Page 43 of A Very Happy Easter

Heath had left his jacket on the back of his chair before he went to speak with Uncle Dennis, and now the evil twins I called friends were busy objectifying him.

“What about his personality? What do you have to say about that, huh?”

Salma put a hand over her heart. “Ah, where do I start?”

“With the sexting?” Robyn suggested.

“What sexting?” I asked.

“You and Heath? All day, every day?”

“Salma told you about that?” Traitor. “And we are not sexting. We’re shit-texting.”

“Like…scat?” Robyn screwed up her face, then unscrewed it to take another mouthful of wine. “Gross.”

“Uh, no. You have a filthy mind. He sends me memes and jokes and stuff.”

“Nudes?”

I took the glass out of her hand and poured the remainder of the white wine into the ice bucket. “Salma, stop your beloved from making unfounded allegations.”

“Robyn, stop making unfounded allegations. But in all seriousness, Heath’s been good for you. You’re going out more, you’re smiling… Who knew that what started off fake would turn out to be real?”

“What? What are you talking about? We have a financial arrangement, that’s all.”

“I mean, you can keep telling yourself that if you want.”

“Shh, shh, he’s coming back,” Robyn said, plastering a grin faker than my relationship onto her face. “Act natural.”

Salma started giggling, and Heath’s expression said “what the fuck?” as he approached. I shrugged and sipped my orange juice.

“Having an open bar was a mistake, I feel.”

“Well, there’s good news—I heard a rumour dessert is on the way,” he said.

“Oh, thank goodness. I’ll let Jerilyn know.”

Mama hadn’t been thrilled when I said I’d be leaving the party early, but she was so relieved that I was finally dating that she’d given in semi-gracefully. The moment the Christmas pudding was placed in front of me, I spooned it down as fast as I could swallow.

“Okay, great. Ready to go.”

Salma and Robyn gave each other a look.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Salma smiled innocently. “Oh, nothing.”

I kissed each of my parents on the cheek, then Heath took my hand and we made a swift exit, heading for Belgravia. I couldn’t deny that I was curious to meet more of his colleagues, especially his lunatic boss. What kind of woman ran a special forces team?

The traffic was slightly less horrendous than usual, and we reached our destination by nine p.m.

“That’s the place,” Jerilyn announced from the driver’s seat. “Albany House.”

It was even bigger than Mama and Papa’s home, and I heard music playing as we stepped out of the car. Instead of a butler, the door was opened by a guard wearing a Blackwood Security polo shirt and a party hat.

“They’re through in the ballroom,” he said, pointing the way.

“Thanks, mate.”