do things properly with my dad . . . but this is the twenty-first century. My family knows I’m no fool and that I make my own decisions. It’s you and me getting married, not them. Just keep it simple. You’ll get to know them in time, and they’ll get to know you.’
‘But now your brother hates me.’
She sighed. ‘He doesn’t hate you. He just doesn’t trust you yet. I told you, we don’t trust easily, it’s how we were brought up. But he’ll come round.’
He nodded silently, but there was tension in his jaw. He looked unhappy. ‘So you’re saying I should just go ahead and ask your dad?’
There was a tense silence for a moment. ‘Look, I’ll set up a Skype with them—’
‘Skype?’ He looked shocked. ‘No. No way. I wanna do this right. Face to face, man to man.’
‘But you missed your chance, Alex! That was what tonight was for; they’re flying to Geneva early next week.’
‘So then we’ll go over again tomorrow.’
‘I’ve got Sophie’s this weekend, remember?’
His blank expression suggested he didn’t. ‘Shit . . . Well, when will you be back?’
‘Late on Sunday night. I can hardly rush off. And they’re going Monday first thing.’ He just didn’t get it. He didn’t know what it was like, pinning down people like her parents. They had commitments to honour, committees to sit upon, charities to chair, functions to host, multinationals to run. ‘My mother mentioned something about Paris on the way back, and she likes to be in Harbour Island for Easter, so . . . that’s that for the moment.’ She shrugged, well used to her parents’ globetrotting ways, although boarding school had protected her and Miles from a lot of it.
He bit his lip, a deep frown furrowing his brow. ‘Okay. Okay. We can make this work, I know we can.’
‘Alex—’
‘No, let me just think . . . I can do this.’
She sighed as he began to pace, knowing full well that ship had sailed. It might be weeks before she saw her parents again. This was futile. ‘Look, it really doesn’t matter that much you asking him for my hand. It’s me you’re marrying, and I’ve already said yes.’
He wheeled round, suddenly angry. ‘But it matters to me to do this right, don’t you get it? Everything about my life up till coming to London was . . . weird. I didn’t have roots. I didn’t have a family in the conventional sense. I didn’t go to school, didn’t go to prom. For once in my life, I want to do something the right way. And whether you see it or not, it matters to me that I have your father’s respect.’
‘But you already do! The two of you didn’t stop talking all
