Page 24

My cheeks burned as I remembered her quiet words to Dylan and how, fortunately, I hadn’t seen her since then.

“Hi,” she said, flashing her perfect teeth with a too-cheery smile. Wearing a flowing, backless black dress and strappy sandals, she looked stunning, but she seemed weirdly nervous too.

“Hi,” I muttered, because I couldn’t think of anything else to say. Slouched in my jeans, baggy sweatshirt, and trainers, I felt awkward and basic in front of the glamour that was Lulu. I was still hot and sticky from changing in and out of my new uniform.

I am a hot mess.

“Did you get everything you need?” Dylan asked, offering his credit card to the reproachful sales assistant who now had to factor Lulu into our dynamic.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“We thought we’d go out for lunch,” he said, his mouth lifting in a hopeful half smile as he collected the shopping bags. “We’ll put these in the car first.”

Oh no. Ground, swallow me up now. I’m third-wheeling.

“Okay,” I muttered, though it was the last thing on earth I wanted to do. I wanted to be lost in the soothing, rhythmic strokes of a paintbrush finishing the newly decorated bedroom at Dylan’s house.

Be polite.

My mantra surfaced from somewhere, and I followed them wordlessly out into the street.

Lunch was purgatory. We were in an upmarket elegant restaurant with real linen tablecloths and crystal wineglasses. Lulu and Dylan fit right in—me, not so much. I was underdressed and out of place. My parents never took me to restaurants like this.

Lulu was too animated and too loud, especially as Dylan was quiet. Too quiet. Lulu dominated the conversation, which she was born to do. She was one of those people who could not tolerate a natural pause or any silences during a discussion.

For my part, I zoned out, kept quiet, and only picked at my salad niçoise. I could feel growing tension between Lulu and Dylan, and deep down, I thought it might be because of me.

“Aren’t you going to finish that?” Lulu interrupted my dark thoughts. “You’ve hardly eaten any of your salad.”

“I’m not hungry,” I whispered, staring down at my knotted fingers in my lap, although what I really wanted to say was not polite in any company. It was none of her damn business. But wisely, and after a sharp look from Doctor Dyl, she left me alone.

When I did tune in, I learned that she worked in an art gallery in Mayfair. Dylan met her when he was “purchasing art.” I assumed Lulu meant the rather cold cloudscape that hung in his living room as it was the only “art” I’d noticed in the house.

That figures—all style, no substance.

Emily! I berated myself. I didn’t know Lulu, so who was I to judge. But my tolerance for this vivacious, gorgeous, chatty stranger was at zero. Dylan was stranger enough. And I didn’t think she liked me much either, but I didn’t care.

Purgatory continued after lunch, as Lulu came back to Chiswick with us. The drive to the house was awkward. Even in my numb state, squashed in the rear, I sensed the tense atmosphere between them in the car.

“Put some music on please, Dyl,” Lulu asked.

“No,” he replied, terse.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t feel like it.”

Dylan was trying to protect me.

“I can’t tolerate music right now,” I piped up in his defense from the back. “It’s… um… triggering.”

“Oh,” Lulu exclaimed, and we fell into an awkward silence.

Back at the house, I made a rapid escape to the new bedroom to check out the new carpet. The room looked lovely. The pale-rose walls glowed in the late-afternoon sun.

Yes, the colors worked.

The chimney breast and the wall at the far end of the room, where I would place my bed so it faced the three windows, were a darker pink; the other walls were the mellow, luminous rose. The fireplace had been cleaned, the tiles shiny and colorful.