The Perfect Match (Blue Heron #2)(70)

“Oh, indeed,” Honor muttered.

“Of course she is, my boy,” Hugh said. “What’s she like?”

“She’s lovely,” Tom said, staring at his intended. “Bossy. Very affectionate. Always with the kissing and the grabbing and the like.”

She gave him the finger. He smiled in return, and a flush colored her face.

“Wonderful,” Dad said. “When’s the happy day, then? I want to come see my boy get married.”

Tom sobered and took a step away, releasing Honor. “Not sure yet, Dad, but we were thinking a quick ceremony, just us two.”

“A big wedding,” she said loudly. “Very soon, Mr. B.”

“Just the two of us,” Tom repeated. “But then we can fly you over and have a lovely long visit.” He shifted the phone away. “You’ll make my dad some blood pudding, won’t you, darling? It’s his favorite.”

“Whatever you kids want!” Dad said. “This is wonderful news, Tommy. Just great.”

Guilt rose up hard in Tom’s stomach. “Thanks.”

“I hope it’ll work out better this time for you.”

“Me, too.”

“Can I talk to her again?” Dad asked.

“Sure. Honor, darling, Dad’s keen to get to know you. Dad, talk to you later, all right?” He passed the phone to Honor.

“Hi again, Mr. Barlow,” she said. “Oh, okay. Hugh.”

Tom finished his drink, watching Honor as she smiled into the phone.

This fraud they were committing...it wasn’t just on the government. It was on all these people, the Hollands and all Honor’s friends, and Charlie and the Kelloggs, and now Dad, too.

And lying to his father had never been a strong suit.

Honor hung up. “Nice guy,” she said.

“Yes.”

“Do you have any other family?”

“No.”

She put the dog down, and Ratty dashed off to investigate a noise from the street. “What happened to your mother?”

“She left when I was little.”

Honor nodded, looking at the floor. “Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, is it?” He certainly made it sound that way. “Thanks, I mean. Listen, I’ve got to correct papers. Are you hungry?”

“No. My sisters and Mrs. J. and I went out after shopping.”

“Right. Listen, buy whatever dress you want. I don’t care.” Ah, bollocks. That didn’t come out the way he meant. Hurt flashed across her eyes.

But really, what did she expect? This was not a typical situation. He really didn’t care what she wore, or if they got married with her family there and whatnot.

What he did care about was if she started to get caught up in all the wedding and happily-ever-after crap that women so loved. Had the world learned nothing from Charles and Diana? The only reason Tom had agreed to go along with this was because he couldn’t figure out another way to stay in the States, and because she was coming into this with her eyes wide open. She was a sensible person who didn’t seem prone to...whatever women were prone to.

But he didn’t like where this seemed to be heading. First that kiss in the grandparents’ cellar earlier today. Now he was staring at her and wondering what she’d do if he kissed her again. And then banged her silly on the table there.

“I’m off, then,” he said. “I left something at school yesterday.”

And that, friends, was a lie. But it did get him out of the house.

* * *

WHEN TOM CAME home, it was much later than he’d planned. But he’d taken the shuttle bus to school, because only bungholes drove after drinking whiskey, and Tom was a bunghole in some ways, but not that way. Drunk driving, driving while texting, walking while texting...it would not be the way he died. So he’d done some work on a demonstration he’d be showing the students about wind sheer and torque and made good use of his time at school. Might as well.

Then, Droog had shown up, and he and Tom ended up getting a beer, and Tom told his boss the news that he was getting married.

“Ah!” Droog cried. “You and Mees Holland have dee cleek! Yes! I thought I smelled something in dee air that fateful night. Congratulations, my friend!”

“Right,” Tom answered. “Thanks, mate. Um, we’d love for you to come to the wedding, of course.”

Droog had offered a ride home, but Tom wasn’t sure the man’s car would make it and opted for the bus instead. He had, however, forgotten that the bus stopped running at ten, and found himself walking home. Five miles. Not too far. Just very bloody dark.

The house was quiet, as one would expect at 1:00 a.m. He put his coat away and rubbed his eyes. Took a seat and turned on the television set. The remote control was rough from Ratty’s teeth marks. He’d have to remember to buy her some proper toys.

Not much was on. Infomercials. Basketball, not his sport. Ah. A special on the homes of good Queen Bess. Might as well see how his tax dollars were being spent.

“Hi.”

He looked up. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“That’s okay.”

She sat down beside him, her hair rumpled. She wore flannel pajamas with polka dots on them and bunny slippers.

Rather adorable.