Page 155 of Joker in the Pack

He sighed. “It’s my family that’s the problem, not you. I don’t want them subjecting you to the third degree and scaring you off.”

“It would take more than petty questions to scare me off.”

“That’s only the half of it.”

“I mean it. I’m yours. Hook, line, and sinker.”

He stared past me for a few seconds, thinking. “In that case, do you want to come to my grandma’s birthday party? Dinner and a trip to the opera. I’ll understand if you don’t want to, because I’d rather not go either.”

Mother had spent years trying to educate me in the delights of opera, but I’d never learned to appreciate it as much as I should have. Probably because most of the time they sang in Italian and I didn’t understand the storyline. But I’d pushed for the invite, so I could hardly back out now.

“I’d love to go, and I promise I won’t let you down. My mother used to read me DeBrett’s etiquette guide every night before I went to bed.”

That earned me a tight smile. “You couldn’t let me down if you tried.”

He picked up the phone from where he’d dropped it and grimaced as he dialled. “About Grandma’s dinner—I’ll be bringing someone. Her name’s Olivia, and I’d appreciate if you could send an extra ticket.”

A pause.

“Porter. Olivia Porter… No, she’s not one of the Old Windsor Porters. She lived in Clerkenwell before I met her… No, she’s not living there now. We moved in together… Stop putting words in my mouth, Mother. I’ll do that in my own time.”

He hung up with the demeanour of a condemned man. “The deed is done. We’re going, for better or worse.”

“Aren’t you being a teensy bit melodramatic?”

“You haven’t met them yet.”

EPILOGUE 2

DON’T BE NERVOUS, Olivia. It’s just dinner and the opera.

Oh, who was I kidding? Just an hour or two, and I’d meet Nye’s family. I still didn’t know much about them, not even their names. If he’d given me a few hints, I could have looked them up on the internet, Facebook perhaps, but he was being really cagey over the whole thing. Surely they couldn’t be that bad?

I’d splashed out on a new dress, maroon with an appropriately demure neckline, feeling a pang of regret for the designer outfits I’d sold after my split with Edward. But the Karen Millen sale was within my budget, and I’d even got a sparkly new necklace, albeit a cubic zirconia one.

I twisted my handbag strap in my hands as we purred along the M40 motorway in Nye’s new BMW. Anything to stop myself from biting my nails. I’d already had a go this morning and chipped the pale pink polish before I realised what I was doing.

“Where are we going again?”

“Kendall Grange. It’s some fancy hotel near my parents’ home.”

“That’s in Northbury village, right?” I’d got that much out of him. Upper Foxford on steroids, he said.

“Yes.”

“And you grew up there?”

“Yes.”

See? He hated to elaborate. “Why the opera? Is your grandma a fan?”

He shrugged. “We go every year. A birthday treat.”

I sighed and gave up. I’d meet his family soon enough, and maybe then I’d get some answers.

“Have we got everything?” I asked for the tenth time since we left.

“We don’t need a lot, babe. I’ve got my wallet. You’ve got your bag full of woman crap, and we’ve got the tickets.”

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