liked the sense of serendipity we’d given it; it was, hopefully, only a matter of time before we saw each other again at another of these functions and we’d see whether the spark was still as strong.
“Leah?”
I blinked and focussed on Harris. “Sorry. Brain fart. What did you say?”
“I was just saying…”
Harris begun another story with the express purpose of elevating his ‘incredible’ qualities at the same time as extolling my mother. I was torn between thinking at least Edward knew better than to eulogise my mother around me, and finding myself suddenly very mad with her. I was done with her scheming and plotting but, if I wanted to put a stop to it, I was going to have to go big. Something that would really hammer home to my mother that she needed to stay out of my love life once and for all.
There was only one thing for it.
It was drastic.
It was somewhat childish.
It was all kinds of ridiculous in the real world.
But it might just work.
It would mean flinging serendipity to the wind, though.
I made my excuses to flee from Harris and found Anna.
“I’ve had a really bad idea,” I told her.
She nodded as she swallowed her mini quiche. “Is it as bad as when you suggested we hold a sausage sizzle for Mother’s next fundraiser.”
I pointed at her. “That was a brilliant idea!” I maintained. “Everyone loves a good snag in bread.”
“At the polling booth, Bunnings, or a school fair, yes. When wearing a thousand-dollar dress and diamonds,” she shrugged apologetically, “not so much.”
“You’re just jealous you didn’t come up with the idea yourself.”
She’d concede that one. “A little bit. What’s your bad idea now?”
“Fake fiancé,” I said proudly and Anna choked on her drink.
“Excuse me?”
I nodded. “Fake fiancé. Mother wants me married? Well, she’ll get her wish.”
“Edward will be thrilled, I’m sure.” I could tell my older sister was repressing an outburst of laughter, but I chose to ignore it.
“Not Edward.”
“Then who?” She wrinkled her nose as she looked at me. “Not Harris Beaumont?” she pleaded.
My nose wrinkle turned into more of a whole-body shudder. “Ew. No.”
“Okay. So, who?” She looked around the party as though my choice had to be there. “I can’t think of anyone here who’d stoop to something so childish as playing fake fiancés.”
“It’s not childish,” I said indignantly. “It’s a stroke of fricken genius.”
Anna snorted, yet somehow it was still dignified. “Genius? How do you figure?”
“I’m going to get engaged to the wrong guy,” I said proudly.
“You’re going to…” She looked at me like I’d lost my mind, but that did nothing to deter my optimism for my plan. “Did you have a guy in mind, or…?”
I nodded. “I know the perfect guy.”
“Did you actually inform me of the why of this plan? Or you’ve just had a little much to drink this afternoon?”
“I don’t really see how that’s any of your business,” I said, caught up in own my genius and it coming out like petulant nonsense.
Anna knew me well, though. She just nodded. “Sure. Sane plan. Keen to see how it implodes in your gorgeous, smug face.”
I nodded as well. “Good plan, Leah,” I told myself.
Anna just shook her head with a fond smile. “Do you need some water?”
I shook my head. “Wine.”
I heard her mutter, “Yeah, you sure need it,” as I went on a hunt for more wine.
Not that wine was a sneaky quarry at a party hosted by Mrs Lydia Whitworth.
****
Whether a touch too much alcohol had been responsible for my stroke of genius or not, I still thought it was brilliant a few days later. So, I rifled through my mother’s contact list that I had floating around for some party we’d held previously and found Mrs Fortescue’s number.
“What can I do for you, my dear?” Mrs Fortescue asked, skipping right over pleasantries because she was the sort of woman to get right to the point.
So, I got right to the point. “Well, I was wondering if I was right in that you know Patrick quite well?”
“Patrick Grace?”
I nodded. “Yes. Patrick Grace. In security,” I added a little teasingly.
“Yes, I know Patrick very well,” she said like she was waiting for me to continue on to something really juicy.
“Would you happen to have a contact number for him?”
As she spoke, I heard noises like she was looking for something. “The other night went well, then.” It wasn’t a question. “Good. I have his work number.”
“His work number?” That seemed a weird number for