Page 5

“Probably my huge cock,” he called out as Jem walked out of the dining room.

Which was more than enough to persuade her upstairs, where she grabbed her phone, her overnight bag and her car keys. She really didn’t need any more family this weekend.

THE LITTLE RED MG was Jem’s pride and joy. There was something classic and yet sexy about it and she’d adored it fromthe moment she’d seen it. Luckily, her father had thought it the perfect little run around for her, and had snapped it up.

Driving it down the motorway was a tad bumpy, to be sure, but it was fast and nippy enough that the trip back to town wouldn’t take too long.

She’d be back in time to go out, if only she could think of something that was supposed to be happening tonight. Surely someone had something going on.

“Darling,” Annabelle said when she answered the phone. “Drinkies?”

“Exactly why I was phoning.”

“Debree’s at seven,” chirped Annabelle. “I’m meeting Philip there, and he’s bringing a friend. Not a stinker, I promise. His name’s… Lucas or Luke or Luca. Something like that. He’s something in the city.”

Jem’s stomach twisted. But she couldn’t exactly say no. Not when she’d already admitted to calling wanting to go out. For fuck’s sake. She pressed her foot on the accelerator and glided around an SUV and back into her lane.

“Sounds, um, lovely,” she said, cursing herself for not first asking what Annabelle was up to before committing.

“Excellent, excellent. Looking forward to it.” Annabelle hung the phone up with a snap and Jem breathed out.

“What the fuck am I doing?” she asked out loud.

It wasn’t like the problem was going to go away. Although she supposed plenty of other people buried it. She’d always sort of assumed that at some point she’d… change her mind or something. Or meet someone like Rolly and get married and pop out some brats to keep the gossips off their backs while each of them went their own secret ways.

Not that it was the eighteenth century or anything. Not that she could be burned as a witch. Not that she couldn’t just say the truth out loud and… and what exactly?

Be cut off and disowned and left all alone?

Although, to be fair, she’d be rid of Jasper, which would be a definite plus to being poor, homeless, and alone.

The traffic slowed as she got closer to the city.

It just got worse the older she got. The older she got the more her choices seemed to hem her in, the harder it became to speak the truth, the longer the charade went on the more she was forced to live it.

And the harder it became to just keep on going.

There were, she had to admit, definite advantages to being Jemima Darlington. Not least of which were her speedy sportscar and expensive flat. But there were disadvantages too. Big ones.

Her phone rang.

“Jem-Jem.” Rolly’s cheerful voice came over her speakers. “Drinks?”

Thank god. She could depend on Rolly to defuse any date-like atmosphere even if she couldn’t depend on him to be her fake-boyfriend any longer. He’d been seeing someone that he was keeping awfully secret and who had made him swear not to appear in the society pages on Jem’s arm any longer.

“Debree’s at seven,” she said.

“Wonderful. How’s the fam?”

“Awful.”

“Just the usual then,” he said. “Jasper there?”

“Still an arsehole and still straight.”

“Shame,” Rolly said. “Alright, I’ll see you at seven.”

He hung up, by which point, Jem was already in Chelsea and about to turn into her street. A nap, a bath, and she’d be ready to party again.