She relaxed under his touch as he kissed her in the crook of her neck again – his place. ‘Let’s try again,’ he murmured, taking the salad servers out of her hands and turning her towards him. ‘Hello, love of my life.’ He smoothed her long dark hair off her pale face. ‘You look especially beautiful today.’
She smiled, feeling the day’s tension begin to rise off her too. ‘Hello. You’re not too shabby either. Had a good day?’
‘Excellent. I spent it thinking up ways to impress my future parents-in-law.’ He arched an eyebrow, looking pleased with himself.
‘Intriguing. And what did you come up with?’
‘Well, you said your father was big on environmental issues, right?’
She nodded.
‘I’m thinking a trip to the Aquarium? I know a guy who works there. He could get us in after closing time, take us around the tanks round the back, show us their protection and breeding programmes in place? Then I thought drinks at . . .’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘Well, not sure on that bit yet, but somewhere fancy. And then dinner at this new Korean place in Notting Hill Gate, they’ve got a pioneering recycling scheme which, if that’s his thing—’
Tara laughed. ‘You’re a nut! Alex, you don’t need to do anything fancy to impress my parents. They’ll love you. How could they not?’
‘Uh-uh. Fathers-in-law are different. They never like the guy who’s taking away their little princess.’
‘My dad isn’t like most other dads.’
‘Said every girl ever.’
‘No, I mean it. We’re . . . not like other people.’
‘Ha! Say that after you’ve met my folks!’ He clasped her face with his hands, kissing her tenderly, blocking out the world. ‘Another Purdey’s?’ He picked up her empty glass and waggled it in his hand.
She smiled weakly, knowing she’d just missed a chance to tell him. Why couldn’t she just say it? You either trust him or you don’t. ‘Lovely.’
She plated up the steak and took it, with the salad, to the table. She sat as he poured them fresh drinks. He came and sat opposite her, his knees touching hers under the table as he tonged the salad onto her plate. ‘So tell me what you’ve told them about me.’ He paused. ‘You have told them about me, haven’t you?’
‘Of course! They know that your name’s Alex, that you’re American, twenty-three years old, a PhD biology student at Imperial.’ She shrugged. ‘Uh . . . yeah. That’s pretty much it.’
‘That’s it? That’s the sum total of what they know about me?’
‘I—’ Her mouth opened, looking for excuses. ‘I don’t like giving them too much detail early on! We’ve only been together a few months, after all, and trust me, my mother would need no encouragement to start planning a wedding. She’s been waiting since the day I turned eighteen. No, scratch that, twelve.’
‘Hmm. So then it sounds like it’s your mother I need to get on side.’ He cast a sidelong glance, winking at her and making her stomach somersault. Just like that.
‘She actually cried – not tears of pride, mind you – when I told her I was going to be a doctor, can you believe that?’
He considered for a moment, a morsel of medium-rare steak perched on the tines of his fork. ‘No. That is odd.’
She leaned in towards him. ‘So what have you told your parents about me?’
‘That you’re a stone-cold fox, shit-hot at anatomy.’ He winked at her. ‘And that once you’re a doctor and I’m a professor, our letters are going to look really cool on the doormat.’
She felt her smile falter as Holly’s predictions continued to echo through her mind. Was she right? Would it really be too hard for her to pick up the reins a year from now and continue on with her dream?
He noticed her absent look and gave her a quizzical look. ‘You okay? You’re a little pale.’
‘Mm-hmm,’ she nodded, knowing that now was the time to tell him. She had to do it before the moment slipped away again, a silk scarf in the wind. ‘But actually, there is something I’ve been wanting to tell you. For a while, actually.’
‘Sounds ominous.’
‘No, it’s nothing bad. I’m just . . . not sure how you’re going to take it.’
‘You’re not already married, are you?’ He looked around the room mock-apprehensively, as though he expected someone to leap from the larder.
‘No, I’m not married; I’m just . . . rich.’
His apparent confusion deepened. ‘. . . You’re rich?’ He looked sceptical and she knew she looked anything but in her vintage jeans and Zara jumper; that was partly the point, after all.
‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’
He stared at her, a long silence opening up. ‘Sorry, I’m not getting why . . . why’s that a thing?’
She felt her cheeks redden. ‘It’s just the stuff that comes with it, that’s all. It can be overwhelming.’
A light came into his eyes. ‘What, you mean the jets, the yachts, having to remember which clothes are in which homes . . .?’
He had been joking, but she nodded. ‘Exactly.’
‘Oh!’ His smile faded as he ran a hand through his hair. His forehead was two shades lighter than the rest of his face, his fringe always flopping down over it. ‘Okay, so then you’re rich,’ he said finally. ‘But what’s it got to do with us?’
She gave a relieved laugh, putting her hand over his on the table. It was the perfect response. ‘Nothing. Exactly, nothing.’ She wanted to cry with relief. ‘It’s got nothing to do with us at all. I try to . . . pretend it’s not even there, as much as I can. I just want to live my life and be me and be liked and loved for who I am and not because my family’s got money.’ The words came out in a jumbled rush.
‘Okay.’ Alex still looked baffled. He took another sip – gulp, actually – of his wine. ‘But you were nervous about telling me
