Joker in the Pack (Blackwood UK #1)

Epilogue 2

DON’T BE NERVOUS, Olivia. It’s just dinner and the opera.

Oh, who was I kidding? Just an hour or two, and I’d meet Nye’s family. I still didn’t know much about them, not even their names. If he’d given me a few hints, I could have looked them up on the internet, Facebook perhaps, but he was being really cagey over the whole thing. Surely they couldn’t be that bad?

I’d splashed out on a new dress, maroon with an appropriately demure neckline, feeling a pang of regret for the designer outfits I’d sold after my split with Edward. But the Karen Millen sale was within my budget, and I’d even got a sparkly new necklace, albeit a cubic zirconia one.

I twisted my handbag strap in my hands as we purred along the M40 motorway in Nye’s new BMW. Anything to stop myself from biting my nails. I’d already had a go this morning and chipped the pale pink polish before I realised what I was doing.

“Where are we going again?”

“Kendall Grange. It’s some fancy hotel near my parents’ home.”

“That’s in Northbury village, right?” I’d got that much out of him. Upper Foxford on steroids, he said.

“Yes.”

“And you grew up there?”

“Yes.”

See? He hated to elaborate. “Why the opera? Is your grandma a fan?”

He shrugged. “We go every year. A birthday treat.”

I sighed and gave up. I’d meet his family soon enough, and maybe then I’d get some answers.

“Have we got everything?” I asked for the tenth time since we left.

“We don’t need a lot, babe. I’ve got my wallet. You’ve got your bag full of woman crap, and we’ve got the tickets.”

“Which opera is it?”

“Does it matter? I never understand them anyway.” He passed me the envelope with the tickets from his door pocket. “It’ll probably say on there.”

I unpeeled the flap, and my heart sank as I pulled out the single ticket inside. Just when I thought we’d covered everything, another hiccup revealed itself.

“Nye, they’ve sent us the wrong one. Do you think they’ll still let us in?”

“What do you mean, the wrong one? It’s not for the opera?”

“Oh, it’s for Tristan und Isolde all right, but it’s not ours.”

“Then whose is it?”

“The Viscount Northbury, plus one.”

Nye went white and skidded to a halt on the hard shoulder, breathing hard.

“What’s wrong? Nye, what is it? Should I call an ambulance?”

“I’m going to kill my mother. I swear, I’m going to kill her.”

“It’s just a wrong ticket. Isn’t that a bit drastic?”

He grabbed both of my hands in his and shifted so he was facing me. “Babe, I wanted to tell you, really I did. I just didn’t know how. And when you said you hated the idea of dating a posh bloke again…”

“What are you talking about? You’re scaring me.”

“Shit.” He took a deep breath. “It’s not the wrong ticket. I’m Viscount Northbury. I’ve told Mother over and over not to use that bloody title.”

“I don’t understand.”

He gave me a nervous smile. “My full name is Aneurin Kendrick Holmes. My father’s the Earl of Northbury, and as his eldest son, I get to use his secondary title, which is Viscount. I never wanted it, honestly. People treat me differently if they think I’m nobility, and I’m just Nye.”

All the little bits of the puzzle fell into place—Nye’s automatic manners, his expensive home, and his reaction when I’d told him I didn’t want to date a man with a title again.

I squeezed his hands back. “You dope. I might have said I wanted a plain old Mr., but what I meant was that I want you. I’ll love you whatever bits you stick in front of your name.”

“You love me?”

“How could I not?”

He collapsed forward and threw his arms around me. Looked as if it was his turn to do drama today.

“I love you, Olivia. Don’t ever forget that.”

“I won’t, I promise. Is there anything else I should know?”

I was joking, but he took me seriously.

“Someday I’ll be expected to move back home and manage the family estate. My father’s still sprightly at the moment, but that time will come.”

“Then we’ll do it together.”

“Thank fuck for that. I’ve been stewing over it for weeks. I know how much you hated living in a small village.”

“My home is wherever you are. Is that really it now?”

“Not quite. On my twenty-eighth birthday next month, I’ll get access to the rest of my trust fund. How do you fancy a bloody nice holiday?”

I burst out laughing. “A holiday sounds wonderful. Anything else?”

“Just one thing. If you could keep quiet about the gunshot wound, I’d appreciate it. My mother would flip if she found out, and Grandma would want to see the evidence.”

“I won’t say anything, I promise.” I gave him a mock salute.

Nye put the car in gear and pulled back onto the carriageway, looking more relaxed than I’d seen him all week. He reached over the centre console and rested one hand on my thigh, and I twined my fingers through his.

“Thank goodness that part’s over,” he said. “Now we just need to deal with my relatives. I should probably give you the low-down.”

“Forewarned is forearmed?”

“Something like that. You remember how you said your mother used to make you read DeBrett’s?”

“Every evening.”

“ My mother could recite it word for word. And there’s my grandmother…”

“Is she the same?”

“Not exactly. My great-grandmother could have written DeBrett’s. Mother idolised her, but Great-Grandma died a couple of years ago. The funeral’s still talked about today—a horse-drawn hearse, morning dress for the men, and she insisted the Bishop of Oxford came and did the service. Mother wore black for a month straight, while Grandma drank half a bottle of sherry at the wake and asked the bishop what he wore under his dress.”

“Are you serious?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“Should I be worried?”

“About Grandma? No. She’ll love you and you’ll love her. It’s my mother you need to watch.”

I wanted to grip Nye’s hand as we walked into the venue, but I looped my arm through his instead. He held the door open, then led me over to a table near the stage. I glanced at the ladies’ outfits as we passed. Marc Jacobs, Versace, Gucci, Vera Wang, and enough fancy shoes to pay off the debt of a third-world country. Dammit, I should have got my credit card out.

Nye shared his mother’s straight nose, high cheekbones, and strong jaw, and I recognised her immediately. He got his eyes from his father—piercing, they missed nothing, and now they regarded me with suspicion.

“Olivia, this is my mother, Lucinda, and my father, George. Mother, Father, this is Olivia.”

“Hello. Good to meet you,” I said.

George nodded, while Lucinda managed a stiff smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“And this is my grandma, Ivy. Grandma, this is—”

“Olivia, I know. Can I offer you both a glass of sherry?”

“Perhaps later, Grandma.”

Ivy was about half Nye’s height, but her hot-pink cocktail dress spoke of a big personality. She’d stuck a lily behind one ear and wore enough diamonds to give a hip-hop star a run for his money.

She pulled me down and kissed me on both cheeks before a waiter handed me a glass of champagne. “Welcome to the family, sweetie. It’s nice to have another girl, isn’t it, Cindy.”

“It’s Lucinda,” Nye’s mother said through gritted teeth. “I suppose I should look on the bright side. At least you didn’t bring that awful Daniela girl again.”

“I rather liked Daniela,” Ivy said. “What was that dance she taught me?”

“Twerking, Grandma,” Nye told her.

I tried to avoid spitting my champagne across the table and ended up choking on it instead. That earned me a couple of dirty looks.

“Dan’s a colleague from work,” Nye whispered. “She helped me out when I was in a bind. Mother threatened to set me up with a girl who laughs like a horse.”

I managed a sound that wasn’t too dissimilar from a horse myself. “Dan sounds like fun.”

“She lives in the States, but I’ll introduce you next time she’s over.”

We were saved from further conversation by the orchestra, who struck up with the first bars of Tristan und Isolde . The lights dimmed, and I took my seat next to Nye to get lost in the music.

Literally lost. I had no clue what was going on. Was this opera supposed to be happy or sad? I raised an eyebrow at Nye, and he shrugged.

Great. An hour and a half of my life wasted, and now I needed to pee. I’d got halfway out of my seat when Ivy clutched at my arm.

“Wait a minute, sweetie. I’ll come with you.”

Super, a family outing.

“I always have to dash off at the end,” Ivy said as we hurried towards the restroom. “Cindy asks me questions about the story, and I never have a clue what’s gone on, so I hide in the loo and Google it on my iPad.”

Nye was right. I loved his grandmother.

“But I thought you enjoyed the opera. Nye said it was your birthday treat every year.”

“It’s Cindy’s idea of my birthday treat. I just come for the gin.”

By the time I’d used the facilities, Ivy was waiting with a briefing. “It was a German tragedy, sweetie. Everybody died. If Cindy asks you a direct question, just pretend you’re overcome with emotion.”

“Emotion. Got it. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. And let me tell you, I’m glad Nye’s found himself a normal girl and not one of those plastic-faced debutantes Cindy keeps trying to set him up with.”

“Er, thanks?”

She patted me on the arm. “I want some great-grandchildren while I’m still young enough to eat solid food, and none of those women would put up with the stretch marks.”

My heart started thumping so loudly I worried Ivy might be able to hear it. Until today, Nye had never even discussed his own family, let alone the possibility of having one with me in the future.

“I’m not sure about that.”

“Nonsense. You’ll make a beautiful bride. Will you have a summer wedding? August is always the best month. A marquee in the grounds, a live band, Dom Perignon flowing, and if Cindy tries to pressure you over the colour scheme, just ignore her.”

“I don’t know that Nye will ever propose.”

“Of course he will. He already asked me for my old rings when we went out for lunch the Saturday before last.” She peered at my left hand, turning it over in both of hers. “He’ll need to get them resized, though. My fingers are thinner than yours.”

Back at the table, I sat down in a daze.

“Everything okay?” Nye whispered.

“Great, never better.” I fixed on a perky smile.

“What did you think of the opera, Olivia?” Lucinda asked.

“German tragedies always make me feel so emotional.” I sniffed for effect, and Nye looked impressed.

“Oh. Good.” Lucinda turned her attention to a new victim, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

Then Ivy passed me a gin and tonic—at least, that was what she called it, but I couldn’t taste the tonic—and Nye may have had to help me to the car afterwards.

“You were quiet,” Nye said once we’d got on the motorway.

“I was overcome with emotion.”

“Bullshit. My grandma told you to say that. I know how she works. Now, what’s really up?”

“Ivy mentioned grandchildren.” Dammit! The alcohol had loosened my tongue.

Nye reached over for my hand. “Does that scare you?”

Did it? Truthfully? No, what scared me was the fear that Nye might not want that kind of relationship.

“I didn’t know what to say to her. I don’t know what you want for the future.”

He pulled over onto the hard shoulder in a repeat of his earlier move, tyres smoking, and flipped on the interior light.

“I’d like kids. One day.”

“Me too. One day.”

Nye let out the breath he’d been holding. “Thank goodness.”

He leaned over to kiss me, but my heart was still pounding from Ivy’s revelation, and I felt light-headed. Or maybe that was the gin.

Nye pulled back and watched me. “Oh, hell. What else did she say?”

“Nothing else. Nothing at all.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Liv.”

My gaze dropped to my fingers of its own accord, and he groaned.

“Oh, shit. She told about the rings, didn’t she?”

Oops. “She might have mentioned them.”

“Fuck.” He smacked the steering wheel. “Driving down the M40 wasn’t how I’d imagined asking you, but Olivia Porter, will you marry me? One day?”

“Any day. Tomorrow if you like.”

He unclipped my seat belt and dragged me into his lap, then kissed me with more passion than I’d ever experienced before. Nye’s entire soul flowed through his lips and twined with mine.

“You’ve just made me the happiest man alive.”

“And I’m the happiest woman. I love you, Nye.”

“Love you too, Liv.” In the absence of champagne, he held up the bottle of cola that was in the cupholder. “Here’s to the future.”

“Here’s to us.”