Page 125 of Strictly the Worst

“Can I have an orange juice?” I ask, because champagne goes straight to my head and I’m already worried about making an idiot out of myself in front of his family.

Linc glances at me. “Everything okay?”

“I just want to pace myself.” I give him a smile.

Myles passes me a glass of juice.

“How old is your daughter?” Ava, Myles’ wife asks. She has such a friendly face. I begin to relax.

“She’s thirteen.”

“Linc has to deal with a teenager?” Liam asks, starting to laugh. “Oh boy.”

“She’s a good kid,” Linc says and I squeeze his hand. “Much nicer than you all were when you were teenagers.”

“That’s because you’re boys,” Ava says. Then she looks at me. “I’m finding the post-toddler years hard enough. I’ll have to get your advice on how to deal with teenagers.”

“I’m not sure I can give any advice,” I tell her honestly. “It’s kind of like childbirth but years long instead of hours. You just have to get through it.”

They laugh and I find myself relaxing even more. They really are lovely.

And then somebody clears their throat behind my back.

“Mom,” Linc says, turning me to face her. “I was wondering where you were.”

“I had to take a call.” She turns to look at me, her eyes pale. “You must be Tessa,” she says.

“Hi.” I beam at her. She smiles softly back. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Linc’s palm is pressed against the curve of my back.

“Remind me again,” his mom says. “Where did you two meet?”

“Mom, I told you. At work.”

She nods. Behind her Myles and Liam are facing the bar, laughing about something. “You work for my son?” she asks. I still can’t read her expression at all. I wonder if I’ll be like this when I meet the partners Zoe brings home.

I hope not. I hope I’ll be too busy putting them at ease to make them feel awkward.

“She works with me,” Linc says. “For Roman.”

“Oh yes, Roman. A good man. So are you one of the women I see him dating on Instagram?”

“I don’t have an Instagram,” I tell her. “That will be his French girls.”

Linc starts to laugh at my reference to Titanic. His mom doesn’t though.

“Well I should go say hello to everybody,” she says. “Nice to meet you, Tessa.” She leans forward to kiss Linc on the cheek. “We should catch up tomorrow. You could meet me for breakfast.”

Linc shakes his head. “I can’t. I’m taking Tessa to breakfast.”

Her smile wavers. “Lunch then.”

“I have to fly back to Paris tomorrow afternoon. Next week?” he suggests. And I immediately feel bad because I’m monopolizing his time.

“You should go to breakfast,” I tell him. “I have things to do tomorrow morning anyway.”

“Next week,” Linc says, brooking no argument.

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