Bridesmaid with Attitude. Christy McKellen

… don’t need to lie about that,’ she managed to utter through a mouth that appeared to have stopped working properly.

      He’d been gorgeous in his work clothes but he was absolutely glorious in urban chic, with his damp hair all mussed and falling into his eyes.

      He raised a questioning eyebrow and she realised she was staring at him with her mouth hanging open.

      ‘I mean, I actually do come from a good family and I was sent to all the “right” schools.’ She made the quotes sign in the air with her fingers. ‘Plus, my father’s the CEO of a very well respected accounting firm in the City.’

      He nodded. ‘Good, that will make a difference.’

      She looked down and kicked at a bit of fluff on the carpet with her toe. ‘Of course I haven’t spoken to him in ages—or my brother, for that matter. He’s been living in Australia for the last six years, so we’re not exactly on great terms. And I guess I need to tell you that my mother’s dead.’

      She no longer felt the throb of brutal torment whenever she said those words. They just rolled off her tongue, unencumbered.

      It worried her some days how numbed she felt to it now.

      ‘I’m sorry.’

      She looked back up to meet his concerned gaze and gave a twitch of her nose and a shrug of her shoulder to intimate that she was unbothered by it. ‘Don’t be. I’m not some delicate little flower that needs protecting. I can look after myself. Been doing it for years.’

      He held her gaze, his brow furrowed as if he was trying to work her out. She stared back at him, determined not to be the one to look away first.

      Finally he gave her a sharp nod. ‘Do you want a drink?’ he asked abruptly.

      Clearly she’d passed some kind of test. Either that or she’d freaked him out by getting a little too personal and he was backing the hell off. ‘I could murder a vodka and tonic,’ she joked, flashing him a cheeky grin.

      He raised an eyebrow. ‘I was thinking coffee. Very strong coffee.’

      ‘Very strong coffee would work too,’ she said, giving another indifferent shrug.

      He snorted gently. ‘Okay, I’ll show you the rest of upstairs, then we’ll go back to the kitchen.’ He walked out of the room, leaving her to follow behind.

      She caught him up as he went into the next door along the corridor. ‘Guest room,’ he said, waving a hand around the room.

      ‘Nice,’ she said, nodding sagely. She wasn’t joking either—the whole place was beautifully done out.

      ‘So, what’s your big secret, then, Theo? Hmm …? Everyone has one? Let me guess.’ She folded her arms, tipped her head to one side and gave him a contemplative stare. ‘A brood of illegitimate children just poised to crawl out of the woodwork? Or perhaps a mad wife stashed away in the attic?’

      ‘Unlikely to the first guess and not yet to the second, but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.’

      ‘Because you’re bound to drive any woman you get involved with round the bend?’

      ‘Something like that.’

      His gaze raked her face for a moment before the corner of his mouth twitched upwards. It was the closest thing she’d seen to a smile since they’d met and a sense of satisfaction warmed her blood.

      He must have been uncomfortable with the change in atmosphere, though, because he brought down the frown again, then abruptly turned and walked out of the room, leaving her to hurry after him.

      Back out on the landing, he gestured down the corridor, pointing out the other guest bedrooms and bathrooms, then strode off back down the stairs—presumably to make the promised coffee.

      She caught up with him as he reached the bottom step and followed him into the kitchen, where he proceeded to set up the coffee-maker.

      Turning to look at her once it was gurgling away, he narrowed his eyes, as if deciding how to put his next statement. ‘Not meaning to be insensitive, but we’d better not go into detail about your lack of family harmony in case my mother thinks you’re after me for my money,’ he said finally.

      She snorted and crossed her arms. ‘I don’t need your money. Not with the job I have.’

      ‘What job is that?’ he asked, leaning back against the counter.

      ‘You really don’t recognise me? Emily Applegate from Treasure Trail? It’s one of the most popular shows on TV at the minute.’

      At least it was on the second-rate channel it ran on—but, to be fair, it was soon to be promoted to the big league. There was no need to mention the small hiccup of the threat of being dropped from the show to him, though. It would only complicate matters, and they’d agreed to keep their stories simple.

      He scowled. ‘Never heard of it. I don’t watch television.’

      ‘You don’t watch television?’ She took an exaggerated step back and threw out her hands in mock shock.

      He grunted in response and turned away to pour them both a mug of coffee. ‘I have better things to do with my time,’ he said over his shoulder.

      ‘Like tinkering with your tools?’

      He turned back and handed her a mug, which she took gratefully, inhaling the wonderful aroma deep into her lungs.

      ‘Like making equipment for people with mobility issues to help give them some freedom,’ he said.

      That brought her up short. ‘Impressive.’

      He shrugged the compliment off as if it meant nothing and gestured for them both to sit down at the large oak table in the middle of the room.

      ‘So what led you to the business of making mobility aids?’ she asked, once they were settled.

      ‘I had an older brother who had severe mobility issues. I used to invent things to help him get around and carry out what we think of as easy day-to-day tasks so he didn’t feel so trapped and frustrated. I found I was good at it, and I enjoyed it, so I went on to study engineering at university.’

      ‘And your mother was okay with that?’ she asked, blowing across the top of her drink to cool it down before taking a sip.

      ‘Not really. She wanted me to go into politics. But I studied at Cambridge, and appeared to be rubbing shoulders with the right people, so she let it slide.’

      ‘Where’s your brother now?’

      ‘He died when I was twenty. He had a lot of health issues so it was always on the cards.’

      ‘Sorry to hear that.’

      He shrugged and looked down at his coffee. ‘Life can be cruel.’

      ‘But you’re actively doing something to make a difference to people who’ve caught a bad break—that’s admirable.’

      He took a long sip of his drink, his brow furrowed as if he was thinking about what she’d said. ‘I’d like to do more but it’s a long game, building up a business in this tough financial environment. I do a lot of work pro bono, because the people who need help the most are usually the ones that can’t afford it. They often need things custom-made to suit the ergonomics of their house. Everyone’s needs are different. Occupational therapists do a wonderful job, but there’s only so much they can achieve with their limited funding.’

      ‘Is that why you’ve been hiring this place out for weddings?’

      ‘Yeah—in an attempt to keep up with the running costs of this place, and my living expenses, until the business starts making money. And also because I like to see the place full of life. It seems perverse for me to be rattling around in it on my own all the time.’

      ‘If