Our Little Secret by Jenna Ellis Page B

I’ve put thoughts of her entirely on hold this evening, but now it’s as if she’s here in the car with us. I shrink back in the seat, wrapping the blanket around my legs.
    ‘I haven’t met Mrs Parker,’ I say, keen to make her name just as formal as he makes mine.
    ‘Oh? Haven’t you?’ he asks. He sounds genuinely surprised by this news. ‘Wasn’t she at the house when you arrived, yesterday?’
    I shake my head. A will.i.am tune comes on, and Edward’s face clouds in displeasure. I pick up the phone and quickly change the song. I put on Ed Sheeran, an album that Tiff and I love, but that Scott says meanly is ‘period girl music’. Edward seems to relax.
    I can’t work out what he’s thinking. He leans forward and takes out the champagne bottle from the fridge. He tops up my glass. I replay our chat yesterday, when he caught me dancing by the portrait. Did he think I’d already met his wife then? This knowledge tilts my memory of everything we discussed in the kitchen and gives it a different edge that I can’t quite grasp.
    ‘You just missed her then. She went to LA for a meeting. I’m sure you’ll meet her soon enough,’ he says. ‘I thought she might be there tonight, but I guess her flight must have been delayed.’
    Again, I’m confused. Why would he pay for me to be all dressed up and to be photographed with him, then spend the whole evening with me like he has, when his wife could have shown up at any second? Not that we were doing anything wrong, exactly.
    ‘So who do you want to call?’ he asks, sitting back. His eyes narrow at me. ‘On that phone of yours.’
    ‘Family. Just family. I should tell them I’m here and everything is OK.’
    ‘OK?’ he mocks me and smiles. And again, there are his eyes, boring into mine.
    ‘OK. Better than OK.’
    ‘What about your boyfriend?’
    He knows. Of course he knows, I realize. I exhale and look up at the ceiling of the limo. I feel like I’ve been busted. He watched the tapes, and someone as discerning as him must have realized I was lying.
    ‘It’s none of my business, of course,’ he adds, but we both know that somehow it is. ‘Doesn’t he mind you being here?’
    I picture Scott’s bloodshot eyes. The way he begged me not to leave. And suddenly, out of nowhere, my eyes fill with tears. Shocked and annoyed at myself, I press my knuckle into the corner of my eye.
    Edward leans forward and puts his hand on the blanket and squeezes my knee below it. I long to grab his hand and hold it in my own.
    ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. It really is none of my business.’
    I exhale and smile and flap my hand in front of my face. This is stupid. Why am I crying? I hate myself, that I’m suddenly like this. I guess the booze has made me maudlin. I’ve always worn my heart on my sleeve. That’s what Dad always says, like it’s a good thing, but it’s not. It’s just embarrassing.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ I tell him. ‘I don’t mean to be emotional. I did have a boyfriend – I mean, I
do
have a boyfriend. Scott,’ I tell him. I feel like a child all of a sudden. Caught out. ‘I know I said I was single in the interview, and on my application. I didn’t . . .’ I sigh and take a sip of champagne and focus my eyes on the ceiling to try and wash down my tears. ‘. . . I didn’t want you to think I wouldn’t want the job because of him. Because I do.’
    I’m all too aware that the Parkers specifically wanted someone with no emotional commitments, and here I am, tearfully admitting to Scott. What if Edward sends me home? What if I’ve failed already? Before I’ve even met the kids?
    ‘Sorry,’ I say, rolling my eyes at myself. I blow out a slow breath.
    ‘It’s OK. I’d rather you were honest,’ Edward says. His hand stays on my knee. I glance down at it.
    ‘I just . . .’ I take a deep breath. If he wants the truth, then here it comes bubbling up in me. ‘. . . I just wanted more. More from life. Does that make sense? I