The Wedding Agreement (The Green Family Series Book 1)

by Annie Dyer

  She agreed to go with me to Gus and Vivi’s in a heartbeat, her only question being what present to buy the birthday girl. That was easy – Vivi was handbag mad, similar to Imogen, so we stopped off at Harrods on the way to choose a present that would come from both of us.

  Both of us.

  I’d never gotten my head around it with Carla, being part of a couple who bought presents together, accepted dinner invitations on behalf of the other, relied on each other. It seemed more of a pretence than any of this with Imogen, yet this seemed more real.

  Gus and Vivi had a townhouse in Berkeley, one decorated to their tastes and without a formal reception room, which deterred Lady S from visiting, so it worked well. Imogen looked nervous as I rang the bell, the screech of a child unfiltered through the thick wood of the door.

  “Gus knows about our agreement,” I said, taking her hand in mine. “Which means Vivi does too. So does Robbie, which means Connor will know too. You don’t need to be nervous. They’re all quite nice.”

  She nodded, and was about to say something when Vivi opened the door, dressed in jeans and a food splattered sweater.

  “You’re in luck. Your nephew just spewed his guts up. Hi, Imogen – it’s lovely to meet you. You won’t be able to say the same thing about us in fifteen minutes.” She ushered us through to the large kitchen which served as their main living room.

  Gus was on his knees cleaning up whatever Jimmy had deposited. Jimmy was nowhere to be seen, and Catherine, my niece, was sat on the sofa with a book, looking rather iffy.

  “Bug?” I pointed to Catherine.

  “Overeaten. Both of them. And there may have been some out of date cream involved.” Vivi looked at my brother. “I keep telling you – they’ve got mild lactose intolerances.”

  “And I keep telling you, they have a bug. Wash your hands everyone, and don’t listen to her.” My brother was living a charmed existence if Vivi didn’t murder him in his sleep tonight.

  “Happy birthday, SIL.” I gave her a hug. “Sorry you’re celebrating with sick.”

  She laughed. ‘I’m celebrating with champagne and a child free evening, because Catherine is now making her way to bed.” She glared at her daughter. “Off you go. Teeth and bed.”

  My niece trotted off reluctantly, too self-conscious to make a fuss in front of someone she hadn’t met.

  “This is Imogen.” I stepped out of the way so Vivi could meet my fiancée. Fake fiancée. I had to keep reiterating that in my head. “Immy, this is my sister-in-law and the saint who married Gus, Vivi. And the person on his knees mopping up vomit is Angus, my eldest brother.”

  Vivi simply gave Imogen a hug, saying something I couldn’t catch, but it may have been something to do with sympathy and get out while you can.

  Gus shook his head, picked up the wipes he’d been using and headed for the bin.

  “Have you finalised all your wedding details?” Vivi finally sat down.

  I went to the fridge and found the champagne, opening it quietly. My brother came back in and watched me serving it up. I half-listened to the wedding talk, understanding it was a common language between women who were brides to be or had been brides. I’d heard it a few times in the last couple of weeks.

  Gus stood next to me, watching the two women. “I’m glad Robbie married a bloke.” He accepted a glass of champagne and I suspected he wanted to neck it in one. “I couldn’t cope with two sister-in-laws if they were both going to gang up with my wife.”

  I shrugged. Connor preferred to play rugby and talk about sport. Neither he nor Robbie would be joining in this conversation about weddings.

  I decided to interrupt before Vivi kidnapped Imogen to be just hers, tapping Immy on the shoulder.

  I got the glare that told me off for interrupting.

  “This is Angus. He’d like to have some of your time too, when Vivi’s finished monopolising you.” I smiled at Vivi.

  She didn’t smile back.

  “So how well do you know what you’re marrying?” Gus started straight away.

  I braced myself. This evening could go downhill quickly.

  We left when Vivi was only half-conscious from a bottle of champagne and two margaritas, my brother not much better. Given it was our engagement party tomorrow afternoon, neither Imogen nor I had much to drink, as my mother combined with a hangover was something not to be endured under any circumstances.

  “I’m so tired.” Imogen yawned as we got off the tube at the stop nearest my house.

  “Stay at mine. Save yourself the journey home and I’ll take you back in the morning to get ready.”

  She looked at her watch. It was actually fairly late. “Can I? I don’t think I can cope with the sisters right now.”

  “You’ll be living there in just a few weeks. May as well get some practice in.” I took hold of her hand again, something that was becoming an easy habit that I didn’t want to break.

  Gus had made one comment during the evening that was fairly astute for him: we touched each other a lot for a couple that weren’t actually a couple. At first it was because we were practicing looking like a couple; now it was because I wanted to. Like now, holding hands as we walked down my street to my house, which she’d be living in very soon.

  We headed to the kitchen, Imogen kicking off her shoes as soon as she was inside, then half-collapsing onto one of the stools. “These shoes were not comfortable.” She started to rub her foot, wincing.

  “Here.” I knelt and took one of her feet, pressing on the pressure points.

  Her whimper went straight to my cock.

  I’d spent far too much time thinking about Imogen when I was alone. I’d imagined her in the shower, her long legs wrapped round my waist as I fucked her against the shower wall, imagining her saying my name when I made her come. I’d imagined her in my bed, that thick hair spread across my pillow, her body writhing as I went down on her. I’d imagined her in every possible carnal way.

  The night she’d invited me into her room when we were at the Hall had been a temptation I’d only just about managed to turn down. I’d wanted to go into her room, spend the night in her bed, but what if the chemistry that was there evaporated as soon as we got naked? Where would that leave our agreement?

  My fingers played along her foot, pressing then gliding, and then started to work on her calf, silky smooth skin exactly as I imagined it. I glanced up at her, seeing her look down at me, her bottom lip bit between her teeth. When her eyes met mine, I felt the crackle of a spark that would be my undoing.

  “That feels too good.” Her words were strained.

  “It’s meant to.” I took the other foot and repeated what I’d done to the first, trying not to think about how her legs were parting, how her dress was riding higher up her thighs, and if I glanced up between her legs, I knew I’d see her underwear.

  I didn’t stop, carrying on gliding my fingers up and down her calves, to her knees, pressing a kiss to just above her knee on the inside of her thigh, then the other side.

  Her fingers ran through my hair, pulling softly, running her fingertips against my scalp.

  Neither of us were drunk. We were alone. There was no reason to stop, other than common sense and an agreement that seemed a lifetime away.

  I gave another kiss, this one longer, one that might leave a mark, tracing my fingers higher up.

  Immy spread her legs further, her whispered moan making my cock feel as if it was about to explode.

  “Noah, should we stop?”

  “Do you want to?” I looked up into her lust-filled eyes.

  She shook her head. I took that as a green light and worked the skirt of her dress higher up her thighs. She lifted her ass off the seat, letting me push the material to her waist, leaving her covered by just a tiny pair of black lace knickers. I ran my hands up the inside of her thighs, not quite reaching her covered pussy, then followed up one thigh with my mouth, teasing her with nipped kisses and the trail of my tongue.

  “Want me
to stop?” I paused everything, stilling my hands on the outside of her thighs, knowing she was as turned on as I was, judging by her whimpers and the way she’d been tugging at my hair.

  “Don’t be a tease, Noah, else I’ll add an addendum to that agreement.”

  I chuckled, pressing my mouth back on her skin, so the vibrations from it would be felt between her legs.

  Her panties were black, but there was a darker patch that told me she was wet, her legs tensing as I licked the strip when skin met material. Her arousal smelt sweet and musky, and as I pressed my mouth over her still-covered centre, I felt my balls tighten, my cock really believing he was getting lucky tonight.

  That wasn’t going to be the case. Only one of us would have an orgasm not at their own hand and it wasn’t going to be me tonight.

  Her gasp was loud and guttural as I sucked and licked her through the material, the lace becoming wet from my mouth and her arousal. I tasted her on my tongue, wondering what it would be like to do this every morning to wake her up, wondering if that would ever be the case.

  I flicked her clit, sucked through her panties, varied the pressure, all the while ignoring the growing case of blue balls I had going on, that only worsened when her whole body tensed, then shook, as she came hard on my mouth.

  I licked at her as her orgasm subsided, tasting more of her arousal, waiting for her to land. I hoped she wouldn’t push me away, or be embarrassed, or regret this. God, don’t let her regret this.

  I waited until she’d stilled, then stood up, looking my fill at her still parted legs. “Would you like some tea?”

  She looked at me, mouth slightly open, and we both started to laugh.

  “You might need some help with that first. I think it’s going to get in the way.” She pointed at my cock, which was on a mission to bust out of my trousers and find a way into her.

  “It can wait.”

  “Until when? Because it’s going to happen, Noah. We have a night in a wedding suite.”

  “Then. Let’s wait until we’re married.”

  She started laughing again. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously. Because if it’s crap, at least we’ll have fulfilled the first part of the agreement.”

  “It’s not going to be crap, Noah. In fact, I’m worried it’ll be too good and I’ll be addicted.”

  Fuck, I hoped so.

  “Tea?”

  She shook her head, laughing. “Just a small cup.”

  I showed her to one of the guest rooms later, watching her as she told me goodnight, and closed the door. I waited the other side of it, wondering what I’d do if she opened it again, and invited me in.

  She didn’t. I was glad.

  I wouldn’t have said no, and I didn’t think I could again.

  Chapter Twelve

  Imogen

  There was, on my hand, a large diamond, surrounded by emeralds, and set on a gold band. I must’ve looked at it at least a thousand times since Noah had put it on my finger on Sunday morning.

  I now wondered whether he’d planned for me to stay at his after Vivi’s birthday, as the ring had been delivered to his, the stones taken from a family heirloom and reset on a new band.

  The box had been left on the kitchen table, a single rose from his garden next to it, and he’d watched me open it, telling me he wondered whether he should propose properly.

  I’d wanted him to. I’d been desperate for him to get down on one knee, and ask me to marry him, but I was too embarrassed to say, too worried about appearing needy and in love with him, which I was pretty sure I was.

  So instead, I’d taken the ring, let him pop it on my finger and told him it’d do.

  It more than did. It was beautiful. And I so wanted it to be for real.

  But me staying over in a room separate from his, after one of the best orgasms I could remember, then the delivery seemed entirely coincidental.

  I studied the ring, aware I’d been staring at it for the last ten minutes, sat on the toilet lid in a cubicle in the shared loos of the office.

  I’d needed a moment - I’d needed several of them this week - just to get my head round what was actually happening because it all felt so quick. The engagement party had felt like a blur; a mirage of people I hadn’t met, along with my family who behaved so very properly I wasn’t sure I knew them. Aunt Marie met Lady Soames and had her tamed within ten minutes; Maxwell knew Connor, Robbie’s husband, and became lost to the rest of us for a good hour while they discussed all manner of shit in a corner somewhere.

  I met close friends and relatives of the Soames family and didn’t even bother to try and remember the names. Noah did that for us, guiding me through societal niceties, telling me who was who, why he knew them and why they had to be there.

  There had been an announcement in the press, one of the formal ones that I never read: Mister Noah Christopher Lachlan Soames-Harrington, son of Lord and Lady Jeanne Soames-Harrington, nee Buchanan, is pleased to announce his engagement to Miss Imogen Margaret Green, daughter of Aiden Green and Lynsey Green, of New York and County Clare.

  That was when it had felt very real. The media didn’t speculate. Thankfully, Carla had done us a favour and had been seen out with a couple of different men, one who was apparently involved with another reality TV star. That took the limelight completely away from us, meaning any speculation as to why everything was happening so quickly was minimal.

  But right now, while I sat on a toilet lid, staring at my ring, I felt a little like Dorothy, picked up in a tornado and dumped in an alternate reality. I wasn’t having second thoughts about the wedding or Noah, but I was having second thoughts about the agreement.

  “Have you seen the rock on her finger? If she wasn’t one of the Callaghan Green family, I’d have wondered if she was marrying him for the money.”

  I recognised the voice as being one of the trainee solicitors, Lora, who was only twenty-three and very, very young.

  “But then have you seen how he looks? He’s completely gorgeous too. Why can’t I meet anyone like that?” This was Leigh, one of the typists.

  Lora laughed. “Because we don’t mix in the right circles. It’s all very quick though – I didn’t even know she was dating him. Do you think she’s pregnant?”

  “Doubt it. She’s far too organised.”

  Their speculation continued, a few comments about my weight thrown in, and a mention of how wealthy I’d be if we divorced. Nothing I wouldn’t expect. I debated walking out there, and embarrassing the hell out of them, which would happen as I was senior to both of them in the company, and no one liked to be caught gossiping in the bathrooms on work’s time.

  The door to the bathroom opened with some force. I wondered who it was and whether they’d join in with the conversation.

  “Georgia!” Lora gave me the answer. “How was the engagement party on Sunday? Was there anyone famous there?”

  Georgia laughed. “No one famous as in gossip magazine famous, but there were people there who had titles.”

  “What, like managing director or something?”

  I debated the wisdom of Lora qualifying as a solicitor.

  “No, like viscount and lady, those sorts of titles.” Georgia sounded like she was talking to Rose. “And the party was lovely. Very small and intimate, and very classy.”

  “What did Imogen wear?”

  I wanted to tell Lora to head back to her desk and get on with the file she needed to go through.

  “Why don’t you ask her yourself. She’s in that cubicle.”

  I wondered whether Georgia had put up a camera then noticed the strap of my handbag was trailing underneath the door. Damn her being observant.

  I opened the door and looked at Lora then Leigh, both them standing there open mouthed, with Lora clutching her lipstick.

  “The party was great. No, I’m not marrying him for his money, but yes, his looks help.” I headed to the sink and washed my hands, a barrage of unfinished, apologetic sentences hitting my ea
rs, before they both scuttled out, making comments about having work to do, which they definitely did.

  When they’d gone, I spun round to glare at my so-called friend.

  “You just outed me.”

  She shrugged and beamed. “It’ll teach them a lesson about what they said in here. Besides, you’ve been gone for ages and I wanted to make sure you were okay. You’ve been quiet all week.”

  I nodded; couldn’t argue with that. “It’s been busy.”

  “Weddings are like that, I believe. Seph and I have a date set – but you’re not to say anything until after your wedding, not that we can overshadow what you’re having.” She checked her reflection in the mirror, fussing with her red curls.

  “Your wedding will be real. That trumps everything.” I perched on the edge of the basin units.

  She sighed hard. “Im, I saw the two of you together on Sunday and I don’t think this wedding will be that fake. I’ve seen couples who were meant to be in love with less chemistry than the two of you have. Don’t you think there’s a chance it’ll work, and you’ve just done things in the wrong order?”

  “I want that to be the case.” It was as much of a confession as I was willing to make.

  “Have you told him that?”

  I shook my head.

  “Why not?”

  I really did feel sorry for Rose. She was never going to have any chance of keeping secrets from her mum.

  “Because if he’s not on the same page, he might decide that the wedding’s not a great idea, and that things could get messy if feelings are involved.”

  “True. But he isn’t going to cancel the wedding at this stage, but I get what you’re saying. Have you slept together yet?”

  I wished. Especially after what happened in his kitchen on Saturday night. “No. But it’s not off the table.” Hopefully on it, or on anywhere, in fact.