Page 17 of Carbon

A smile flickered across her lips. “Those mini orange soufflés?”

I quickly nodded.

“I’ll ask cook to make some for you, but don’t eat too many or you’ll ruin your figure. And if you’re finally enjoying my soirées, perhaps you could assist with some of the organising?”

Hmm, like the guest list? “I’d love to do that.”

* * *

Flowers. I got flowers. No, not as a gift, but to organise. Mother decided on a theme that left the local florist rubbing her hands together in glee, and I was supposed to select the vases and ensure they found their way to the right locations.

And more disappointingly, my casual enquiry about the attendees was met with a, “Don’t worry, Gregory will be there,” before Mother swanned out of the door followed by the housekeeper, the caretaker, and the cook, each wheeling two of her matching Louis Vuitton suitcases.

Wonderful.

Then it got worse. Gregory called and invited me to dinner, and without sufficient warning to come up with an excuse, I found myself agreeing.

“I’ll pick you up on Saturday at six,” he said.

“Where are we going?”

“The Riverside Inn.”

He tossed the words out casually, and with a standard eight-week waiting list for a table, I should have been impressed. But all I could think about was the posh dress I’d have to pick out, and the heels I’d have to squeeze my feet into, and the fact that I’d need to beg Angie to do my make-up.

“Wonderful. I look forward to it.”

* * *

“You look awesome,” Angie said as she added one last layer of mascara to my eyelashes.

I peered past her into the mirror. “You don’t think this dress is a bit short?”

“It’s three inches above your knees.”

“Exactly.”

She sighed. “No, it’s not too short. Now, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“That doesn’t leave much out.”

Angie winked. “Yep, you’re good for everything up to a rabid public screwing up against a wall.”

I froze halfway to the door, feeling a little faint as the blood drained from my head. Did she know?

Behind me, her chuckles drifted through the air. “Relax, I’m kidding. I know you’d never do anything like that.”

“Of course not.”

Downstairs, Gregory’s chauffeur waited by his town car with the door already open, and as I slid into the backseat Gregory glanced up from his phone, eyes widening.

“You look...radiant.”

Was that really such a surprise? Oh, who was I kidding? Most of the time I looked more like the household help than Carolyn Fordham’s daughter.

“Thank you. That’s very kind of you to say.”

I watched the dark countryside fly by outside the car window as Gregory returned to his phone, and my mind drifted back to Midnight. What was he doing this evening? And if he were in the car beside me instead of Gregory, what would we be doing right now? I bet it wouldn’t involve emails.

---