Is that what he’d been? Just a diversion?
Mitch rotated her foot. “Does this hurt?”
“Only a little.”
That made one of them.
“Probably not sprained, then.” He accepted the ice pack from his aunt and draped it over Tess’s ankle, holding it in place on his knee because, fool that he was, he needed to touch her, to maintain whatever tenuous thread of connection they had.
Norah came in with a tray of coffee stuff. “Better late than never. How do you take it?”
“Cream, no sugar.” The answer tripped off Mitch’s tongue before he could stop it. Crap.
Tess shot him a facsimile of her real smile. “Good guess.”
“Cream, no sugar, it is then.” Norah fixed the coffee and passed over the heavy stoneware mug, along with a couple of painkillers.
“Thank you. I’m sure it’ll be fine with just a little ice.”
Norah smiled and tugged at Mitch’s arm. “Why don’t you take a few minutes to absorb everything? The Campbel
l clan is a lot to take in all in one fell swoop, even when you’re not exhausted. We’ll get you when dinner is ready.”
He didn’t see any choice. There was no reason he could give them why he ought to stay with her, and the family would sure as shit frown at him flirting in his usual fashion. He stood to shift Tess’s foot, dislodging the ice pack. They both lunged for it and Tess’s hand ended up over his. For just a moment, Mitch closed his eyes, absorbing the feel of it. How many nights had he lain awake dreaming of just this?
She squeezed gently. “Would you mind keeping me company? If someone doesn’t keep talking to me, I’m going to pass out, and then you won’t be able to wake me for dinner.”
They could hardly have the conversation they needed to have here. Not with the endless parade of his family. But he’d take any excuse he could to be near her. “Sure.”
Because Mitch didn’t trust himself not to give their connection away, he settled her foot on a pillow and took the next chair. A hundred questions clogged his throat, creating a logjam in the suddenly awkward silence between them. Not once had they been awkward together in Scotland. Behind them, various family members went in and out of the kitchen. He’d never really had cause before to hate that there were so damned many of them.
“So, what does a fifth year MBA from Yale do for fun? Hiking? Go to the theater? Sing karaoke?” Pick up random men for a week long affair?
Trey caught the tail end of the question and laughed. “Tess do karaoke? That’ll be the day.”
It certainly was.
Her expression was totally neutral, but he could see the discomfort beneath. “It wouldn’t be my go to, no. Karaoke isn’t what you call dignified, and a Peyton must always be dignified.”
“So your grandmother always says,” Trey agreed.
“That doesn’t sound like much fun,” Mitch observed.
“We have to be careful with our fun, lest it wind up in the media and reflect poorly on the company,” Tess intoned.
Was that why she’d given him a totally bogus name? To keep a low profile from the media? Mitch couldn’t wrap his brain around the need for that kind of discretion. It was just one more clue to exactly how little he really knew about her.
Her father bent over and kissed the top of her head. “You could never do a thing to reflect poorly on the company or the family.”
An indulgent smile hovered at the corners of her mouth. “You’re biased.”
“I’m allowed.”
“Time to turn the steaks!” someone hollered.
Trey disappeared to man the grill and the oppressive tension descended again.
“So you live in Wishful?” Tess laced her hands together in her lap, tight enough the knuckles went white.