‘You’re digging yourself a hole here.’
‘Tell me about it,’ he said wryly. ‘And I’m sorry.’
‘So what did you think I was?’ she asked.
‘Are you sure you want to hear this?’
No, but she’d gone far enough to have to keep up the bravado. ‘I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.’
‘OK. I thought of you as the Runaway Bride,’ he said.
He’d thought what? Obviously he knew that she’d cancelled her wedding quite late in the day—but he’d assumed that she was some kind of spoiled brat? She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘You’re right, that’s judgemental and that’s not who I am—and, for your information, I didn’t leave my fiancé at the aisle or even close to it. In fact, I hadn’t even bought a wedding dress.’
It was his turn to frown. ‘But Hugh said you cancelled the wedding three weeks beforehand. And I’ve seen by the way you’ve dealt with the flood that you’re organised. This doesn’t add up. Why didn’t you have a wedding dress that close to the big day?’
‘It’s a long and very boring story,’ she said.
‘I don’t have anything better to do—do you?’ he asked.
She blew out a breath. ‘Maybe, maybe not. And I guess if I’m going to stay with you, you probably need to know why my life’s a bit chaotic.’
‘Let’s talk over pizza,’ he said, ‘and maybe a glass of wine. We could open this bottle now.’
‘You just told me you didn’t drink.’
‘I also told you I don’t make everyone else around me stick to water.’
‘I don’t actually drink that much,’ she admitted.
He looked at her. ‘But the first time you met Hugh...’
Oh, no. Well, he was Hugh’s best friend. Of course he’d know about what happened. ‘I threw up over Hugh because I’d drunk three glasses of champagne on an empty stomach. Which is more than I would usually drink in a month.’ Shame flooded through her at the memory. ‘Does everyone know about that?’
‘Tarq and I do.’
‘Tarquin never mentioned it when he met me.’
He gave her a wry smile. ‘Probably because Tarq’s nicer than I am.’
‘I’m reserving the right to stay silent.’ Because Roland had come to her rescue, and he was offering her a place to stay. But she was still annoyed that he’d thought so badly of her without even waiting to hear her side of the story. Maybe she’d been right in her first impression of him, too, and he was firmly in the same box as Cynthia Sutton: cold, judgemental and obsessed by appearances.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Isn’t the rest of that speech along the lines that if you want to rely on something later in court, you have to speak now?’
‘Am I on trial?’ she asked.
‘Of course not.’ He shook his head. ‘Pizza it is, then. And mineral water.’
‘Provided I pay for the pizza. I don’t want you thinking I’m a freeloader as well as being the Runaway Bride and a lush to boot.’
The slight colour staining his cheeks told her that was exactly what he’d thought of her. Which was totally unfair—he’d jumped to conclusions without even knowing her. If it wasn’t for the fact that he’d come to her rescue last night and been kind, right at that moment she would’ve disliked him even more than she had at the wedding.
‘I know now that you’re none of those things. And you insisted on paying last night, so this is on me,’ he said.
‘If you buy the pizza,’ she said, still cross that he thought she was one of life’s takers, ‘then I want an invoice for the use of your van yesterday.’
‘How about,’ he suggested, ‘we go halves on the pizza?’
She folded her arms. ‘I’d prefer to pay.’
He met her glare head-on. ‘Halves or starve. That’s the choice.’
And how tempted she was to choose the latter. On principle. Except she was really, really hungry and it was pointless spiting herself. ‘OK. Halves. But I do the washing up. And, tomorrow, I cook for us.’
‘You can cook?’ He looked taken aback.
She could guess why. ‘I love my little sister to bits,’ she said, ‘but Bella’s a bit of a disaster in the kitchen. If she’s cooked for you, then I understand why you’re surprised—but her culinary skills don’t run in the family.’