Page 90 of The Invitation

“Amelia, darling.” Mum rushes to me, her oven gloves on her hands, and checks me over. Checks there is no evidence of where I might have been. “Are you okay?”

Good heavens.“I’m fine, stop fussing.” I go to the couch and drop to the seat, dragging Dad’s copy of theFinancial Timesonto my lap. “What’s for lunch?”

“Your mum’s famous roast.” Grandpa smacks his lips and rubs his belly before sheepishly glancing at his wife of nearly sixty years. “Not as good as yours, dear.”

I smile and open the paper, burying my face in the first article.War. Trading ceased. Shares to drop.They’re all trigger words that would have me devouring the information with interest and worry, except my mind is elsewhere. And isn’t that evidence enough that I’m stepping out ofthe frying pan with Nick and into the fire with Jude Harrison? I huff and slam the paper shut.

There’s a knock at the front door.

“Who’s missing?” I ask, looking through to the kitchen. “Where’s Rachel?”

“Emptying the dishwasher.”

“Oh, sister,” Clark calls in an annoying singsong voice.

I look toward the door that leads into the hallway, getting up from the couch.

“Who is it?” Grandpa calls as I leave the room.

I find Clark at the open front door. “What’s up?”

He looks back at me with raised, accusing brows. “Someone for you.” Then he moves.

Revealing Jude.

My mouth goes lax, all bodily functions abandoning me. “Jude,” I breathe, stock-still on the spot. Fuck, what the hell is he playing at?

He holds something up. “You left your phone in my car when you were rushing to escape me.”

Clark looks between us, interested. “We’ve met,” he says to Jude, holding out a hand. “Although not formally.”

Jude smiles through straight lips, accepting and shaking. “Apologies again.”

“No sweat.” My brother narrows one eye my way. “It’s all beginning to make sense.”

I pass Clark, panicked, and step outside, pulling the door closed behind me. “Thank you,” I say, taking my phone and faffing with it in my hand, unlocking the screen, locking it again.

“Welcome,” Jude murmurs, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Amelia, for the sake of clarity and for the avoidance of doubt, I don’t date more than one woman at a time.”

There’s that word again.Dating.I peek up at him.

“In fact,” he goes on, his rolling jaw indicating his mood, along with his darkening eyes. “I don’t usually date at all.”

So he just fucks women? Seduces them and gets them into bed? One at a time. I close my eyes and breathe out. I feel like I’m going mad. Yesterday wasn’t a date. Dates aren’t that amazing.

“I’m not looking for anything serious,” I say quietly. It’s the truth, and I need reminding of that. Especially after last night.

“Are you for real?” Jude nearly chokes over his words. “Because last night felt pretty fucking serious.”

And isn’t that my point? “Jude, this is all happening very fast.”

“Deal with it,” he snaps. “I am.”

I shrink, my head a mess of conflicting thoughts. I don’t know what’s happening with Jude, but I do know how I felt when I saw that message appear on his screen. Jealous. Injured. Vulnerable. I’m not ready for this.

I look over my shoulder to the closed door. “I have to go.”

“You don’t want them to know you’ve met someone?” he asks.

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