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“Do you want a coffee? I’m going to pull through a drive-through coffee place,” Gulliver says, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.
“Err, yeah, that would be great. I’m probably going to need it to deal with my family,” I say, then instantly regret my words.
“I find vodka works better for family drama,” Gulliver quips as he pulls into the drive-through lane and up to the window, turning to look at me. “What do you want?”
“Can I have a hazelnut latte macchiato, please?”
“One hazelnut latte macchiato for the lady, and a double shot Americano for me, please,” Gulliver says, handing over a bill and waving away the change when the server tries to give it to him. A moment later, the server returns with two to-go cups and hands them to Gulliver, telling him which drink is which as he does.
“Here you go,” he says as he passes me my drink, guiding the car away from the coffee place with one hand and lifting his cup to his lips with the other.
“Thank you,” I murmur, bringing my own cup to my lips and humming with appreciation as the sweet, creamy coffee coats my tongue.
We drive the rest of the way to my house in an oddly comfortable silence. I’m angry that he’s forced me into this nightmarish situation, but I’m nowhere near as upset as I should be, and I don’t know why. As loath as I am to admit it, Penelope was right when she said that Gulliver’s prank will embarrass both my family and his when the truth is revealed.
I know there will be consequences for everything that’s happened here today, but I think that maybe the look on my sister’s face every time he’s told her we’re engaged might actually make it worthwhile.
I’ve always believed in karma, and maybe today was the universe’s payback for my sister using me. In a couple of days, Gulliver’s escapades will have been forgotten, but I won’t forget. I’ll never forget that for a moment, even if it was a lie, I had something she wanted.
When we pull up outside my house, I wish that Gulliver was a friend, then I could ask him to just drive away, to let me prolong dealing with the nightmare I know will be waiting on the other side of my front door. But we’re not friends, we’re not even acquaintances, so instead of asking, I dutifully unbuckle my seat belt and reach for the door handle.
“Wait,” he says, striding purposefully around the car to open my door for me. Reaching in, he offers me a hand, and I take it, blushing, as I let him help me from the car. My backpack is slung over his shoulder again, and I realize he must have grabbed it on his way to get the door.
Instead of handing me my bag, he shocks me when he reaches for my fingers and links them with his, like he did earlier. “Shall we?” he asks with mock formality.
“Err,” I reply.
“Sweet Izzy,” he says, smiling teasingly. “I don’t intend to just feed you to the wolves, then run off and leave you on your own.”
“Oh, I…” I stop, not really knowing what else to say. I hadn’t expected him to come into the house with me, but I’m more than okay with him being the one to explain his prank to my parents. I’ll still have to deal with my family’s vitriol, but once they know the truth, maybe they can all have a good laugh about it at the dinner I doubt I’ll be invited too. Actually, this is perfect. He can tell them this whole thing is a joke and that I was as blindsided as Penelope was about the entire thing.
Reaching for my hand, he leads me to the front door. Mrs. Humphries swings it open before we reach it, her eyes a little wide. “Miss Izabella, Mr. Winslow.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Humphries,” I murmur as Gulliver walks into the house beside me.
“Mrs. Humphries, it’s lovely to see you again,” he says politely.
“Are my parents home?” I ask.
“Yes, Miss, they’re in the living room,” she replies, her eyes wide and fearful as she closes the door behind us. Pausing in the foyer, her eyes glance toward the living room, then back to me. Her lips part like she intends to say something, then snap shut before she scurries away.
“I’ll come and help you pick out an outfit for tonight, then I’ll go and speak to your family,” Gulliver says, pulling me toward the stairs.
“You can’t go in my room,” I hiss at him.
He laughs. “Of course I can. We’re engaged.”
“We’re not engaged,” I scold, pulling at his hand, but he doesn’t release me as he climbs the stairs, hauling me along behind him until we’re both standing on the landing.
“Which one is your room?”
“You’re not going in my room,” I say, ripping my hand free from his grasp and crossing my arms across my chest.
He shrugs. “Fine, if you won’t tell me, I’ll just go room to room until I guess which one is yours.”
Striding forward, he opens the first door into a guest bedroom, then immediately closes it again. “Not that one.”
I watch as he moves from door to door, opening them and peering inside before he closes it again. When he reaches for my sister’s door, I tense, but he opens it and closes it immediately. “Definitely not yours.”
