Page 48 of Hexed Up

“You think your cousin Jack would rather share a room with your boyfriend instead of his own wife?”

“No, it’s just that … you’ve never let me share a room with a boyfriend before.”

“The last time you brought a boyfriend home to visit was over a decade ago,” she says coolly, “you’re a grown woman now. And your father and I have never been prudish about these things.” I nearly choke because, spoiler alert, she has been very prudish in the past. In fact, it was Prim who gave me the birds and the bees talk. “And I was young myself once. But,” she adds, “if your relationship isn’t that serious and you–”

“It’s serious,” I say, feeling suddenly hot, cold, and dizzy all at once. “That’s great, mum, thank you.”

I hang up before she can say more. For a good five minutes I just sit there staring at the wall, determining how we’re going to get round this, then McGruff barks in my face and I snap out of my reverie.

Probably, it was only me that even considered we wouldn’t be sharing. Probably, Horatio has a normal family and assumed that we would be. Is that why he was so willing to go ahead with this fake-dating business?

I slap my own forehead. I cannot think this way.

I pick up my phone and message him – keeping it light and breezy and casual.

Just checking you’ve packed your pyjamas.

It’s 30 degrees!

Hotel rooms can be chilly on account of the AC. I would recommend you pack some.

There, problem solved. Although then I start imagining Horatio’s pyjamas which ends up being way more perverted than it should be. I nearly look up if it’s possible to have some very sensible pyjamas for him delivered to the flat before we go – the type of pyjamas granddads wear in hospital. Although, it’s likely Horatio could make even those look sexy. In fact, I bet he could make a bin bag look sexy. Or a pair of those really small, really tight Speedos that usually make me throw up in my mouth a little.

McGruff barks again and I shake my head, wondering how I’m going to make it through this weekend.

At 5.30 I’m waiting outside our building with McGruff and my suitcase. Horatio has insisted on driving us to the gathering. He says, because it’s taking place in the middle of nowhere, somewhere in the Cotswolds (not a problem for those who can magically transport there), it will be quicker than the tube, trains, and taxis otherwise required.

At 5.31, the red Ferrari swerves into the space outside Heatherley Court and the passenger window lowers revealing Horatio in the driver’s seat. He’s still in his suit, although he’s wearing a dark pair of shades over his eyes. He slides them to the top of his head, blue eyes twinkling at me, gaze gliding down my body.

“Need a ride?”

My legs melt into jelly and it takes me a lot of effort to walk the two steps to the car and bend to peer in through the window.

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

He hops out of the car and opens the passenger door for me, pulling forward the seat so that McGruff can hop into the tiny space in the back, then he takes my suitcase and places it into the boot, as I slide into the car.

I don’t think I’ve been in a vehicle this fancy ever. The leather is smooth and luxurious-smelling, lights are flashing on and off all over the place and the music rumbles smoothly from the speakers.

Horatio climbs back into the car and knocks his shades back onto his nose.

“Ready?” he asks me.

I hook my own sunglasses into place. “Ready,” I tell him.

The car engine sounds even more impressive from inside the vehicle – like a powerful predator growling – when he revs it up and shoots us forward. We dart seamlessly through the London traffic and soon we’re cruising out on the motorway, people staring admiringly at us as we zoom past.

“Maybe if I owned one of these, I’d feel less shitty about not being able to transport,” I murmur, entranced by the lush green countryside flashing past the windows.

“Can you drive?” Horatio asks me.

I laugh. “Me? Drive? No.”

“Then that may be a problem in your plan.”

“That and the fact I will never in a million years have enough money to own one of these. I’m lucky my aunt left me her flat.”

“That’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he says, glancing my way and tugging on the gear stick.