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‘Which is when?’ He throws me an expectant look as he removes his jacket and hangs it on the coat hooks before he turns into the mirror and undoes what I’ve just spent thirty seconds of my time perfecting. His back broadens with the position of his hands at his neck, the material of his waistcoat pulling taut. I sigh my appreciation. ‘We need to get you to the doctor’s.’

His statement yanks me back to the here and now, having me look up to a serious face. ‘I’ve been,’ I whisper.

He can’t hide his shock. I love that I can spike all of these emotions from him, but not now. ‘You went without me?’

My shoulders jump up a little, displaying detachment. ‘The receptionist said it’s best to take the morning-after pill as soon as possible, and they only had an available appointment this morning.’

‘Oh.’ He drops his hands from his tie, looking uncomfortable. ‘I didn’t want you to have to do it alone, Olivia.’

‘I swallowed a pill.’ I smile, trying to lighten him up. He feels guilty.

‘And birth control?’

‘Done.’

‘Have you started?’

‘On the first day of my next period.’ I definitely remember that part, but not much else.

‘Which is when?’

I mentally sprint through my cycle, frowning to myself. ‘Three weeks.’ This won’t please him. I only just had a period while Miller was . . . absent.

‘Excellent,’ he says, all formal, like he’s just secured a profitable business deal. I roll my eyes and ignore his inquisitive look.

‘And before you ask, yes, there’s a need for insolence.’

His lips purse and his blistering blue eyes narrow slightly. ‘Sass,’ he whispers, making me smile. ‘I would have come.’

‘I’m a big girl.’ I brush off his concern with ease, despite it being entirely his fault that I wound up in that position. It won’t happen again. ‘And, anyway, you did come.’ I grin, trying to ease his guilt. ‘Inside me.’

He matches my grin. ‘Double sass.’

Footsteps interrupt us and Nan appears, her jolly face jollier than normal, and I know it’s because Miller is here and he’s agreed to let her feed him. ‘Hotpot!’ she sings, delighted. ‘I didn’t have time for anything more extravagant.’

Miller rips his eyes from mine and pivots on his expensive shoes. Nan’s delight increases, even if she’s lost the lovely view of Miller’s buns. ‘I’m sure that whatever you’ve decided on, it’ll be just perfect, Mrs Taylor.’

She flaps a tea towel at Miller, all bashful and giggly. ‘I’ve laid the table in the kitchen.’

‘Had I known we’d be eating together, I would have brought something,’ Miller says, taking my nape and encouraging me to follow Nan to the kitchen.

‘Nonsense!’ Nan laughs. ‘Besides, I still have the champagne and the caviar.’

‘With hotpot?’ I ask on a frown.

‘No, but I doubt Miller would have brought a barrel of cheap ale to slurp.’ Nan flips her hand, indicating a chair. ‘Sit.’

My chair is pulled out for me and tucked back under once I’ve taken my seat. His mouth meets my ear. ‘How fast can you eat hotpot?’

I ignore him and concentrate on soaking up the heat of his breath in my ear, probably a stupid thing to do, but it doesn’t matter how fast I can eat because Miller’s manners prevent him from scoffing down food.

He takes his seat next to me and gives me a salacious smirk, just as a huge pot lands in the centre of the table. I inhale the smell of meat, veggies and potatoes. And grimace. I’m not in the least bit hungry, only for the infuriating male seated next to me.

‘Where has George got to?’ Nan gripes, looking impatiently down at her watch. ‘He’s five minutes late.’

‘George is joining us?’ Miller asks, nodding at the steaming pot, his instruction for me to dive in. ‘It’ll be nice to see him again.’

‘Hmmm, it’s not like him to be late.’

She’s right. He’s usually sitting at the table armed with his knife and fork in plenty of time to be the first into the pot. Unfortunately, I get the pleasure today. I take the serving spoon with as much enthusiasm as I feel and plunge it into the middle, wafting the smell into the air surrounding us.

‘Smells delicious,’ Miller informs Nan, keeping his eyes on me. I’m not sure how much I can stomach, but with Nan and Miller both taking a vested interest in my eating habits, I’m destined to struggle my way through a whole bowl.

The chime of the doorbell saves me. ‘I’ll get it.’ I drop the spoon and lift my bum from the chair, only to be pushed back down.

‘Allow me,’ Miller interjects, taking the serving spoon and transferring a heaped spoonful into my dish before he makes off down the hallway.

‘Thank you, Miller,’ Nan croons, smiling brightly. ‘Such a gentleman.’

‘Some of the time,’ I mutter under my breath, collecting the serving spoon and piling Miller’s bowl high until it’s near to overflowing.

‘Is he hungry?’ Nan asks, her old eyes following the spoon travelling back and forth from the pot to Miller’s dish.

‘Starving,’ I declare, silently smug.

‘Save some for George. He’ll blow a gasket if he doesn’t get at least two helpings.’ She peeks into the pot, noting the remaining contents.

‘There’s plenty.’

‘Good. Tuck in.’ She waves her finger at my bowl, and I wonder where the table etiquette has disappeared to – the one where we wait for everyone to start together. Nan glances down the hallway on a wrinkle of her brow. ‘Do you think he got lost?’