Page 27 of A Very Happy Easter

“You have PTSD?”

He nodded. “I’d have been more surprised if I didn’t, to be honest, but I’m in a good place now. I saw a therapist for a while.”

“Same, but it didn’t seem to help much.” I’d actually seen three therapists, but I still ended up being hospitalised on two separate occasions. “For a rest,” my parents said, but that was a lie. I hadn’t wanted to be there. There was nothing relaxing about being on a psych ward. My Mercedes pulled up to the kerb. “There’s Jerilyn. You’ll have to give her your address so she can drop you home.”

“I can take the Tube, no problem.”

“You saved me from being fawned over by six different men tonight—giving you a ride home is the least I can do.” A sudden worry gripped me. “Unless you don’t want to continue with this? I’ll understand if that’s the case.”

“I’m good with carrying on. Just as long as I get enough notice of the dates that I can trade shifts if necessary.”

“I’m invited to a dozen gatherings every month. If you can’t make a particular day, we’ll go to a different one. Or I’ll send you a list and you can pick.”

“You make the first choice.” Heath opened the door for me, and I slid into the car, shifting over to make room for him. “The snacks tonight weren’t bad. Is it always like that? A bunch of fancy folks bigging each other up?”

“More often than not, yes.” I made a face. Sometimes, I wished I’d claimed Twilight’s End instead of Eisen—fewer people held these kinds of get-togethers in Somerset. “I’ll try to pick non-luvvie events.”

“You choose whatever you want. I’m going for you, not them.”

“Definitely a keeper,” Jerilyn said from the front.

She wasn’t wrong. I only hoped Heath would stick around for a while.

Seven

“It’s barely lunchtime here, and so far, I’ve had three calls and five text messages asking who my sister was with at the Luddington Gallery last night.”

Men thought women were gossips? Well, they were just as bad.

“So you’re calling at seven thirty a.m. London time to tell me about it?”

“Nice try. No changing the subject.”

“You’re on your honeymoon—aren’t you supposed to be doing unmentionable things with your wife?”

“Already taken care of that. So, what’s the story? Did our dear mother finally conjure up a candidate who wasn’t a total douche?”

“On the contrary, she arranged a whole smorgasbord of douches, which is why I took Heath Carlisle to Angus’s art show.”

The sound of choking came through the phone. “Heath Carlisle? You’re actually dating Heath Carlisle? I know I joked about it the other day, but I didn’t think for a minute…”

“So what if I am?”

“Okay, first of all, it’s great that you’re dating again. That you feel strong enough to. But Heath Carlisle… It seems a bit incestuous.”

For crying out loud. “How? There’s a tenuous connection through two different marriages, one of which hasn’t even happened yet. And have you ever looked at our family tree?” Grandpa Kennedy had researched it meticulously before his health took a turn for the worse. “At least three pairs of first-cousins got married in past generations. Did you count your toes lately?”

“Edie…”

“Janie said Heath is a good person.”

“Yeah, he is.”

Why did Eisen sound so hesitant? “But?”

“You remember we played paintball on my stag do?”

A giggle escaped because Janie said he’d got shot in the balls, thankfully without any lasting damage. “Yup.”