“I mean it, Spence. Please, for me. Don’t fight with them.”
He reaches over and picks up my hand to kiss my fingertips, his eyes still glued to the road.
“Why aren’t you answering me?”
“Because I’m not promising you anything.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, let’s turn around and go home then. I don’t even want to go in if you have this attitude. This is my family, of course they are worried. How do you expect them to react to these magazine stories?” I snap. “I’m not exactly thrilled about them myself.”
He tilts his chin to the sky in defiance and gives a subtle shake of his head.
“What?” I snap.
“And there it is. You haven’t even seen them yet and already you’re beginning to side with them.”
“I’m not,” I snap angrily.
He smirks. “Whatever you say.” He pulls in and parks the car. My heart begins to thump hard in my chest. I grab his hand and look over at him as panic begins to set in. Is he right? Are they going to change the way I see this?
“I love you,” I whisper.
His dark eyes hold mine. “Prove it.” He gets out of the car and slams the door. I close my eyes.
Fuck.
Spencer
I open Charlotte’s car door and nearly rip the damn thing from its hinges.
I’m fucking furious.
Get your fucking arse back to Nottingham.
Nobody gets to speak to Charlotte like that.
Nobody.
I take her hand and drop my head. I can hardly look her in the eye.
“No fighting,” she whispers again. I glance over to Wyatt and Anthony who are parking in the bay beside us.
I inhale through my nose to try and calm myself as Charlotte walks up to the front door and slowly opens it.
“Hello!” she calls. “I’m home.”
“Darling.” I hear a man’s voice greet her. “Edward, Lottie’s home.” The man comes around the corner, and the second he sees me, his face falls. He’s an older man, obviously her father. He’s good looking, too—distinguished and wreaking of money.
Charlotte looks between us. “Dad, this is Spencer,” she whispers nervously.
I nod. “Hello.” I force a smile and put my hand out. “Spencer Jones.”
He shakes my hand, his face expressionless. “I know who you are,” he replies flatly. “Harold Prescott.”
We stare at each other.
“Dad,” Charlotte whispers. “I want to speak to you alone, please.”
“Not now, Charlotte.”