Page 92 of The Felicity Theory (The Laws of Love 4)

“Remind me, what’s the age group?”

“Pre-adolescent. Ten to twelve-year-olds. Might help if I had kids of my own.”

She was in the middle of brushing hair back off his forehead, and for some reason he sensed her stiffen. “Is this position hurting you?” he asked quickly.

“Nope.” She kissed his forehead. “I had such a great day. I went to Paddy’s Markets and then to the Powerhouse Museum and had lunch in the Botanical Gardens and watched the fruit bats swinging in the trees.”

“Wish I could have joined you.”

“It’s okay, you’re on a tight deadline. I’d rather you worked in the day so we can play at night.”

“Talking of which, we’re going out, did you remember?”

“Oh, yes, with your publisher, right?”

“Yes, Beau, and his wife, Arianne.” Her fingers trailed along his arm, and he picked up her hand and kissed it. “You’ll like them, I think. Arianne’s very artsy, she’s an interior designer.”

“Sounds good. I’ll get changed into the new dress I just bought.” They stood and he kissed her lips, loving how they seemed to be in this wonderful phase of intimacy. So what if it was a bubble he hadn’t dared think beyond. It was working, wasn’t it?

“In what capacity am I attending exactly?” She straightened his shirt collar, her brows drawn together, which made his lips twitch, considering she was the reason he didn’t care anymore if his collar was straight.

He said lightly, “Beau knows we’re—er—seeing each other. So naturally, Arianne will too.” He should probably tell her that Arianne was a close friend of Leonie’s, but he didn’t want to faze Felicity before she met her. Besides, he hadn’t told Leonie yet. Why? He wasn’t sure, and he didn’t need to think about that either, not right now.

He kissed her again, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and relished the way her slightly tremulous smile seemed to spell her approval.

He was loving their kooky coupledom.

It didn’t have commitment written all over it… but itwasopen to possibilities.

* * *

The restaurant was sophisticated,with beautifully laid tables set against shades of white and beige. Modern chandeliers sparkled from the ceiling and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked Sydney Harbour. Felicity would have secretly preferred Eros Kebabs with its harsh fluoro lighting and plastic tablecloths, but hey, this was elite Sydney and she needed to enjoy the experience of fine dining a few times while she was here.

“There they are,” Oliver said, and she got a buzz out of the fact he kept holding her hand. As they advanced, she saw a couple a bit older than Oliver, the guy good-looking and groomed, the woman sporting a look that she’d got used to seeing. She liked to call it The Sun-kissed Goddess. Blonde hair, golden skin and elegant understated jewellery that screamed money. They walked their dogs in the mornings along Bondi Beach wearing slinky black workout gear, hair in high ponytails, could be spotted coming out of trendy eateries around lunch time in their designer slacks and T-shirts and at night, well, obviously, they dined here.

Do not stereotype, she told herself sternly.The look of someone is not the sum of them, you know that. But even so, she felt her turquoise and yellow dress and matching earrings were definitely getting her “looks” that spelt she wasn’t quite the right “type” for this establishment.

Introductions done, and they were all seated. Oliver and Beau soon became engrossed in book talk, which left her with Arianne.

“That dress really popped as you walked in. It’s so… what’s the word—boho chic,” Arianne chimed.

“Thank you.” Evie always called Felicity’s style boho-chic, and she loved it, but on Arianne’s lips it somehow sounded condescending. And was “popped” another word for garish? Goodness, why was she so antsy tonight?

“What do you do back in England, Felicity?” Arianne placed her elbows on the tablecloth and her thin gold and diamond bangles glinted in the lights.

“I’m a teacher.”

“Such a worthwhile job. What age group?”

“Pre-school.”

Arianne made delighted noises and launched into a long story about her five-year-old son, Callum, who had a reading age of nine. “He’s so bored in class, poor baby.”

Felicity nodded politely and said yes at the right places. Little Callum sounded very far removed from her class of multicultural kids back home. She decided to change the subject. “Oliver told me you’re an interior designer?”

“Arianne Millen Interiors. I designed the inside of Oliver’s apartment, did you know?”

“I did, it’s great.”If you like space ships.

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