Louise Bentley is a feisty, wild, 'let's-go-to-Capri-for-the-weekend-yeah?' kind of girl. She spends her days working at a party-planning company. Oh, and she never wants kids. Ever.
Ben Langford is a studious, quiet, 'I'm-busy-reading' sort of man...
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They arrived home to find Ophelia in the living room.
She was curled up in an armchair, a heavy book propped open on her lap. Her red hair spilled over her shoulders. The room smelled like her rose-and-vanilla perfume. Ben murmured something about checking on the kids, vanishing upstairs.
"How were the kids?" Louise asked.
Ophelia closed her book. "Angels."
She hung her scarf up. "Liar."
"Well, Vienna threw all of her toys in the toilet," Ophelia said. "And Hugh refused to go to bed until you both got home." She stretched her arms up, wincing slightly. "But we got there eventually."
"Where's Andrew?"
Ophelia nodded to the couch. Lord Andrew Hazelton-Scott was curled up around a bag of crisps, sound asleep. Red and blue marker streaked his face, and he had a princess sticker on his forehead.
Louise bit back a smile. "Is it wrong of me to take a picture?"
"Oh, don't worry," Ophelia said. "I already have." She popped the book in her bag. "How was it, then? Your date?"
Louise gave her a look. "It wasn't a date."
"So you didn't kiss him?"
"Of course not." Louise hung up her coat. "Honestly, Fi. It was just a dinner between..." The word friends sounded too intimate. "People."
Ophelia smiled. "Whatever you want to call it."
They woke Andrew and said their goodbyes. By the time Louise made it upstairs, Ben was sprawled out in bed, deep asleep in his green shirt and chinos. Louise smiled. She tiptoed into the bathroom, changing into pajamas and washing her face; Ben was still asleep when she returned.
Louise nudged him. "Langford?"
No response. She poked him again.
"Langford?"
"Louise?" His voice was rough with sleep. "Am I dreaming?"
"No." She switched on the lamp. "You fell asleep in your clothes."
He was also — more crucially — hogging most of the bed. Ben must have realized this, because he sat up, running a hand over his face.
"Oh." He blinked. "Shit. Sorry."
"It's okay," Louise said. "It's been a long week." Ben didn't move. She tugged on one foot. "Go on. Get up. You can't sleep in that."
He flopped back down. "Why not?"
"At least take off your shirt," Louise said. "You'll wrinkle it."
"I can't move."
Ben's voice was slurred. Almost petulant. He sounded like Vienna refusing to get out of the bath, and Louise pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. Those cocktails at dinner must have been stronger than she'd realized.
