Page 55 of From LA to London, With Love

“We are just waiting for Bec and Peter, who is Chief Financial Officer at Rennerts of London, to arrive, and then we can take a seat.” Cynthia looked at her watch. “Bec is really pushing fashionably late to a new level,” she muttered.

The doorbell rang. “That better be her. Darling, can you get the door?” Cynthia asked her husband John, who Cynthia had proudly advised me was CEO of Mount Waverley Investments.

A minute later, John and another man, who I assumed was Peter, stepped into the dining room. Cynthia, obviously keen to get the dinner party started, hit her champagne glass with a spoon to attract everyone’s attention.

I turned to her, only to see her face flush pink and her lips purse together. What had pissed her off now?

Sophie nudged me, and I followed her line of sight. Bec had entered the room, wearing the crimson dress she’d won at the auction.

The dress she had won in an aggressive bidding war against Cynthia.

While admittedly I was biased, I thought Sophie wore it better. It had perfectly hugged Sophie’s curves and complimented her dark skin. Bec’s thin frame and pale complexion didn’t do it justice.

Cynthia was clearly taking it as a personal affront that Bec had worn the dress to her party. A vein on her forehead throbbed, and she downed half a glass of champagne as if it were water and she’d just finished an intense workout.

“Everyone! Now that our final guests have arrived”—Cynthia shot Bec a glare—“please take a seat. The food will be out shortly. Chris, sit next to me.” She sat in the middle of the long table and patted the seat to her left vigorously, before signaling to the waiter to refill her champagne glass.

I sat as directed, Sophie on my other side. I gave her a look of solidarity. She grimaced. Bec and Peter sat opposite us, seemingly oblivious to Cynthia’s annoyance.

“So, Chris, what do you like doing in your spare time?” Cynthia asked, as the waiting staff brought out the first course, a seafood bisque.

For a moment, all I could think of was being in bed with Sophie. Well, it had been taking up a lot of my spare time recently. Under the table, I trailed a finger along Sophie’s inner thigh and felt her legs open slightly. A flood of desire washed over me. I couldn’t wait for this dinner party to be over. Sophie gave my leg a firm squeeze that was disappointingly chaste. She was probably reminding me to respond to Cynthia, who was staring at me expectantly.

“Sorry. I love getting out in nature. There’s some great hiking around LA, and the Heath is fantastic. Unfortunately, I don’t have a lot of free time at the moment with my filming schedule. What about you?”

“Oh, you know, tennis, shopping, philanthropy. Not that I have much spare time either these days, with baby Harriet keeping me and Camille, our new French nanny, very busy.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sophie’s mouth twitch.

The dinner party continued at an excruciatingly slow pace. The only thing making it bearable was having Sophie by my side, even if I was stuck talking to Cynthia, who was quizzing me about the celebrities I’d met and Hollywood gossip, some of my least favorite topics of conversation. It turns out, hate-watching wasn’t so fun when you were part of the show and couldn’t mock it in real time.

The third course, a rich duck ragu served with fresh pasta, arrived. Thankfully, Cynthia had turned her attention to the red-haired woman sitting opposite her, telling her how advanced Harriet was.

“She can even say “lait,” which is French for milk, when she’s thirsty now. Let me show you the video!” Cynthia downed her glass of red wine, walked around the table, and leaned over to show the red-haired woman her phone screen. At the same time, Bec lifted her glass of red wine up for a sip. Cynthia’s elbow and the glass collided, and red wine flew out of the glass, all over Bec and her new dress.

“Shit!” Bec jumped out of her seat in horror and began to frantically pat the dress with her napkin.

Cynthia signaled for the waiters to bring towels and then turned her attention back to Bec. “I’m sorry, Bec. At least it’s red on red, so if the stain doesn’t come out at the drycleaners, it won’t show too badly. But if it’s any consolation, the dress didn’t suit you anyway. It would have looked better on me.”

Bec had been holding it together until Cynthia’s last remark, which tipped her over the edge. Her face flushed, and she took a step toward Cynthia, clenching her hands. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you? You’re pissed off I outbid you, and this is your way of getting back at me?”

Cynthia stepped back and opened her mouth. “Of course, I didn’t do it on purpose! But I don’t know why you thought it appropriate to wear the dress tonight, rubbing my face in it.”

That comment infuriated Bec even more. She threw the napkin and the towels on her duck ragu and turned to her husband. “Come on, Peter. I think it’s time for us to leave.” She stormed out, the Chief Financial Officer at Rennerts of London following behind her.

Cynthia came back to her seat, looking shaky.

“Well, that was very dramatic, wasn’t it!” she said with forced cheer, a weak grin on her face. “Excuse me, please,” she said to the waiter, “could I have another glass of wine?”

As much as I hadn’t warmed to her, I almost felt sorry for Cynthia. She’d clearly spent a lot of money and effort on this dinner party, and it was not going well.

She turned to me again. “So, Chris, how long are you in London for?”

“I’m not sure,” I said, flashing a glance at Sophie. After our post-fundraiser relationship conversation, I’d been planning to extend my stay in London, but I hadn’t spoken to Sophie about it yet. Faced with a choice between living in a desolate white mansion by myself or hanging out with Sophie and Elliot in the Castle, it was a no brainer. I didn’t need to be back in LA until mid-next year to film the next Muscle Man installment, and the landlord had insisted I sign a twelve-month lease on the Castle, so there was nothing preventing me from staying.

I looked at Sophie again, thinking of all the fun we’d be having if I wasn’t working hectic hours. Being with Sophie just felt so…right. I’d never experienced such a strong emotional and physical connection with someone before. I’d never wanted to spend all my waking and sleeping hours with someone. When we were apart, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Wondering what she was doing, daydreaming about being in bed together, or making note of a funny story I wanted to tell her. But despite all that, there was a niggling worry in the back of my mind. Was I getting too attached to Sophie and Elliot too fast? Sophie had never given me any reason to doubt her, but in the past, I’d put my trust in people—my father, Vanessa—and they had let me down. I didn’t think I was strong enough to have my heart broken again. And if things got really serious between me and Sophie, would I be there for Elliot, or would I fuck it all up like my dad did?

A hand caressing my thigh distracted me from my thoughts. For a few seconds, I relaxed and a flame of desire sparked. Sophie was clearly looking forward to getting back to the Castle as much as I was. I couldn’t wait to make her moan again. A vision of her earlier today, naked, hunger in her eyes, flashed into my mind.