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“Shit,” I breathe, sighing and staring at the beautiful flowers. “Mum, I don’t love him.”
“They’re not from Nick.”
My head retracts on my neck.
“I helped at the shop again today.” She comes to the table, looking past me, checking for listening ears. “A man came in. Tall, extremely handsome, dark-blond hair to here.” She indicates her nape as dread finds me. “Fine suit, fancy black sports car parked outside. Imagine my surprise when he ordered the most expensive bouquet”—she points at the spray in the middle of the kitchen table—“and writes downyourname and Abbie’s address for the delivery.”
Oh fuck.“Imagine that,” I whisper. “So instead of having them delivered, you brought them home?”
“Amelia,” she hisses quietly. “You’ve just dumped Nick to concentrate on your career!”
“What’s going on?” Clark asks.
“A man bought Amelia these. A man called Jude Harrison.”
“Oh,” Clark says, casual.
“You know his name too?” I blurt.
“Of course! I needed it for the order form.”
My arse hits the chair, my head going into my hands. “I’m a grown woman, Mum.”
“Is he why you finished things with Nick? Were you two-timing?”
“What?” I look at her, outraged. “No!”
Clark moves in and gives my back a supportive rub. “Leave her alone, Mum,” he warns gently. “There was no crossover.”
She gasps. “You knew about this?”
“Why are you talking like I’ve committed a mass crime?” I snap. “A man bought me flowers. That’s it.”
“That’s where you were, wasn’t it? When you didn’t come yesterday. And when you were in a Rolls-Royce, that’s his car.” She comes closer, her intrigue overflowing. “Or one of his cars. Who is he, Amelia?” she whispers.
“Mum, please,” I beg, looking at my brother for help.
His lips press into a straight line. “I’d get rid of these before Dad gets home,” he says, trying to exercise damage control.
“Yes, oh God.” Mum’s quickly in a dither. “He’ll know these aren’t from Nick. They’re too ...” She looks at the huge bouquet, overcome. “Expensive.”
Clark snorts, and I slap his arm. “Shut up and help Mum hide the flowers.” I haven’t the energy to face my father’s interrogation.
“Yes, I don’t want to listen to your father’s grievances.” Mum starts flapping around the kitchen.
“Wish you’d say that to him,” I grumble.
“Oh, Amelia, you know what he’s like. Do you think I can change him now, after nearly forty years? He just wants what’s best for you.” She pushes out her bottom lip. “Why didn’t you tell me? I’m your mother.”
Best for me? I’m so tired of listening to it. “Because then I’m making you keep secrets from Dad, and I know you don’t like keeping secrets from Dad.”
Her shoulders drop. “Well, it’s not ideal, is it? Right off the back of your breakup with Nick. How did you meet him?” she asks, and I inwardly snort. “What does he do for a living? I mean, a Rolls-Royce, a fancy sports car!”
“Mum,” I breathe.
“Oh God, I don’t know what your father will say.”
“We’re not telling him,” I retort, sure. Not that I’m ashamed, I just can’t be bothered with a lecture and guilt trip right now. And besides, I don’t even know what there is to tell.You’re in love with him, idiot!