Page 57 of From LA to London, With Love

“The rub might also work on poultry…Perhaps I could rub it on a big, juicy cock,” Sophie said, her mouth twitching as she tried to keep a straight face.

Now it was my turn to choke on my food.

“I would really like a tart for dessert tonight. A delicious, dripping, moist tart. Perhaps fig or cherry?” I asked after I’d recovered. My fingers trailed up her inner thigh again.

“I’m hoping for spotted dick. It’s my favorite. It can’t get it in me fast enough. But if they don’t have spotted dick, I’d also be fine with a really, really stiff…”—Sophie paused and held my gaze for a moment, then licked her lips—“meringue on my Eton Mess.”

Oh god. She was both turning me on and making it very hard not to burst out laughing.

“What are you two giggling about?” Cynthia asked, sounding put out.

Sophie composed herself and smiled sweetly at Cynthia. “Oh, nothing. Just speculating what would be for dessert. All the food’s been delicious so far.”

“It’s a lavender crème brûlée tart. Our chef sourced the lavender from our garden, so it is fresh and organic.”

“Excellent! I love tarts. I take it you’re a fan as well, Cynthia?” I asked.

Sophie kicked me under the table.

Ten minutes later, our plates were cleared and the tarts were served. Thank god we’d reached the last course of the night. And it was only, I glanced at my watch, eleven-thirty.

I’d lost my appetite halfway through dessert, and only took a few bites before putting it aside.

“For someone who claims to like tarts, you’re not showing much interest in this one,” Sophie whispered.

I winked. “I’m hoping to try another one when I get home. And this one has a bit of a soggy bottom.”

We escaped twenty minutes later into the cold night air, exhilarated it was finally over.

Sophie turned to me, looking apologetic. “I’m so sorry! What a painful evening. I promise I’ll never ask you to do something like that again. I owe you one.”

“It was worth it just for the dirty food talk.” I pulled Sophie’s hips to mine and kissed her.

She giggled. “I can’t wait to get home and put some of our culinary skills to work.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

SOPHIE

CHRIS and I perched on one of the two comfortable but old leather couches that dominated my parents’ modest living room, facing my parents. Two large windows on either side of the fireplace looked out over their small front garden. When the weather was good, sunshine streamed through the windows. Today, the sun barely made an impression due to the overcast skies—it was a typical London gray, cold October day. Despite that, the strings of colorful electric lights I’d strung up yesterday around the room and the candles on the mantelpiece gave the room a cheerful glow.

“So, Chris, who’s your favorite director? It must be amazing to work with so many big names!” Dad leaned forward, smiling, holding Mum’s hand.

As a teenager, my parents’ fondness for holding hands and general expressions of affection for each other had been terribly embarrassing. But now, I just thought it was cute.

“Chris, have you ever been hurt by your fans or the paparazzi? Being hounded all the time must be terrible,” Mum asked at the exact same time, a serious look on her face.

I flinched. Oh god. Maybe this was a bad idea. Poor Chris had just suffered through Cynthia’s dinner party, thanks to me. I hoped this wouldn’t be a repeat. Chris had met my parents a few times before, but I kept those interactions short for this reason. As much as I loved my parents, Dad could be intense sometimes, and Mum…well, she was a worrier. And she was very worried I was dating a famous American movie star.

I focused on the painting above the mantelpiece and took a deep breath, inhaling the familiar aromas wafting from the kitchen, hoping they’d have a calming impact on me. However, the painting just reminded me again of my parents’ love story. Was there any chance Chris and I could have the sort of relationship they had, still madly in love forty-something years later, especially if this lunch was a disaster?

Chris seemed unperturbed by my parents’ questions. He smiled at my dad. “My favorite director would have to be…Hmmm, this is a hard one…Probably my current director, Melanie Chester. I’m not her favorite person at the moment after the Alfie incidents on set—I’m sure Sophie told you about them—but she has an amazing creative vision and really knows how to get the best performances out of her actors.” He turned to Mum, looking serious. “No, I’ve never been injured. On the whole, I’ve found my fans quite respectful. And while they can be a pain, the paparazzi normally stay a distance away from me.”

With Elliot and I visiting Chris’s family in a few weeks for Thanksgiving, Chris extending his stay in London to spend time with Elliot and me, and Dad regularly suggesting I invite Chris over for dinner, I couldn’t put off an official “meet the parents” any longer. Our Diwali celebration seemed like the perfect opportunity. Not only would it be a nice way to introduce Chris to some of my favorite family traditions, but my grandparents and Josh would be here to help ease any tension. My aunt, uncle, and cousins who usually also celebrated with us had decided to stay in Manchester this year, so at least Chris wouldn’t be overwhelmed with my relatives. I looked at my watch, frowning. Where the hell were Josh and my grandparents? They should have been here at midday.

Mum opened her mouth to ask another question, most likely to clarify what Chris meant when he said, “On the whole…,” when the doorbell rang. Relieved, I jumped up and strode to the door.

My grandparents’ beaming faces greeted me. Dadi wore a gorgeous red and gold sari and held a plate of one of my favorite sweets, moti pak. Her face flickered with disappointment as she registered I was wearing a sweater and jeans, and I felt a pang of guilt that I’d run out of time to change into a sari. Even Josh, who just walked through the gate, looked a lot smarter than me in his slacks, shirt, and jacket combination.