I laughed genuinely. I had to add good company to the list of great things about Beck. “Gotta make you work for it.”
“Well, Stella, he seems perfect and completely head over heels with you,” Karen said. “Are you sure you didn’t pay him to be here?” My stomach flipped as if I’d just been caught trying on my mother’s make-up. She grinned as if she were joking, but I knew Karen better than that. It might have taken me twenty years, but I finally had the measure of her. I also knew that if she had a suspicion that Beck and my relationship wasn’t genuine, she wasn’t going to be easily distracted.
“It’s so lovely to finally meet you, Karen,” Beck said. “Stella has said so many wonderful things about you. We’re both very excited to come to Scotland. I love the place.”
I slid my arm around his waist. God, this guy made this faking it thing seem so easy.
Karen’s mouth twitched. “Yes, well Matt and I are very pleased you could come.”
She emphasized the name of my ex-boyfriend like she wanted it to hurt. Like maybe I’d forgotten that she was marrying him. As if I ever could? Had she always been like this? So cold, so heartless? Such a bitch?
“Hey,” Florence said as she arrived at our table.
“Florence!” Beck said and kissed her. “Let me go and get you a glass.” Beck stalked back to the bar, and I couldn’t help but watch him. He had a cute arse. Was I going to discover something I didn’t like about him? Hopefully. The last thing I needed was to develop some kind of crush on Beck. We were a business partnership. And I couldn’t trust myself to find a good guy. Eventually, when I was ready to start dating again, in twenty years or so, I’d just let Florence handle it. She could pick me a boyfriend. She had far more sense and would never end up with a guy who thought so little of her that he cheated on her or ran off with her best friend.
Florence rolled her eyes as she turned the bottle in the ice bucket, revealing the label. “Dom Perignon again? Doesn’t it get old being with such a hot, rich, charming guy?”
I laughed. Perhaps a week in Scotland with Beck wouldn’t be so bad. “No one’s perfect.” Although Beck Wilde might be the perfect fake boyfriend. This guy was sharp. He picked up on things so quickly and ad-libbed like it was his job. No wonder he wasn’t worried about tonight. I was almost convinced we were dating.
“Exactly,” Karen said. “I’m sure there are loads of things about him that drive you nuts, right?”
Beck had said to stay as close to the truth as possible. “Honestly, I’ve not found anything so far,” I replied.
“So, when did you meet him, Florence?” Karen asked.
“When they first met,” she replied.
My heart stopped dead and it felt as if Karen’s cheating hands were pressing down on my chest, about to break my rib cage. I hadn’t briefed Florence on the story of us first meeting—she was bound to give something away that showed us up to be faking our relationship.
I wasn’t prepared at all.
I interrupted. “I trust Florence’s judgement, so I made sure they met before I agreed to go on a date.”
Karen smiled, a small, fake smile. “Really. How nice.”
Phew, I’d gotten away with it.
“Well, you two seem perfect for each other,” Jo said. “It’s good to see you with someone who appreciates how wonderful you are.” Jo wouldn’t have meant it to be a pointed insult at Matt, not with Karen standing there, but Karen’s frown told me she took it as one.
“Yes,” Karen said. “It’s important to show a man the best side of you.”
“I’m not sure that works for me,” I replied. “You have to take the good with the bad. You don’t have to like every single bit of someone, but hiding stuff doesn’t work, either.”
Honesty was important to me in a relationship. Even more so now. I never hid anything when I was going out with Matt. Perhaps that’s why it had worked between him and Karen and it hadn’t with us. Maybe men only liked to see the good, sexy, funny side. Maybe the sides that got irritated at work, liked to wear old, worn t-shirts in bed and no make-up on the weekend were reserved for the terminally single. If that was true, I’d end up alone for the rest of my life. Beck and I were an act—for public consumption—but I couldn’t keep it up for long. Not with someone I lived with and loved. It wasn’t who I was.
Beck came back to the table with two extra glasses. “Gordy will be here soon, right?” How had he remembered Florence’s boyfriend’s name? No wonder he’d told me not to worry.
“Yeah, he just went to put our coats in the cloakroom. Thanks, Beck. You gotta stop it with the champagne or I’m going to get used to it.”
“You know Gordy?” Karen asked.
“I’ve only heard about him through these two,” he said, lifting his chin toward Florence and me.
“You’re going to get on brilliantly,” Florence said.
“We have to get that dinner in the diary for next week. And we’ll go to that restaurant I was telling you about,” he said as he turned to me. “Where they serve the best oysters.”
No! Things were going so well.