Page 64 of The Devil's Deceit
“Y’know, sometimes I think you should’ve pretended to be me. You’re so much better at this than I am.”
“Bollocks. You know what I’m like, and diplomatic ain’t it. I’d blow my cover before the end of day one.” She elbow nudges me in the ribs, then winks. “Come on, babes. Cheer up. In a few months, this will all be behind you, and your parents can finally rest in peace, and you and Arron can move on with your lives knowing you did right by them.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“I usually am. Now, can we get ready and get this show on the road?”
An hour later, the car Vicky promised would pick us up slows to a stop outside Juliet’s building.
Heaving a heavy sigh, I hitch a shoulder. “Here we go.”
When we emerge into a chilly autumn evening, I’m surprised to see Christian’s bodyguard waiting for us. I arch an eyebrow at Marshall.
One side of his mouth quirks up. “Mr. De Vil insisted, ma’am.” He opens the rear door and waits for us to get situated and belted up before closing it.
“This is pretty rad,” Juliet whispers as Marshall climbs into the front seat beside the driver.
“It’s overreach,” I hit back. Leaning forward, I tap Marshall on the shoulder. “Who’s guarding Christian while you’re here… keeping an eye on me.”
“There’s a large security team, ma’am. Mr. De Vil is perfectly safe.”
“Right,” I mutter, sitting back.
Juliet yammers on, filling the silence, which I’m grateful for. I’m too nervous, too up in my head about tonight to contribute, but being the extrovert she is, my silence doesn’t bother her at all.
The traffic into central London is rammed, as usual, but the driver appears to know a few short cuts, and we arrive at the restaurant Vicky organized five minutes early. We progress inside, with Marshall hot on our heels.
My heart’s doing its best to punch right out of my chest, and no amount of deep breathing makes a difference. Stammering, I manage to give our names to the maître d’.
“Right this way,” he says with decisive efficiency, whipping around on his heel as expertly as a ballroom dancer.
Vicky gets to her feet the moment she sees me, a beaming smile puffing up her cheeks. A gorgeous, willowyredhead rises, too. Guess that’s Imogen. There’s a third woman who, research tells me, is Christian’s sister Saskia.
Oh, God. They brought the sister.
I mean, I know I have to meet her sometime, but why did it have to be now when I’m already racked with nerves and have sweat dripping between my boobs? I’m not this nervous with Christian. Maybe it’s because he’s guilty and these women have nothing to do with what happened to my parents. Guilty by association doesn’t cut it, and I know how I’d feel if the shoe was on the other foot and I found out after the fact I’d been played for a fool.
“Grace.” Vicky greets me like a long-lost friend. “It’s great to see you.” She captures my hand and draws me forward. “This is Imogen, and this is Christian’s sister Saskia.”
I force a smile I hope comes off as genuine, then gesture to Juliet. “This is my best friend Juliet.”
Introductions over, we take our seats. Within five minutes, all the worries I’d had vanish. It isn’t an inquisition; it’s conversation, and the good thing is most of it I can be honest about, such as how Juliet and I met, and what my hobbies are. That question gets a groan from Juliet and a firm dig in the ribs from me.
“Ignore her,” I say. “She knows I can talk about my love of music and musical instruments for hours. Especially the piano.”
“You should have Christian introduce you to Destiny Winslow,” Saskia says.
“He already did,” I say, animated. “He took me to the Royal Albert Hall a few weeks ago and introduced me to her afterward. She’s my idol.”
“Well, I never. Christian, a hopeless romantic. Didn’t know he had it in him.”
“He’s extraordinarily romantic.” Why I feel the need to defend him, God knows. “Even though our marriage is an arrangement, he got down on one knee and everything.”
Juliet gasps. “You never told me that.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Sorry.”
The conversation flows so easily as we eat that I feel as though I’ve known these women for ages, and, unusually for me in larger groups, I’m not looking for a way to cut the evening short and head home, where it’s quiet and peaceful. So, when Vicky suggests dancing, I agree.
