Love & Liability (A High Tea & Flip-Flops Novel Book 2)

by Linda Cassidy Lewis

  “It’s you.” Jeremy whispers in my ear.

  “It is?”

  “It has that thirties film-star vibe. You’d look smashing in it.”

  Smashing? I study his face for signs he’s joking. No one’s ever told me I reminded them one single bit of a thirties film star, not even my mom. “Are you serious?”

  He opens his mouth to answer, but Laura, walking up beside us, interrupts him. “Are we captivated by that dress?”

  “We are,” Jeremy says.

  “Oh, Chelsea. You must buy it.”

  “Where would I ever wear a dress like that?”

  “Your wedding,” my mom says from behind me.

  I can’t deny I was wondering about that possibility, but I’m surprised my mother is suggesting the same thing. “But it’s not a real wedding dress, Mom.”

  “And you haven’t liked any of the real wedding dresses Gabi has shown you.”

  “But it’s not white.”

  “Oh yes, we must perpetuate that outmoded custom,” Jeremy says.

  “Yards and yards of white lace and tulle wouldn’t suit you,” Laura adds. “But this dress is gorgeous and chic. Come on then”—she grabs my arm—“let’s go take a closer look.”

  The four of us squeeze into the small empty floor area of the antique shop.

  “Welcome,” says the man inside and offers Jeremy his hand. “Brian Woodridge, proprietor. How may I help you?”

  “We’re interested in that dress in the window,” Laura tells him.

  His eyes light up, and he turns to her. “That gown came in only yesterday. It’s not original, I’m sorry to say. A replica of a 1937 Paris design.”

  “Good,” I whisper to my mom, “it won’t be too expensive.”

  Mr. Proprietor lifts the mannequin out of the window and turns it toward us. After a glance at my stained jacket, he shoots me a pointed look and pulls the mannequin back several inches. Message received. I pull out my phone and snap a photo.

  “This gown was so beautifully preserved,” he says, “I hesitated to expose it to daylight, but for this one day …”

  “Preserved?” I say. “But you said it was a replica.”

  “Indeed. This dress dates to 1962 and was created exclusively for the Princess Consort of Monaco.”

  My mother gasps. “Grace Kelly?”

  “The one and only.”

  Crap. It belonged to some princess even my mom has heard of. There’s no way I can afford this dress. I try to catch Jeremy’s eye to signal him to get us out of this awkward situation, but he’s watching Laura as she examines the fabric and beading.

  “It’s as though it were a bespoke design for you, my dear,” Mr. Proprietor says to Laura. “You’ll look as lovely in it as Princess Grace did.”

  Okay, then. Let Laura deal with him. I grab my mother’s arm and take a step toward the door. She resists, frowning at me before turning her attention back to Woodridge. He’s droning on about the beading detail.

  “… art deco without being ostentatious. The bias-cut sheath is a luxurious grade of silk satin that we rarely see nowadays. It’s scrumptious in hand and will beautifully grace the form.”

  Laura exchanges a look with Jeremy, and he cocks an eyebrow in question to me. Is he asking if Snooty Proprietor sounds like he’s a designer competing on Project Runway? Jeremy certainly can’t be asking if I agree about grades of silk. I shrug. He shoots back a quizzical frown.

  Laura, who’s observed our silent exchange, speaks. “Chelsea?”

  I don’t have any idea what she’s asking either. Why am I the only one here who seems confused? I couldn’t have missed more than a few words about the beading. Everyone’s looking at me.

  “It’s … nice.” That answer didn’t come out the question I heard in my head, but it seems to satisfy everyone … well, except Snooty, who’s looking at me like I insulted him. Jeremy nods to my mother, and she pulls me toward the door.

  “What was that all about?” I ask her when we’re outside.

  “They’re negotiating the price. Good job downplaying your interest. That low-key ‘nice’ should save us some money.”

  “Oh no!” I turn to go back into the shop, and she pulls me back. “They can’t buy that dress, Mom.”

  “Oh yes, they can and will. You love it.”

  “A dress made for a princess will cost way too much. Kate Middleton’s dress cost almost half a million!”

  “Oh, don’t be silly. That’s completely different. And Jeremy knows what we can afford. You’re going to look so beautiful, sweetie.”

  Jeremy scowls when I ask how much the dress cost. “Not a worry. It was well within the budget. I thought it best to have it shipped directly to our house, so you’ll receive it soon after we’re back home.”

  So, yay! I found the perfect wedding dress when I wasn’t even looking for it. I sent the photo to Gabi, but with the time difference, she might not have seen it yet. She’ll appreciate the style but probably freak that it’s not a traditional white dress. But it’s so beautiful, she’ll come around. Oh, and I can change my hair to silver … ooh, with a lavender underlayer? Or maybe that would be too matchy-matchy. Contrast? Complement? And will I wear a regular veil? What did brides wear in the thirties? Mr. Proprietor mention art deco, so I should probably look for some jeweled headband or something, right? The perfect one could be right here in one of these stalls.

  “Your mom looks tired,” Jeremy whispers.

  She does, and we still have to walk back to Laura’s. So forget more shopping. We have next Saturday anyway. “Does anyone mind if we leave?”

  “Fine with me,” Laura says, and Mom nods. “Let’s stop for tea on the way back to my house.”

  Tea really means a light meal—I’ve learned that much—and then we’ll have dinner later this evening. We set off for Laura’s house, stopping at the cleaners to drop off my jacket. It’s warmer now, but I’m still cold in just my sweater and scarf, so I don’t refuse Jeremy’s jacket, even though I look stupid because it’s miles too big for me. Just as I begin to recognize we’re almost to Laura’s house, she turns down another street.

  Jeremy grabs her arm. “No … not the café.”

  “Why?”

  He flicks his eyes in my direction, obviously signaling something to Laura.

  “Right,” she says. “How about Monty’s?”

  We walk a block in the opposite direction to a pub called The Brendan Arms. I guess Monty is the owner. Again, this is one of those bright upscale pubs … with prices to match. But if I mention that, I’ll get another scowl from Jeremy. And since we’ve downscaled the wedding plans, I guess I shouldn’t worry so much about money.

  What’s more important is all the secrets I sense Laura and Jeremy are keeping. It’s like they have their own language, spoken mostly with just eyes, facial expressions, and gestures. I should be keeping notes on all the things I want to question Jeremy about when we’re alone. Or better yet, I’ll ask him in front of Laura, which is probably the best way to get the full story.

  When Jeremy and Laura return from the bar with pints for me and him and gin and tonics for Mom and her, I plunge in. “So, Jeremy, who’s at the café that you didn’t want me to meet?” Yep, there goes the eye thing between them.

  Jeremy opens his mouth, then closes it without saying anything. He takes a gulp of his beer.

  “The owner’s sister,” Laura says.

  “Thank you,” Jeremy says sarcastically.

  “Did it end badly?” I ask.

  “The way Jeremy tells the story, it never began.”

  “It didn’t,” he says.

  My mom pats Jeremy’s hand. “Well, that’s all in the past, isn’t it? I’m sure Chelsea wouldn’t like to be reminded of—”

  “Mom!”

  “You see, sweetie?”

  Sigh. It will be impossible to get any dirt on Jeremy with my mom playing defense for him. Maybe I can get Laura alone and quiz her. Maybe she’ll take me to the café, and
I can get a look at this woman. My thoughts are interrupted by Ethan’s arrival.

  “I got texts from dozens of your devoted fans alerting me you were spotted at the market,” he says to Jeremy.

  “Sod off.”

  Ethan just laughs and pulls up a chair. “So, what are tonight’s plans … dinner and dancing, dinner and bull-fighting, dinner and a jewel heist?”

  “I won’t be making it for dinner even,” my mom says. “Jet lag has caught up with me.”

  Concern creases Jeremy’s forehead. “Are you not feeling well, Marie?”

  “No, dear, I’m just tired. Really.”

  “They have delicious soups here,” Laura tells her. “We’ll order some to take away.”

  “That would be lovely. I noticed potato leek on the menu.”

  I’m not sure I buy the jet lag thing. I think Mom’s just feeling like a fifth wheel, but once she makes up her mind about something like this, she won’t budge.

  When we finish our plates of appetizers, Laura goes to order the soup. Mom likes to have something sweet at the end of the day, so I get up to join Laura and add a dessert to that order. As I’m walking away from the table, my phone vibrates in my pocket. It’s Gabi.

  That dress is so YOU.

  You approve?

  Totally. Now I can shop for mine. Call me.

  Can’t now. I will ASAP. Miss you.

  Same here. TTYL.

  Okay. So the wedding plans are back on track. Now, I only have to worry about getting Jeremy’s parents to come.

  It’s quickly decided that we’ll have Indian for dinner, but the battle between Jeremy, Laura, and Ethan over which restaurant takes a good fifteen minutes. Luckily, I’m exempt from offering an opinion. Finally, the decision is made—two to one—in favor of quality over ambience, with a promise to Ethan that he can choose where we’ll go for drinks afterward.

  We’re halfway through the meal—which is the best Indian food I’ve ever had—when I say, “So. What’s up with people calling you Handsome One like it’s your name or title or something?”

  “Nothing,” Jeremy says, shooting a warning look at Ethan.

  I look to Laura for an answer.

  “Just … silliness.” She takes a healthy swig of her plum wine cocktail.

  I turn back to Jeremy. “Seriously? I’m about to marry you, and you’re keeping secrets about nicknames?”

  “You don’t think he’s handsome?” Ethan says.

  “Of course I do, but—”

  Jeremy waves a dismissive hand. “It’s just silliness, like Laura said.”

  “But what’s the joke?”

  “No joke,” Ethan says, “it’s an identity. Crafted during our school days.”

  Jeremy’s concentrating on his curry, but he looks up enough to glower at Ethan.

  “What’s your school nickname?” I ask Ethan.

  “Charmer,” Laura says. “Meaning he thinks he can charm himself out of any trouble.”

  “Or into any girl’s knickers,” Jeremy adds.

  Ethan, taking both as compliments, grins and takes a sitting bow. His black curls seem permanently ruffled, one or two falling over his forehead, giving him an innocent boyish look that totally contrasts that devilish grin.

  “Our Laura’s called Posset,” he says.

  “Posset?”

  “It’s a lemon dessert,” Jeremy explains. “Sweet and sour. Like she is.”

  “Heavy on the sour,” Ethan says, and Laura jabs a knuckle into his bicep.

  “Everyone in your group had a nickname?”

  “You didn’t do that?” Laura asks.

  “Well … no. Not like that, I guess.”

  “Beach bunny,” Jeremy mutters.

  I nearly choke on a swig of beer. “Who the hell told you that?”

  Jeremy’s mouth drops open. “I … uh … maybe I got that wrong.”

  “That’s an insult?” Laura says.

  “I didn’t know.” Jeremy leans over and kisses my cheek. “Sorry.”

  “Right, then,” Ethan says, “give us a clue, eh?”

  They all look at me expectantly. “A beach bunny is a girl who hangs around surfers.” They frown, so I clarify. “And sleeps with them.”

  “All of them?” Ethan says. “And individually or—”

  Jeremy explodes. “For Christ’s sake, Ethan.”

  “I wasn’t implying that Chelsea—”

  “I was one of them … a surfer, I mean. Not a beach bunny. I didn’t—”

  “Of course you didn’t,” Jeremy and Laura say together.

  “None of them?” Ethan says.

  Jeremy jumps to his feet.

  Ethan holds up his hands. “I withdraw the question.”

  Jeremy sits, but his glare remains.

  “Handsome One,” Ethan taunts Jeremy.

  Jeremy’s eyes flash fire. Laura lowers her head and bites her lip. It takes me a second to catch on.

  “Oh yeah?” I say to Jeremy. “That’s what your nickname implies?”

  “Means,” Ethan clarifies.

  “All in the past,” Jeremy says.

  Ethan shrugs. “A year gone maybe?”

  Wow. I hope Jeremy never gives me the deadly look he’s giving Ethan.

  “Enough!” Laura holds out both palms, one in each guy’s direction. “Let’s not ruin this night with bloodshed between you two.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time,” Jeremy mutters.

  Ethan laughs. “Dear God, that night we drove your new car down to Brighton …”

  I’m afraid to open my eyes. I don’t want to wake up. But my backside is cold, which means Jeremy’s already out of bed. Do the British have a higher alcohol tolerance or what? I’d swear my toenails are sore. My brain is totally scrambled. I can’t remember even one full sentence spoken last night past dinner. I think harder. Nope. Just a swirling mass of words and music and faces—what the hell? At some point, was I arguing with some huge red-haired guy? Oh, crap. I think he was the bouncer.

  When the bathroom door opens, I risk peeking through my lashes. Jeremy strides out, gloriously naked, and starts getting dressed.

  “Hey,” I croak.

  “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

  “Did I get thrown out of a bar last night?”

  He grins. “You did.”

  Groan. “Sorry.”

  “For what? It was hilarious.”

  “Hilarious?”

  Jeremy zips up his jeans. “He asked you to get down off the table, and—”

  “Ohmygod. Stop.” It all comes back to me.

  I was standing on the table, but the red-haired guy stepping toward me was so tall the top of his head was almost level with my chin. He glared at me.

  “All right, lass, down from the table with you.”

  “You can’t bully me, you … bully.”

  He reached both hands toward my waist, but I backed up. “I’m only thinking of your safety, luv.”

  “If you lay a hand on me, you overgrown leprechaun, I’ll rip your dick off and stuff it down your throat.”

  For a second, he froze, his face blanked with surprise. Then anger flamed his face, and he grabbed me with both hands. As he lifted me off the table, I planted a big sloppy kiss on his mouth.

  Was the cheering for me or him? I didn’t get a chance to find out because thirty seconds later I was standing outside the bar.

  Groan. I pull the blanket over my head.

  Jeremy pulls it off. “Sounds like you remembered. I thought you could hold your liquor better than that, Cole.”

  “Go away.”

  “You have to face the day sooner or later. And it’s later. Take your shower.”

  Despite my groans and complaints that he’s killing me, he pulls me out of bed and pushes me into the bathroom. The horror I’m faced with in the mirror nearly scares away my hangover. But hey, I entertained everyone last night. “Hilarious,” he said. Sure. How long does it take to live down hilarious?

  As I stand unde
r the hot spray, bits of the conversation last night between Jeremy, Laura, and Ethan come back to me. The three of them reliving their past together. As close as triplets. Think how much of my life I’ve shared with friends, especially Gabi. But I still have Gabi in my life … every day, if we want. I already miss her, and we’ve been apart for only three days. I feel sick thinking how hard it must be for Jeremy to live so far from his sister and Ethan. And being here—at my insistence—keeps reminding him of what he’s missing.

  I appreciate Jeremy and Laura’s loyalty. Neither of them mentioned my drunken escapade to my mom. They pretend concern and sympathy when I say my oversleeping must be from jet lag. And when Mom insists on cooking us all Sunday brunch, and I blame my lack of appetite on something I ate last night, they back me up saying they thought the lamb looked a little greasy.

  So things are going all right. I might survive this day. It’s too much stress to even think about dinner with Jeremy’s family tonight, but if I sit quietly … and maybe nap … I can make it through this afternoon.

  Then, just after noon, Mom comes in from the patio and says, “It’s a beautiful day. Is there a park we could we walk to?”

  Ten minutes later, we step outside. A thousand needles pierce my eyeballs, and my lids slam shut in self-defense. My fingernails digging into Jeremy’s hand alerts him, and he pries his hand loose to guide me with an arm around my shoulders. How can I put the humiliation of last night out of my mind when I keep getting reminded?

  “Bully,” Jeremy whispers, not even trying to disguise his amusement.

  And so it begins.

  The park really is beautiful. It’s Sunday, so a lot of people are around, but for the most part, they’re quiet. We walk the paths and stop by the sculptured tulip beds just beginning to bloom. What a sight they’ll be soon. We see herons and peacocks and, of course, pigeons and tons of other birds I don’t recognize. Squirrels chitter and run around us. Jeremy says rabbits live in the park too, and sometimes pigs or cows are brought in to graze in the meadows, but we don’t see any today.