She stabs a slice of sausage.
“I’m just being honest, Emelie. You said you wanted to know these things,” I remind her.
“You’re right. I do.” She takes a bite, an expression of dislike registering across her face as she chews, but she swallows nonetheless, proper and polite.
“After your meeting with Elisabeth, which will run through lunch, we’ll meet back here so I can personally introduce you to the prime minister. Now, we’re going to really need to sell our affections for one another. Make this as believable as possible.”
“I thought we did a decent job just now,” she says.
“That’s not what I would call a decent job.”
“Did Trevor buy this?” She points her fork at me and back.
“Trevor buys everything,” I say. Public relations types are never interested in the truth because anything and everything can be the truth if it’s worded properly. “Our prime minster is a bit more scrutinizing.”
“All right. Got it. I’ll look at you like you hung the moon.” Her voice is monotone.
“And I’ll look at you like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“Teamwork makes the dream work.”
“I beg your pardon?” I ask.
“Never mind.” She reaches for a glass of orange juice.
“Anyway, tomorrow morning we’ll go to Grandmire so we can break the news to my parents,” I continue.
“You haven’t told them yet?”
“It’s been a busy week,” I say. “And I’m afraid my father is unreachable most of the time and my poor mum has her hands full dealing with all the slack he leaves behind and the chaos he creates.”
“They’re going to see through this.” She shakes her head. “They know our history. They know how we were, how we felt about each other.”
“We were kids then. People grow and change and reconnect all of the time,” I say. “And sometimes they even forgive each other.”
She’s quiet, eyes dropping to her lap where she smooths a crisp linen napkin over her lap.
I let it go.
But only for now.
“After we leave Grandmire, we’ll return to the palace for official engagement photos,” I say. “Trevor’s working on the announcement and once he has the photos, he’ll put together a press release. We’re going public first thing next Monday.”
She’s still silent, shoulders rising and falling with each contemplative breath.
“You can’t hold onto that forever,” I say, voice low. “You have to let it go at some point.”
“Have you?” she asks.
"Clearly I have,” I lie.
But in my defense, she lied first.
END OF SAMPLE. Available Now!
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About the Author
Wall Street Journal and #1 Amazon bestselling author Winter Renshaw is a bona fide daydream believer. She lives somewhere in the middle of the USA and can rarely be seen without her trusty Mead notebook and ultra-portable laptop. When she’s not writing, she’s living the American Dream with her husband, three kids, the laziest puggle this side of the Mississippi, and a busy pug pup that officially owes her three pairs of shoes, one lamp cord, and an office chair (don’t ask).
Winter also writes psychological suspense under the name Minka Kent. Her debut novel, THE MEMORY WATCHER, was optioned by NBC Universal in January 2018.
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