Love to Hate You (32 page)

Our appointment is in an old pub he loves in the centre of town.

“So, how are you doing?” he asks, after greeting me with a kiss.

“Great,” I say with a smile. He looks good – calm and happy. They seat us quickly and take our orders.

“So, tell me. What have you been doing for the last six months?” he asks.

“The usual stuff. Working, mainly,” I answer in a neutral manner.

Michael doesn't fall for it. “Stacey called me, so you can stop acting vague. Are you really going out with that guy?”

It looks like I'm going to have to tell the truth. “More or less,” I admit, without adding further details.

Michael takes a long drink of the beer that has just arrived, and then starts laying into me.

“Jenny! After everything that happened to me, how the hell did
you
find yourself in a situation like this?” he asks, almost in disbelief.

“People aren't all the same, Mike! I know in theory that you all only want what's best for me, but the truth is that none of you have ever actually listened to what I want! What gives you the right to pass judgment on my life? I've never criticised your choices and I'd be grateful if you'd extend me the same courtesy.”

Michael looks at me in amazement. “I didn't mean to sound like I was attacking you,” he says.

I arch an eyebrow suspiciously. “Yes, but that's what all of you
do
do. Honestly, I've had enough – it's
my
life.”

“I know, believe me, I really do,” he says, smiling at me and trying to sweeten me up.

For a moment we look at each other in silence.

“So is he the right one, then?” he asks, after a few moments.

“I doubt it,” I confess, “but I can't do anything about it. He knows how to get to me, damn him. The way things are going, he's actually managed to talk me into going to live with him.”

My brother whistles. “You're already at that point?” he asks, taken aback.

“
I'm
not, but he seems to be, and so he'll certainly get his way. He
always
gets his way,” I admit in annoyance.

“I take it we're talking about a pretty determined type.”

“Are you kidding? He's worse than a bloody panzer when he's got an idea in his head. And for some strange reason, he's now got the idea in his head that he's in love with me.” I say this as if it were absurd.

“And you don't believe him,” adds my brother, understanding what I mean.

“It's not that I don't believe him, I just think that he somehow wants to convince himself. I'd be the perfect choice to annoy his family, who he hates. Instead of arguing with them himself, he could just send me in to do battle for him. Imagine how funny that would be—”

Michael chuckles. “Oh, God—”

“Don't laugh! I'm deadly serious! I'm dealing with the most stubborn bloody man on the planet!”

“Ok, but at least he's good-looking,” he jokes.

“Exactly! Am I the type to be going out with someone like that? Someone so shameless and showy?”

“He's not showy. He was born like that, it's not his fault,” he points out wisely.

“Oh, bollocks! Ian is
plenty
showy. In his own way,” I say, with a pained expression.

“Well what's wrong with that? He wants to win you over and he's using all the arms at his disposal to do it.”

“Hang on – a second ago you hated him, and now you're his defence lawyer?” I ask in irritation.

“I don't hate him, I'm just worried. But you must admit it's pretty surprising to see a woman who makes such a big deal of how important brains are fall at the feet of the best-looking guy in town,” he teases me, knowing exactly where to stick the needle in. Well, he is a doctor, I suppose!

That's right, dear brother, just keep taking the piss out of me.

“You know what's most shocking?” I ask, resignedly. “It's that it's not even his looks that I like, it's the type of person he is. Ridiculous, isn't it?”

“I wouldn't expect anything else from you,” Michael re-assures me. “Anyway,” he continues, as he tucks into his shepherd's pie, “are you going to move in with him?”

“I really hope I find the strength to say no,” I admit sincerely, because living together is something I just cannot get my head around.

“What on earth for?” my brother asks enigmatically.

“Simple – so that I don't end up getting my heart totally broken. Just look what happened to you.”

He observes me sympathetically. “And precisely because it happened to me I feel compelled to tell you that it's definitely better to get your heart broken than to run away from true love. And let's just say that your previous boyfriends didn't exactly get your pulse racing.”

“Exactly! They were perfect!” I say.

Michael looks at me sweetly. “Jenny, come on, you can't go on like this, avoiding getting your hands dirty. Sooner or later you have to run the risk of actually falling in love.”

“I'm afraid I already have—” I moan.

“Well thank God. Now try not to drive it away screaming in terror,” he suggests. Know-all.

“Keeping my distance from people is one of the things that I'm best at,” I admit, sinking into my chair.

“Exactly, so it might be time to change your approach,” he recommends.

“But how will I manage with his family? They'll never accept me. I'm not exactly a blue blood—” I point out in annoyance.

“Oh, to hell with them – there's no other choice. Anyway, you've never had any trouble doing it before,” he smiles.

You bastard, I think, looking at him in puzzlement. “What's with all this advice? I thought you would have been of the same opinion as Stacey—”

He laughs. “Oh, yeah. I'm sure Stacey
hates
Ian. And to be honest, having him sat between us for lunch every Sunday would really be a hoot.”

How I wish I shared his certainty…

*

When I get back from lunch, Ian is sitting comfortably in my office awaiting my return. He's responding to a series of e-mails on his BlackBerry, and when I say hello he almost jumps out of his chair.

“I didn't mean to scare you,” I say, smiling.

“You didn't scare me,” he says. He looks at me dubiously.”How did it go with your brother?” he asks. So that's why he's here – he wants to know how my lunch went.

“Very well, I would say,” I confess. “Apparently he's now your biggest fan.”

“Well thank God somebody is. Your family detest me.” His voice is calm, but the words tell a different story.

“That's not true. It's your family that hate me,” I say, as I sit down.

“Oh, nonsense,” he says. Ah, if only it were.

“Your grandfather can't stand the sight of me,” I say, looking him right in the eye.

He doesn't bat an eyelid. “My grandfather admires you very much.”

Perhaps, but in the wrong way.

“He'd never want you and me to be together, though,” I say.

Ian doesn't contradict this last statement. “Well, I don't care what they think – do you?” he asks with a smile.

“Of course I do! It's your family, you have to maintain at least a decent relationship with them!” I blurt out.

“I haven't had a decent relationship with my family for at least fifteen years. And believe me, it wasn't because of you then and it isn't because of you now.”

If only it were that simple.

“Anyway, what suggestions did your brother make, expert as he is in dealing with we eccentric nobles?”

I briefly run through my brother's life story for him. I want him to understand that the hatred against people like him in my family is something with ancient roots, and is nothing to do with him personally. But it affects him anyway.

“My brother's a joker, so he suggested arranging a meeting between our families.”

Ian stares at me in fascination. “That actually wouldn't be such a bad idea.”

“Have you lost your mind?”

Looking almost happy, he gets up from his chair and walks over toward me. “Think about it, it would be perfect.”

“Ian, I'm a girl with above average intelligence. Please don't suggest things like that. Give me at least a little credit.”

He chuckles and leans over to give me a quick kiss.

“Excuse me, have you
genuinely
lost your mind?” I snap at him. We are still in office, after all.

“Next you'll be telling me that I can't kiss my girlfriend—” he teases.

“Not in the office you can't,” I say threateningly.

He shrugs casually. “We could make a deal: you admit finally to everybody that you're my girlfriend, come to dinner with both our respective families and agree to move in with me, and I, in return, will keep my distance during office hours.”

“You don't think that those conditions might be slightly unfair, do you?” I ask sarcastically.

Ian doesn't move. “Think of the alternative: I could chase you all around the office and kiss you in front of everyone—”

His eyes shine mischievously at the idea.

“You'd have to catch me first,” I say.

Ian looks at me as if he wants to eat me.

“Ok – if you've really got your heart set on putting yourself through this nightmare, I'll organize a meal,” I consent in the end.

“And you'll move in with me,” he urges.

“Forget it.”

“I swear, I'll pack my bags and move in with you if you don't. The four of us in one flat would make it a bit cosy, but I'm good at adapting.”

Yeah, right – just like I'd adapt to living in a tent. But Ian is stubborn, and would put up with anything just to be able to say he'd won.

“Ok. This thing about living together… we'll see,” I grant him eventually.

He gives me a bright, sincere smile. “I knew you'd give in—”

“I haven't given in,” I say, my voice starting to get louder.

But Ian doesn't listen and walks towards the door.

“My dear – and I stress the '
my
' -” he says seductively, “against
me
, you have no hope. No hope at all.”

That was one thing that I'd already worked for myself, unfortunately.

“Are you nervous?” asks Ian as we walk towards the door of the French restaurant he's chosen for this meal with our families.

“Nervous would be putting it mildly,” I reply, trying to stay calm as we approach. Ian has opted for a place that will please everyone: nothing overly sophisticated, but not too rustic either. I've got a sneaking suspicion that in the attempt to remain neutral he'll end up annoying all present. I really hope I'm wrong.

“My lot are already here,” he informs me, pointing to the Bentley parked a few metres ahead.

That's how to make everyone feel at ease, I think, looking at the enormous luxury car.

“I love people who don't like being noticed,” I reply sarcastically.

I see Ian's lips stretch out in a smile. “Grandfather doesn't know what it means not to be noticed. You've met him, I believe.”

The air is thick with tension: this must be the type of restaurant that doesn't normally have to deal with people like the Duke of Revington. Or my weirdo parents.

“This way,” says a pale-looking waiter as he shows us to our table. In his place, I'd be pale too.

We are led to a large flawlessly set table. There's no silverware, but it's all very tasteful.

The three faces awaiting us there are not exactly the personification of friendliness, but that was to be expected. The Duke gets up immediately and shakes my hand.

“It is always a pleasure, Miss Percy,” he says, as though it were true. But I appreciate the form that he attempts to maintain.

Ian's mother gets up to say hello and introduce her husband. “A pleasure. I'm David St John,” he says in a formal tone, shaking my hand and studying me carefully. His deep blue eyes give me no clue as to what he thinks of me, but the resemblance between father and son is quite staggering, even though Ian's face is much sweeter and definitely more open.

The only thing missing to complete this cheerful little picture is my family, but soon enough they arrive. Once the introductions are over and everyone is seated, an awkward silence falls over the guests.

“Well, now that we've all arrived, how about getting on to the real reason why we are here today?” asks Ian's grandfather. He certainly isn't one to beat about the bush.

“We are here to meet one another, Grandfather. I think that's obvious,” Ian replies in the same tone.

“Well, I would say that we've all met, now, then,” his mother says nervously.

He looks at her, summoning extreme patience.

“Good, because Jenny and I would like to tell you something,” announces Ian.

“You're not pregnant?” asks my mother accusingly.

At the word 'pregnant', all present jump to attention and the tension becomes palpable.

“No, mum, I'm not pregnant,” I answer sharply. Even though it's none of your business anyway, I feel like adding.

“Are you sure?” asks Ian's mother.

Have they all gone mad?

“Yes, I'm quite sure,” I say through clenched teeth.

“What we wanted to tell you,” says Ian, attempting to retrieve his thread, “is that we are moving in together.”

“Together?” asks my father in shock.

“Yes, together. It means living in the same house,” I explain. If he's going to ask such stupid questions then I'll have to resort to semantics.

“Why?” asks Ian's mother.

Ian laughs. “What do you mean, 'why'? Does it seem so odd that two people who are together decide to
live
together?”

“Ian, you know that in our family there has never been… cohabitation,” points out his father, who until then has had the good sense to keep quiet.

“There's a first time for everything,” replies his son.

“And where the hell would you live?” asks his grandfather finally in a tone that is clearly meant to intimidate.