“That’s typical of you,” Melanie said. “You never think about anyone else. I don’t suppose it even occurred to you what people would say in the village when those pictures were in the paper.”
Theresa just about managed to keep a straight face. “No, Mum, I can’t say it did. Look, it’s not a big deal. We met a few weeks ago, decided to get married, and did it. You know I never wanted St. Bertolin’s and the huge white frock.”
“There are some lovely wedding dresses these days, very elegant and sophisticated. You could have grown your hair a bit longer. You’d look lovely with a little tiara and Granny’s pearl necklace.”
Emile ran his hand through her short hair. “But she is much sexier with this spiky hair.”
Melanie made a noise of disapproval. “Excuse me. I must see to the dinner.”
As she left the room, Theresa’s gaze switched to her father. “Did you mind not being there, Dad?”
“Not walking you down the aisle to give you away? No, I didn’t mind that. But your mother’s very upset.”
“I know.”
He looked at her for a few minutes. “Yes. I can see that you do.”
“I just couldn’t bear it anymore.”
“I know, love. But she means well. Try and be kind to her, hm?”
She extricated herself from Emile and went to sit on the sofa next to her dad. She gave him a soft kiss on his cheek. “I’m sorry.”
“Well, I daresay she’ll come round.” He looked at Emile, lounging in the leather chair with his hands behind his head, long legs stretching across most of the floor. “If this husband of yours is good to you, she’ll come round.”
Emile caught her eye and winked. He replied to Ian, but his gaze stayed on Theresa’s face. “Oh, I’ll be good to her, sir.”
She felt her cheeks grow warm and unwanted images from the previous night flashed into her head. He’d been very good to her indeed.
Melanie had cooked Theresa’s favorite lunch. Roast beef, with all the trimmings and plenty of Yorkshire puddings. Emile frowned at his plate, scraped the gravy from the meat, and picked at it carefully. Theresa kicked him under the table. He raised an eyebrow at her. He was only doing what she’d asked, after all. He wasn’t supposed to be politely ingratiating himself with his new in-laws. He was supposed to be all Melanie Chartley’s worst nightmares brought to life. She bit her lip and gave him a reassuring smile.
“So, how did you two meet?” Ian asked.
Theresa caught Emile’s eye. They’d agreed beforehand that there was no reason not to tell them the truth.
“At a nightclub,” she said.
“She was dancing,” Emile added, “and it was as though she was making love. I watched her and I wanted her.” He leaned across to kiss her on the lips, then sat back. “So I took her home and made love to her as though we were still dancing.”
His eyes never left hers and his voice was so seductive, it was all Theresa could do not to drag her clothes off and throw herself at him. At her parents’ dinner table. Over Sunday lunch. She drew in a deep breath. She had to remember where she was and what they were doing. It was a show, for her mother’s benefit. And just because Emile happened to have such mesmerizing eyes and husky voice with a French accent that sent her senses spiraling out of control, didn’t mean that any of it was real. Not after that first night, at least. There hadn’t been any contracts or rings on fingers, no obligations and no thought of a wedding then. They’d both wanted it and they’d both enjoyed it. Maybe there was still something real. Theresa glanced at Emile’s face and smothered a grin. There was nothing honest about the look of helpless adoration he’d conjured up from somewhere.
“Love at first sight,” Melanie said sharply. “I don’t believe in it.”
Emile slid his hand up Theresa’s thigh. “Neither do I, Mrs. Chartley. It wasn’t until we made love again the next morning that my heart caught up with my cock.”
Melanie gasped. So did Theresa.
Ian said calmly, “We don’t use that sort of language at the table, Emile.”
He didn’t bat an eyelid. “My apologies, sir.”
“I expect it’s a bit different in the team changing room.”
Emile grinned. “You’d be surprised.”
“Theresa’s never liked football, have you?”
She laughed, and so did Emile. He placed his hand over hers. “She is coming around to it.”
“I went to Emile’s match yesterday, Dad. It was interesting.”
Emile lifted her hand and placed a kiss on her palm. “I will have to teach you how you are supposed to respond when your husband scores the winning goal.”
Theresa leaned up and murmured in his ear. “If you keep feeling me up like this, we’ll be naked on top of the table before she brings out the dessert.”
He turned his head so that he could whisper in return. “If that’s what you want, just let me know.”
She pulled away and shifted her chair slightly further from his. “So, Mum, what’s for pudding?”
Emile leaned back, watching her with a smirk.
“Now, I really think we should have a party for you and...” Melanie waved her hand in Emile’s direction. Apparently, he’d flustered her so much she couldn’t even bring herself to say his name.
“Emile.”
“I was thinking October twenty-third. We can hire the golf club, and they’ll set up a marquee for us. I’ve asked the vicar and he’s happy to do a blessing in the church, and then we’ll have an evening reception. Your father can give a speech and perhaps Emile has a best man he could ask.”
“Perhaps.” Emile gave Melanie a brief, uninterested smile and returned his attention to Theresa.
“I’m sure your Aunt Jenny would be thrilled if we asked her to make the cake. It’s short notice, of course, but everyone would pull together. Canapés, I think, and a sit-down buffet.”
“Whatever you like.” Theresa winked at Emile over her coffee cup.
“Your mother expects you to be there,” her father said. “Both of you.”
“Ah.” She put down her coffee. “Mum, you can have any party you like. Invite the whole golf club. Invite the whole village if you like. But Emile and I have already had our wedding. We’re not coming to a pretend one.”
“Oh, Theresa.”
She shrugged. “You wanted me to get married, and I have.”
“I want you to be happy,” Melanie said.
“Well.” She looked at Emile, who met her gaze and smiled slowly. “I am.”
“I can’t believe you said that!” Theresa had waited until they were safely in Emile’s car, speeding back towards London, before she burst out in horrified laughter.
“What?” Emile asked innocently.
“You know perfectly well what. I don’t suppose my mother’s ever heard it called that before.”
He laughed. “You looked almost as shocked as she was.”
“I was!”
“Little prude.”
She hit his arm. “I am not.”
“Prove it.” He glanced across, raising an eyebrow in challenge.
“What, now?” She reached a hand over to his lap, teasing him.
He laughed and batted her away. “Some time when we’re not risking our lives, hm?”
“Now who’s the spoilsport?” She winked at him. “Prude.”