‘I’m not going to have this conversation with you.’
‘You used to believe in fate. Do you remember?’
‘That was then and this is now, Riccardo.’ So that was his date! Hard to miss, Charlotte thought sourly, considering her height. Six feet at least, with those lethal-weapon stilettos, and hair down to her waist. The sort of woman accustomed to turning heads, several of which were obeying the primitive laws of attraction and swivelling predictably in her direction. Charlotte wished she had worn heels now, if only because they were brilliant at bolstering confidence. But she wore heels every day to work, sensible pumps, and on weekends she liked reverting to flats.
Unfortunately she felt at a depressing disadvantage as she looked up at Riccardo’s lean, dark face and met black eyes staring right back at her.
‘I gave up believing in fate roughly eight years ago, as a matter of fact. I thought that fate had prompted me on that journey to your house and I couldn’t have been more wrong. These days I prefer to make decisions a little more rationally.’
‘So you don’t think fate had a hand in bringing us together at this point in time?’
Was he flirting with her? Voicing some kind of academic question? Playing with her like a cat plays with a mouse, just to see what it will do? She stiffened.
‘Only if fate has a sick sense of humour.’
The music came to an abrupt halt and she quickly pulled away as the leggy blonde Lucinda weaved a dramatic path through the little crowd on the dance floor.
‘I think your date’s calling, Riccardo!’ Charlotte sniggered. ‘And she doesn’t look too impressed. I should watch out if I were you. Looks like she can pull a mean punch.’
There was nothing more satisfying than getting the last word, she decided as she headed back to Ben, who had obediently got her the cocktail which she no longer wanted.
Before he could say a word, she sat down and leaned closely towards him.
‘Small problem,’ she said as casually as she could. ‘It’s really about that man.’
‘The man who twirled you across the dance floor? He’s very good on his feet, isn’t he? I always think that’s the problem with Englishmen. They can be a bit stiff when it comes to dancing. Bit like me.’
‘You’re great, Ben.’ She had visions of Riccardo swooping over with the blonde draped on his arm, asking the ridiculous but obvious question ‘so when is the big day?’ She gulped down a generous mouthful of her Up Against The Wall cocktail. ‘But that man is Gina’s father…’
Ben’s mouth dropped open, and into the surprised silence Charlotte quickly gave him the bare bones of her little white lie.
‘I’m truly sorry, Ben. I know I shouldn’t have involved you in this, but I honestly didn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know about Gina and I can’t risk him finding out, and…and…’
Ben looked at her shrewdly. ‘So we’re engaged. Well. Hasn’t he noticed that you’re not wearing a ring?’
Charlotte shrugged and looked at her slim, smooth ringless fingers. ‘And there’s something else,’ she admitted sheepishly. ‘He’s…Well, one of these arrogant types, and I sort of implied that you were completely the opposite…You know, loves cooking and listening to music, you know what I mean…’
Ben made a face. ‘I can’t cook to save my life.’ He grinned. ‘So we’re not engaged,’ he said, reading the situation. ‘But we’re good friends, and if pretending is what you want then we might as well make a good job of it.’