The Reunion Lie

by Lucy King

  ‘But we’re engaged. Don’t you think it’s a bit late for that?’

  ‘Would you mind just answering the question?’ Preferably before she expired of either anticipation or overheating.

  ‘Well, I’d love to—’ he began before coming to an abrupt stop mid-sentence, frowning and shifting his gaze to a spot behind her and in that second smashing to smithereens all her stupid fragile hopes of normality, all her pathetically deluded ideas of romance and all her faith in statistics and probability as he did so. ‘But—’

  ‘Forget it,’ she muttered before he could get in with the brush-off she’d naively never expected but with hindsight really should have done.

  ‘No,’ he said, snapping his attention back to her and whipping out a hand that she just about managed to dodge.

  ‘I should get going.’

  ‘Wait.’

  ‘Dan! At last!’

  At the sound of the voice behind her she stopped trying to avoid the efforts Dan was making to get her to stand still and spun round to see a tall broad man striding along the pavement towards them.

  And then as a dozen different realisations cascaded into her brain the mortification that was already swilling around inside her surged up to fill every cell of her body and if she’d thought the warmth in her cheeks could have heated London before, now it could have kept the entire country nice and toasty throughout the winter.

  Oh God, how could she have got it so badly wrong? Of course Dan wouldn’t be wanting to have a drink with her. Of course he’d been in that pub to meet someone. Other people—especially people like him—had friends, didn’t they? They had plans. And ones that didn’t involve conjuring up fictitious boyfriends and concocting ludicrous relationships.

  And wasn’t he someone in the public eye? Someone very possibly famous, who had dozens of smokescreens slash girlfriends? What had she been thinking? Why on earth would a man with his charisma, his confidence and his looks want to go on a date with a basket case like her in any case? God, she was an idiot.

  And how on earth could she have been so foolish as to have forgotten that none of those lovely affectionate kisses and squeezes in the pub had been real? That they’d all been for the benefit of their audience and all indirectly at her behest?

  Why, oh why, had she ever opened that bloody email in the first place? Why hadn’t she just left it in the trash? Why had she had to try and prove something?

  More pressingly, why couldn’t the ground open beneath her feet and provide her with a great big Zoe-shaped hole she could conveniently disappear into?

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ said the newcomer, sounding faintly out of breath as he shook Dan’s hand and clapped him in a matey way on the back while Zoe wondered whether either of them would notice if she fell to the pavement and started head-butting it in an attempt to knock some sense back into her brain. ‘My tube broke down and we sat in a bloody tunnel for hours. I reckoned I’d probably missed you. Good to see you’re still here.’ He turned to Zoe, eyeing her up and down, and a slow smile began to spread across his face. ‘Who’s this?’

  ‘Pete Baker, Zoe Montgomery,’ said Dan, still frowning as he waved a hand between the two of them.

  ‘Who’s just leaving,’ she said, now wanting nothing more than to turn and run and carry her and her humiliation as far away as possible.

  ‘Really?’ said the man called Pete. ‘Won’t you stay and join us for a drink?’

  And prolong the suffering? God, no. ‘Thanks, but I really must be off. Work to do... You know...’ She turned to Dan and grabbed his hand. ‘Thanks again for everything,’ she said, giving it a vigorous shake before letting it go. ‘Enjoy the rest of your evening.’

  And with that she flashed them both what she could only imagine was a truly manic smile, spun on her heel and practically ran for the station.

  FIVE

  Dan was sitting at his kitchen table with his third espresso of the exceptionally early morning, frustrating himself hugely by staring blankly at the report he’d requested into the pros and cons of acquiring an agency that had recently come up for sale in the States, when his phone rang.

  ‘So what’s this I hear about my big brother finally biting the bullet and getting engaged?’

  At his sister’s conversational opener Dan jerked and nearly choked on his coffee. Other people might have started with a hello, how are you before launching into an interrogation, but not Celia. There was no beating about the bush for her. No second of her busy life wasted. And absolutely no mistaking a spade for anything other than a spade.

  ‘What?’ he said hoarsely, clearing his throat as he set his cup down and then thumping his chest.

  ‘En-gaged,’ his sister said again, only this time drawing out each syllable as if he was a little on the slow side. Which he was, hence the rocket-fuel-strength coffee. ‘Last night. You...A girl...A pub, of all places, and a proposal...Does that ring any bells or has too much celebratory champagne annihilated your memory?’

  Ring any bells? God. Dan planted his elbows on his desk and rubbed his eyes with the hand that wasn’t clamping the phone to his ear because an entire churchful of the bloody things had been clanging in his head all sodding morning and he was getting thoroughly sick of it.

  Unfortunately for his mood—which generally needed eight hours of sleep to function positively and had only had three—and his productivity—which generally needed a clear-headedness that was today conspicuous by its absence—there was nothing whatsoever wrong with his memory. On the contrary, over the past twelve hours or so it had been working better than ever, making a complete mockery of his attempts to put the events of last night, the kisses, Zoe and her bizarre exit in particular, out of his mind and get some sleep.

  ‘One or two,’ he muttered, not for the first time regretting that he’d only managed a non-oblivion-inducing two pints with Pete before they’d called it a night.

  ‘So, go on, then, spill the beans. If this Zoe Montgomery mystery shopper statistician person is going to be my sister-in-law, I want to know everything. Like where did you meet her? How long have you known her? Why have you never mentioned her? And will you be bringing her to Oliver’s wedding?’

  Dan was just about to rattle the answers off in the same quick-fire way the questions had come at him—the pub, twelve hours, because he’d only recently been made aware of her existence and not before hell froze over—when he suddenly sat up and went still.

  Hang on. Where the hell had Celia got such detailed information? In fact, how did she know anything? It was seven in the morning. Surely the grapevine hadn’t been active all night.

  ‘How do you know so much about it?’ he said, not at all sure he was ready to hear the answer.

  His sister tutted and he could imagine her rolling her eyes. ‘Don’t you ever read the papers?’

  And just like that, Dan froze. A bead of sweat trickled down his bare back and a wave of nausea rolled through him as the coffee turned his stomach. Oh, God, he thought, his skin going all clammy and his head beginning to pound. No. Not again. It couldn’t have happened again. Could it?

  ‘Celia?’ he said, his voice sounding thick and distant beneath the roar in his ears. ‘I’ll have to call you back.’

  * * *

  One quick Google search and five minutes later Dan was face to face with the irrefutable evidence that it had.

  Every one of the concerns about the wisdom of going along with Zoe’s plan that he’d considered and stupidly dismissed had been justified because there, stretching right across the screen of his laptop, was the bold black headline that practically salivated as it shouted ‘Has London’s Most Eligible Bachelor Been Snagged?!’ Beneath it was a picture of him and Zoe kissing—that second time—clearly so involved, so caught up in the heat and the passion of the moment that that time he hadn’t noticed the flash of t
he camera.

  And then beneath that was the article.

  It started with a brief paragraph about the events of the latter part of the previous evening. It segued into a section about Zoe in which he learned that she had a doctorate in statistics from one of the country’s top universities and was co-managing director of Montgomery Mystery Shopping Limited with her sister, Lily. Then followed line upon line of rehashed detail about his career history and his eligibility, the story Jasmine had sold and the usual one-woman-a-week crap.

  Practically the only relationship it didn’t mention, he thought grimly, the only relationship that had never been mentioned anywhere in fact, was the one he’d had with Natalie Blake when he was in his mid-twenties, the one that had shattered his ability to trust women and sent him hurtling off the rails. And the only reason that that hadn’t made it into the headlines was because firstly it had taken place before either of them had become of interest to the press, and secondly what with Natalie’s subsequent meteoric rise to supermodel stardom it wouldn’t do her reputation any good if it got out that she’d aborted his baby in order to pursue her career.

  So who was responsible for this? he wondered, steering his thoughts back before they could head down that particular dark and gloomy track. Zoe? One of the other women there? Did it matter?

  There was little point in being disappointed that his suspicions and concerns had been confirmed. Little point in beating himself up about his stupidity last night or berating himself for not paying attention to the voice of reason that had constantly been telling him to take a deep breath and step away. Even less in wondering whether he had his reckless streak quite as under control as he’d always assumed.

  What mattered now was damage limitation, thought Dan, shoving his hands through his hair and rubbing his eyes to wipe out any lingering woolly-headedness, because if he didn’t keep his wits about him and concentrate on clearing up the mess that his rash act of chivalry seemed to have caused his life could get very complicated indeed.

  Sitting back in his chair, he contemplated the two ways he could go from here and speedily narrowed it down to one because as far as he was concerned continuing with the charade was not an option.

  For one thing, what would be the point? He had no need whatsoever for a fake fiancée and nothing to gain from having one. For another, the existence of such a figure in his life would only unfairly raise his mother’s hopes, and things could easily escalate to the point where he found himself manipulated into waiting for his fake fiancée at a genuine altar.

  And as for Zoe, well, she’d tried to dissuade him from proposing in the first place, so couldn’t he reasonably assume that outside her school reunion she had as much need for a fake fiancé as he did?

  He could, and OK, yes, etiquette probably demanded that he at least let her know he was breaking off their ‘engagement’, but etiquette didn’t take Celia into consideration. Having known his sister for thirty-one of his thirty-three years, he knew he had to nip things in the bud right now, because if he fudged things, if he attempted to put her off, she’d instantly leap to completely the wrong conclusion and then the grapevine—not to mention his mother—really would be quivering.

  Besides it was seven a.m. and all he’d be able to find on the Internet would be Zoe’s work contact details, and even if she was a workaholic as she’d implied he doubted she’d be in the office this early. So he’d just have to wait before calling her and hope he got to her before anyone else did.

  Picking up the phone and bracing himself for an uncomfortable couple of calls, Dan set his jaw and vowed that if ever the opportunity to indulge his chivalrous streak arose again, if ever a beautiful woman batted her eyelids up at him and begged him to do her a favour, if ever he thought he could get the better of fate, he’d ignore the whole bloody lot of it.

  * * *

  When Zoe’s mobile rang a while after Dan had wound up his extensive damage limitation exercise and done as much as he could to clear up the mess with various press and familial interests, she was head down and utterly absorbed in the work she was doing, her coffee going cold while she clicked her mouse on cell after cell and her brain sifted through the data in front of her.

  So as she fumbled for the phone and stuck it to her ear she was totally unprepared for what was about to come.

  ‘Hello?’ she muttered distractedly, frowning at a column of figures and trying to work out why they weren’t adding up the way she’d expected.

  ‘Hi, Zoe?’

  At the sound of the silky voice at the other end of the line all the little hairs at the back of her neck shot up and Zoe went still, numerical anomalies instantly forgotten as memories of last night flooded into her head. Memories she actually thought she’d done a pretty good job of suppressing, since last night was not a night she’d be looking back on with fond nostalgia, but evidently hadn’t.

  Determinedly ignoring the wave of emotion that reared up inside her and banking down the apprehension that instinctively skidded through her, Zoe took a deep steadying breath and reminded herself for what felt like the hundredth time that last night had been nothing more than a blip in her otherwise totally logical and rational existence; that she was thirty-two, not sixteen; and that she could handle whatever the morning had to throw at her.

  Even Samantha Newark.

  ‘Samantha,’ she said with a pleasing degree of cool control. ‘Good morning. How are you?’

  ‘On tremendous form,’ said Samantha. ‘Wasn’t last night fun?’

  Hmm. Fun wasn’t quite the word she’d have used to describe the maelstrom of madness that the evening had become, but small talk she could do. Heaven knew she’d been practising long enough. ‘Absolutely hilarious,’ she said dryly.

  ‘And so very dramatic, what with Dan’s proposal.’

  As the memory of being in his arms and then locking lips with him broke free and slammed into her head, Zoe went warm and thanked heavens that this conversation wasn’t being conducted face to face. ‘Well, that’s Dan for you,’ she said, sounding mercifully normal. ‘He never does anything by half.’

  ‘He certainly doesn’t.’

  At Samantha’s oddly knowing tone, Zoe tensed for a second and then forced herself to relax. ‘So what can I do for you?’ she asked, even though something told her that based on past experience it wouldn’t be anything good.

  ‘I was just calling to see how you were,’ said Samantha, her voice dripping with insincere concern.

  ‘Me?’ said Zoe, ignoring the ‘concern’ and concentrating on how she might feel were she really engaged to Dan and imagining she’d be rather pleased. ‘Oh, I’m deliriously happy.’

  There was a pause. ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’

  ‘Well, I must say I’m surprised.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’d have thought under the circumstances you’d be devastated.’

  Zoe frowned. ‘Under what circumstances?’ she asked, curiosity overriding her sense of self-preservation.

  ‘Your broken engagement naturally.’

  Her heart skipped a beat and for some reason her stomach fell. ‘My broken engagement?’

  ‘Don’t tell me you didn’t know?’ said Samantha with what Zoe could only describe as morbid glee.

  Of course she didn’t know, she would have announced if the person she was talking to was anyone other than Samantha. Why on earth would she? She hadn’t heard from Dan, and after her excruciatingly embarrassing overreaction to Pete’s arrival and the extraordinary way she’d run off like that she didn’t expect to. Plus she’d been so engrossed in work she’d deliberately ignored the phone all morning until in her confusion she’d made the mistake of answering her mobile. And she certainly wasn’t going to ask Samantha where she’d found out that piece of information and give her nemesis the satisfaction of telling her.
>
  Besides the how, when and why of it didn’t matter. All that mattered right now was that Zoe had left the pub with something of the upper hand for the first time in her life, and Samantha had somehow managed to wrestle it back from her. The evil cow was once again in a position to hurt her, laugh at her and generally make her morning a misery, and there was no question that she was going to do it.

  As Zoe’s heart sank all the old feelings of inadequacy surged up inside her and she automatically began to work out how to backtrack and extricate herself from this conversation with a modicum of dignity. She racked her brains for some sort of explanation and scrabbled around for an excuse and when that failed frantically sought the wherewithal to brush it all off as if she didn’t give a toss and then hang up.

  As the seconds ticked by and she still didn’t have a clue how to deal with this Zoe felt the desperation and humiliation churning around inside her escalate. Her head swam and the desperation turned to panic and a wave of nausea clutched at her stomach.

  And then, quite suddenly, mid-brainstorm, mid-panic, she stopped.

  Hang on, she thought, sitting bolt upright and staring straight ahead. Why the hell was she doing this? Still? It had been fifteen years, for heaven’s sake. Fifteen years. Would she still be trying to twist herself into someone else in another fifteen? Would she still be apologising and cowering and fighting for her dignity?

  At the uncomfortable awareness that all this was entirely possible unless she did something about it now, Zoe shuddered. No, she thought, setting her jaw and rallying her inner troops. She wasn’t going to let this continue. She couldn’t. She had to finish this once and for all. Dan had been right: if she stood any chance of moving on she really did.

  And what was it he’d said on the pavement outside the pub last night? Samantha and her friends weren’t worth wasting any more energy on? Well, dammit, he was right about that too. She’d already wasted far too much energy and time in her youth trying to be something she wasn’t and apologising for the person she was.