For King and Country

by Geneva Lee

  My eyes narrowed, my lips still stinging with the memory of his kiss. If he wanted to play games, I could play games. “You took a different career path? But you’re here—” I gestured around us “—at a prestigious club, so you’re either a well-dressed waiter or you come from money?”

  I waited for him to answer, but he shook his head, wagging a finger at me. “That wasn’t a yes or no question.”

  “If you don’t want to play…” I shrugged, surreptitiously checking the hall behind me.

  “I merely want to play by the rules, unless you’d rather I ask you the questions,” he suggested.

  I swallowed, struggling to keep my body under control. “Do you come from money?”

  “You could say that,” he said with a shrug.

  “Yes or no,” I prompted.

  “Yes,” he said, leaning in and catching a lock of my hair between his fingers. “Is it my turn yet?”

  “I haven’t asked all twenty questions,” I whispered, aware of the proximity of his lips.

  “Don’t spend them all at once,” he advised me as he tucked the strand behind my ear. “It’s best to leave some anticipation.”

  “You already know who I am,” I reminded him.

  “But there are lots of things I’d like to know about you.” His breath was hot on my neck as he spoke. “And I’m dying to hear you say yes.”

  “What if the answer is no?”

  “Trust me, it isn’t.” His lips brushed across my jaw. My eyes closed to the sensation of his five o’clock shadow rasping across the delicate skin.

  He stepped away, and I choked back a pant of longing, adjusting my dress in an attempt to look nonplussed.

  “Last question,” he said, “and then let’s see if you can guess.”

  One last chance to unravel him and I was no closer than I’d been when we met. And now my body hummed with arousal, distracting me from my objective. There was only one thing for it. There was only one question I could ask.

  “Who are you?” I asked, calling his bluff.

  He shook his head and mouthed yes or no. Clearly he wasn’t going to be less cryptic, even after using me to avoid his ex. I’d been a convenient pawn, and the thought sent shame rippling through me. I didn’t think I could calm my racing heart if I stayed near him.

  Had I imagined the electricity in that kiss? I was certain that I hadn’t. As sure as I was that he wanted me, too. My mouth went dry at the idea. I thought of what Belle had said about snogging a man with wealth and power, and I forced myself to ignore the throb of ache traveling through my body. I wasn’t interested in being toyed with by a man like this. I refused to be.

  “I should be getting back,” I said, aware that I had to make a move before his scorching presence turned me into a puddle of want on the floor in front of him.

  His eyes blazed as he nodded, smoldering through my body, but this time it wasn’t my cheeks on fire. “I hope to see you again, Clara Bishop.”

  He didn’t wait for me to leave. Instead, he disappeared onto the terrace, vanishing into thin air. It wasn’t until he was out of sight, freeing me from the heady affect of his presence, that I realized I’d kissed a man without knowing his name.

  And I wanted to do it again.

  Slinking back to the cocktail party, completely distracted by the stranger and his kiss, I didn’t even see Belle until I was back in her clutches. She beamed as she grabbed my wrist and dragged me toward the bar. Most of the people around us wouldn’t notice the slight pinch of her eyes as she smiled, but I knew it meant I was in trouble. Considering how dazed and infuriated I was after that kiss—that incredible kiss—I wasn’t going to put up much of a fight.

  “What in the bloody hell was that?” she asked, shoving a bowl of mixed nuts at me.

  “I’m not hungry.” Food was about the last thing on my mind.

  “Are you pissed already? Don’t make me force-feed you.”

  “I’m not drunk,” I said, even though I felt like I was. His lips. The taste of them on mine. The press of his body. A wave of heat rolled through my body and I resisted the urge to fan myself.

  “Clara.” Belle snapped her fingers to get my attention. I shook my head and stared at her dumbly. “I said that you could have at least have had a drink with my brother.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. I did feel genuinely bad for ducking out so gracelessly in front of her brother. But the only way she was ever going to learn not to set me up was if I made it an embarrassment to her. Belle was fluent in humiliation from a family disgrace years before. I hated to play that card, but it was the only thing that got through her obstinance. Still it was our graduation day.

  “I thought I saw my mother,” I fibbed.

  Belle’s face softened and she snatched a few nuts out of the bowl, holding them out to me. “Protein. You’re going to need your strength.”

  Truer words were never spoken, even if my excuse had been a lie. My mother was supposed to be here today, and I had little doubt she’d come. The Oxford and Cambridge Club was hardly a place she could expect to visit without an invitation, and today some of Britain’s most elite families were present to celebrate a graduation. Madeline Bishop wouldn’t miss that for the world. The press wasn’t welcomed since it was a private party, but there was always the chance there would be paparazzi outside, if she got lucky. Our family generally didn’t warrant such attention but she’d been seeking it ever since her and my father had made their initial fortune fourteen years ago. It was a little embarrassing, and I wasn’t exactly eager to see her. Belle understood this all too well.

  “Thank you.” I popped the nuts in my mouth. Their saltiness made my mouth water, and I realized I was famished. My gaze landed on a nearby mantel clock and I groaned. It had been over six hours since I had last eaten.

  “I won’t be held responsible for you fainting on your degree day,” Belle said, giving me a wink. She knew me well enough to know that between the stress of the ceremony and this party I would forget to eat. “Don’t look now, but the Bishops have arrived.”

  “God save the Queen,” I muttered, taking a deep breath and snatching up a few more nuts. I would be sure to follow them with a nice bourbon. Turning around, I caught sight of my mother decked out in a stunning but short peacock-blue garden dress that hugged her impressively athletic body but was hardly appropriate for her age. It didn’t seem fair that she was probably in better shape than I was. Of course, she considered looking fit to be her profession.

  I saw her searching the room, her hands artfully resting on a string of pearls at her neck. She might not have been born British but she could hold her own with any of the aristocrats in this room. Her head was high, her nose tipped slightly up, and her gaze scathing as she looked around her. There was a smile of benevolence on her lips as though she was deigning to enter a room of her subjects.

  Taking a deep breath, I raised my hand to wave her over.

  “Last chance to run,” I told Belle.

  “And leave you alone? Not a chance, but you do owe me a bottle of wine later.” She slipped a rocks glass into my hand, knowing exactly what I needed to get through this encounter before I even asked.

  “Deal.” Although by the end of the day we’d probably need more than one bottle.

  “Clara, my dearest girl!” Mom flew through the crowd to me, kissing me delicately on the cheek. Affection from her was always as fragile as a butterfly wing. Feelings were so easily broken, she’d once told me, so it was better to be cautious with them. I’d watched the same delicacy infiltrate her marriage since I was a child.

  Dad held out a hand, and as soon as I took it, he pulled me into a bear hug. “Clare-bear, you did it!”

  I flushed a little at the nickname from my childhood. Dad had never believed that love was fragile, even if he did treat my mother like glass.

  “A university graduate,” Mom said, thrusting her chest out in pride, and causing none too subtle looks of appreciation from the men around her. “An Oxfo
rd graduate at that.”

  “To my little girl.” Dad raised a glass to toast and I felt the slightest tug of emotion at the gesture.

  There’d been little doubt I would attend university, even though my father had fought to graduate years ago. My mom hadn’t been so lucky. It felt strange to know she was here celebrating the person that had kept her own ambitions from being fulfilled.

  “Future Nobel Prize Winner. Britain’s great hope,” Dad continued.

  I rolled my eyes at him. “More like Future Nobel Prize Winner’s errand girl.”

  “Everyone starts somewhere,” he reminded me. “Even small stuff is important. Gandhi started somewhere.”

  I had no doubt of that, but just the thought of the job I’d landed made me feel slightly nauseous. Thankfully, I had over a fortnight until I had to actually begin my work there, and plenty of things to do in that time to occupy my mind. “No hunger strikes from me,” I promised him.

  Beside us my mother froze. “That was in poor taste.”

  “I’m sorry. It was just a joke,” I reassured her.

  But my mom had begun to fan herself while casting glances around her. “It’s stifling over here.”

  Dad smiled softly. “Then let’s find another spot for you, love.”

  It was passive-aggressive tactic number one of my mother’s playbook. She had to be constantly moving. It didn’t matter how lovely her view was, how fascinating her dinner partners were, or the exclusivity of the party she was attending, she was always convinced that she was missing out. She was sure that around the corner there might be a better opportunity or a more important person. This meant that my family had hopped from house to house for the first several years after they’d sold their internet business. My dad had finally put his foot down and informed her this was it when they moved from Los Angeles to Kensington six years ago. It was the poshest home we’d ever owned, with the poshest address, right across the street from the former pop singer who was married to the famous soccer player. My mom had been game for it for the first few years but had been dropping hints for a while that she was ready for a change. Or rather, she wanted to seek greener pastures. Dad, to his credit, had not budged on the issue. But that hadn’t stopped her from engaging a real estate agent. Every few months, I would be dragged to look at properties. She’d hinted that she wanted to buy one for me but I was not about to let that happen. They’d paid my expenses at university and I’d managed to deal with my mother’s demanding and sometimes stifling curiosity regarding my life, but I was an adult now with a proper job and no desire to continue living under her thumb.

  “Clara, have you considered where you will live now that you’re back in the city?” she asked, linking her arm through mine as she displayed her uncanny knack for guessing what I was thinking.

  Not with you, I thought. London was still a strange beast to me, having only moved to the UK shortly before heading off to school, and my mother knew it. That didn’t make me want to live with her though. “I told you I was going to stay with Belle.”

  “But Belle is getting married,” Mom reminded me. She turned and flashed a brilliant smile at my friend. “I must hear every detail about the wedding.”

  Belle returned the smile, briefly raising a knowing eyebrow when my mother turned her back. She knew that my mom had just invited herself to Belle’s wedding. Mom would probably be game to take my place as a bridesmaid if I would let her.

  “Not for another year,” I said calmly. At least I sounded calm. This was actually a huge concern for me. I didn’t do well living on my own, something both Belle and my mom knew. I wasn’t certain what I would do when Belle got married and moved in with Philip. I was trying not to think about it.

  “Don’t worry, Mrs. Bishop,” Belle said, her eyes twinkling. “I’ve got a long list of men that are dying to take Clara on a date, and they are all excellent long-term prospects.”

  I willed the floor to open and swallow me up. I hated the idea of being set up, as though I needed someone to arrange romance for me. It made me feel undesirable, and this afternoon had proved I was anything but that. “Are we talking about men or investments?”

  “They’re the same thing.” Mom tossed the thought at me and returned her attention to Belle. “You’re such a good friend to set her up, and you must start calling me Madeline. We’ll be seeing each other all the time now.”

  Visions of lunch dates and high teas swam in my head. I’d never quite succeeded in reminding her that I was going to be busy with a job soon. My mother hadn’t needed to work in so long that I wasn’t sure she had a good hold on what a career actually required—like work.

  “I hope so,” Belle said. She found my mom hilarious, but even I knew she was lying. Madeline was best served in small doses.

  We’d relocated closer to the door I’d fled from earlier, and my thoughts drifted back to the kiss. Part of me wanted to slip away and look for him, but then would I be any better than the girl he’d been trying to avoid? Likely not. How would I feel if I found him only to have him grab the nearest tart and snog her? The new Clara Bishop doesn’t have time for playboys or baggage or drama, I reminded myself.

  But still, I couldn’t help but replay the kiss, slowing down each moment in my memory until I could almost feel the brush of his lips again. My hands clenched at my sides as I fought against the tremble of arousal that rolled through my body.

  My mother’s high-pitched giggle broke me out of my reverie. It was unlikely that anyone had said anything truly funny, but I smiled anyway, as though I was in on the joke.

  “Your father and I have been talking.” Mom glanced over to Dad, who was shooting her a frustrated glare, which she ignored. “Why don’t you move in with us? Surely, Belle will want to be alone with Philip, and we have more than enough room.”

  They did have more than enough room but there was no way I was taking my mom up on her offer. “We’ve already signed a great lease on a flat,” I lied.

  “You have? Without consulting me?” My mother wore pouts like some women wore hats. Often and with lots of ceremony. This was no exception. She looked at me as if I’d totally betrayed her.

  “I’m sorry. We couldn’t pass it up,” Belle said, stepping in to help me sell the lie.

  “I just know so much about real estate.” The pout deepened, revealing the fine lines she paid to hide. It wasn’t a good sign if she’d take her sulking that far.

  “We only have a lease,” I reminded her.

  “But that’s still a contract. Do you know that I read in the Sun that more and more landlords are spying on their tenants?”

  The second play from Mom’s playbook was to make something sound scary that would never normally be so. It had succeeded in terrifying me the first eighteen years of my life, but now that I was twenty-three, the attempt only made me weary.

  “I’m certain it will be fine,” I said.

  “We’re renting from a nice old lady,” Belle jumped in.

  I shot her a warning look. This lie was growing so quickly I wasn’t sure I could keep up. I’d been lying for my mom’s own good for such a long time that I knew it was much easier to feed her small lies than to expound on one until it was too big to swallow or, for that matter, remember.

  “Is that Doris?” Mom asked, clutching my father’s arm. It was a boon for her to see someone she knew today, and I guessed there was no way she’d pass on the opportunity to be spotted at this event. “Let’s go say hello.”

  Dad looked like that was the last thing he wanted to do, but he nodded and gingerly took her arm.

  I smacked Belle in the arm as soon as they were out of earshot. “We do not have nice little, old lady or a flat.”

  “Actually,” she said, drawing out the word dramatically, “we do.”

  My eyebrows popped up in surprise. “We do?”

  “My great aunt Jane owns a building in East London.”

  I wouldn’t have thought it possible she could surprise me more, but that certainly
did. “Your great aunt lives in East London?”

  “Oh, just you wait.” Belle took a long sip of her cocktail and shrugged, as if it weren’t strange to have an older relative living in one of London’s hippest areas. “You’re going to love her.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I haven’t even seen it yet.”

  “Trust me on this. We’re meeting her tomorrow. Besides, can you imagine moving back in with your parents?” Belle asked, clutching her neck like she was being strangled for good measure.

  “Yes and no,” I admitted.

  “Yes?” It wasn’t a question, but a statement of incredulity.

  “You know I don’t like living alone,” I reminded her. But the thought of going back to my parent’s homes was hardly a comforting one. I’d been independent at university, and apart from a few bad decisions—mostly related to Daniel—I’d done well since my sophomore year.

  But there were people to fall back on now. Most of my friends would be moving to London soon. Still, Belle was my closest friend—and the only one I could imagine moving in with. Maybe in another year the independence I’d felt in my first year of school would recover from the damage dealt it by Daniel enough that I would no longer feel the compulsion to share a flat, but I wasn’t there yet.

  “I know, and that’s okay.” Belle laid her head on my shoulder. “But this means you have to let me set you up. I would feel terrible if I had to send you back to your parents next year.”

  “Who knows where we’ll be in a year’s time,” I reminded her.

  Belle squeezed my shoulder. “That’s the right attitude.”

  “You think this means you can set me up, don’t you?”

  “One date,” she pleaded with me, adding, “with my brother.”

  “I don’t think he’s my type.” I wanted to spare her feelings. It really wasn’t her fault that her brother was obviously a drip.

  “I know he would probably bore the life out of you,” she said. “But I want to see you taken care of.”

  “I can take care of myself.”