Mia's Wedding_A Reverse Harem Romance Novel

  Things soon heated up. The occasional moan or grunt escaped their lips as their tongues twined together and their hands wandered. Mia was happily grabbing at Thomas’s muscular, very squeezable buttocks, and he was attempting to undo her bra through her clothes when a high-pitched squeak of surprise reached her ears.

  She jumped away from Thomas as though scalded, despite knowing perfectly well it was too late for that. Far too late. There were only three people—besides her—that had access to the house, and she’d just been snogging one of them. That left James and Betty, and she doubted very much that James could ever make a sound like that.

  Her heart racing so fast it made her nauseous, she tore her gaze from Thomas’s stunned face and forced it towards the door.

  As she’d expected, Betty stood there, white as a sheet and gaping at the two of them. The woman, normally quite the chatterbox, had been rendered eerily silent.

  Mia, though utterly mortified, took some small measure of comfort from the fact that at least they’d only been kissing—it would have been infinitely more embarrassing if Betty had walked in on them having sex! But then… wouldn’t they have locked the door if they were going to have sex? Or at the very least, closed it? Who knew? They clearly hadn’t been thinking straight to even kiss with the door wide open—Mia’s office was hardly King’s Cross train station, but being seen by James or Betty was entirely feasible. Obviously.

  After another few moments of silent staring between the three of them, Betty finally recovered herself. She gave her head a little shake, blinked hard, then looked at Mia and Thomas again. “I’m so sorry, you two, I didn’t mean to intrude. I had no idea…” She tailed off as something caught her eye. Something on Mia’s left hand. As Betty’s eyes widened and colour rose up her cheeks, Mia wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole.

  She’d only gone and spotted the bloody engagement ring! How the hell was she going to talk her way out of this now? There was no chance Betty would believe some bullshit excuse about it not being an engagement ring—why would she, since it was on Mia’s ring finger?—and given what she’d just seen happening with her and Thomas, she would come to the natural conclusion that it was him she was getting married to. This revelation could blow Mia’s entire future wide apart. Fuck, fuck, fuckity-fuck!

  Mia glanced at Thomas, unsurprised to find him looking as horrified as she felt. She could practically hear the cogs in his brain spinning madly as he, too, tried desperately to think of a way of digging them out of this particularly fucked-up hole.

  “Mia,” Betty said coolly, stepping into the room and approaching the two of them, “what, my dear, is that on your finger?”

  Mia lifted her hand and looked at the ring, as if seeing it for the first time. Then she made a snap decision, hoping desperately that it wouldn’t make everything a hundred times worse. She wheeled on Thomas, mouthed “Sorry”, then slapped his gorgeous face. She hadn’t put much force behind it, naturally, given she didn’t actually want to hurt the man she was head over heels in love with, but the sound still echoed horribly in the otherwise silent room. “I can’t believe you just did that!” she yelled, the roiling in her stomach increasing. “I’m bloody well engaged! You know what, I think you should leave. We’ll discuss this later, when I’ve calmed down.”

  Keeping her fingers mentally crossed that Thomas had realised what she was trying to do, and didn’t think she’d lost her mind, as well as picking up on her emphasis on the word later, she glared at him.

  He held his hands up, surprise registering in his eyes for a moment before dissolving into what she hoped was comprehension. “I’m leaving, I’m leaving. I’m sorry.”

  With that, he hurried from the room as though the hounds of hell were snapping at his heels. Given the way Betty was glaring after him, Mia thought that hellhounds would be preferable.

  Once Thomas’s footsteps were no longer audible, the housekeeper spun to face Mia, who cringed. Was she now about to get a telling off? Given the relationship she had with Betty was some kind of weird employer-surrogate daughter hybrid, it was entirely possible.

  To her astonishment, Betty threw her pudgy arms around Mia and pulled her into a tight hug. Tenderly stroking Mia’s hair, Betty said, “Are you all right, my love? He didn’t hurt you, did he? I’ll throttle that boy if he did!”

  Desperate to buy herself some time in which to figure out her next move, Mia clung on to the housekeeper, feigning distress. Although it wasn’t entirely feigned. She was bloody distressed! She was in a huge mess and currently couldn’t see a way out of it. Much more of this and her tormented stomach was going to empty its contents right there on the floor.

  After several minutes, Betty could apparently no longer tolerate the silence. Much like Thomas had earlier, she put her hands on Mia’s arms and pushed her away. Looking concernedly into Mia’s eyes, the older woman said, “Speak to me, please! I beg you. Tell me what happened—or at the very least, tell me you’re all right. That he didn’t hurt you.” She let out a sound that was something between a sigh and a snarl. “I thought he was a nice boy. Thought you two were getting along, that you might be courting. But obviously I was wrong…” She gasped and reached for Mia’s left hand, then lifted it to gaze at the jewellery adorning her ring finger. “Since, in your very own words, you’re bloody well engaged!” Looking up at Mia’s face, her own eyes round as saucers, Betty said, “Just what on earth is going on here?”

  Chapter Eight

  “Betty…” Mia said placatingly, taking the housekeeper’s arm and steering her towards the sofa, still scrabbling around inside her head for a plausible explanation. Betty could be naïve at times, but she wasn’t stupid. She, on the other hand, felt like the biggest idiot on the planet for allowing herself to get into this situation in the first place. If only they’d closed the fucking door! “Why don’t you sit down? I’ll go and make a pot of tea. Find some nice biscuits.”

  Just before they reached the seating area, Betty snatched her arm from Mia’s grasp and planted her feet. She wagged a finger. “Don’t you be treating me like I’m an imbecile, Mia Harrington! I might not be your mother, but we’ve known each other long enough that I deserve better. I know these days you’re technically my employer and you can give me my marching orders if you want to, but I’m just looking out for you. Hardly a sackable offence. You’re acting as though I’m the one who’s had a shock. Well, I have, but you know what I mean. Why are you protecting him? What aren’t you telling me? And if it’s not Thomas you’re marrying, who in the blazes is it? And where on earth have you been hiding him?”

  For now, at least, Mia could be truthful. “You, er, don’t know him, Betty. He lives in London.”

  “Ahh,” Betty said as if the world’s greatest mystery had been solved. Mia could almost see the light bulb appearing over her housekeeper’s head. “That’s why you’ve been swanning off to London every chance you get. I thought it was because you needed to get away from this place, from all the memories. Understandable, of course. But now I see the truth is one of those… city boys,” she spat the words as though she’d actually said ‘dangerous criminals’, “has turned your head. Swept you off your feet. Knows you’ve just inherited an estate and a pile of cash, does he?” She raised her eyebrows pointedly.

  Mia gaped, unable to believe what she’d just heard. She blinked and shook her head. “Betty! Can you hear yourself? You’re not even making any sense. All you’ve done for years is badger me to find myself a nice man and settle down, and now I’m making positive steps in that direction, you’re accusing my intended of being a gold-digger, and me of being an utter moron!”

  “I said no such thing,” the older woman protested, folding her arms, her expression now akin to that of a bulldog chewing a wasp.

  “Maybe not in so many words. But if you think Elias is only interested in me for my money, then you’re implying that I’m stupid enough to get involved with someone like that. And you couldn’t be further from the truth.
Elias has plenty of money of his own, which he earns as a successful investment banker. He’s also from a family much richer than mine. Last, but certainly not least, he will be signing a prenuptial agreement, in any case. And that’s got nothing to do with Elias specifically—it’s something I promised my father I would do before I ever got married.” In a roundabout way that last part was true. She raised her eyebrows. “Anything else, Betty? Any other accusations or insults you want to throw around? Because I’d get them in now if I were you, as you’re about to be the second person I’ve asked to leave my office in the space of fifteen minutes. That must be some kind of record.” She clenched her fists in an attempt to stop her hands shaking as a heady mixture of anger, fear, and shock coursed through her veins.

  The older woman opened her mouth, then, instead of speaking, let out a heavy sigh and dropped her hands to her sides. After another second, her shoulders slumped and she said, “Very well, Mia. I think we’ve both said enough, for now.” She turned and took two steps towards the door, then stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Actually, I haven’t. Not quite. This marriage thing aside—if Thomas did something to hurt you earlier, or any other time, for that matter, you must do something about it. That kind of behaviour is completely unacceptable, and I’d never forgive myself if I sat idly by and did nothing when I suspected something was amiss. Especially since your poor old dad is no longer here to look out for you.”

  Thanks, Betty. As if I needed reminding of that.

  Mia shook her head. “Betty, I swear to you, Thomas has done nothing to hurt me. What you saw earlier was a misunderstanding. I will talk to him about it later and we’ll get everything sorted out, and things will go back to normal.” It seemed she was getting quite good at this technically-telling-the-truth-without-giving-anything-away lark. Just as well, really, since her life was plenty complicated enough without her mouth getting her into trouble, too.

  “Humph,” the older woman said. “Well, I’d better get back to work. Lots to do!” she gave a humourless laugh and continued on her way.

  Fixed to the spot, Mia watched Betty leave. Then, as soon as she was out of sight, she hurried over to the door and closed it softly, then twisted the lock. Christ—if only she’d thought to do that earlier, none of this would even be happening! She leaned her forehead against the cool wood of the door and tried to arrange her thoughts in to some semblance of order. It was no good—it was like a box of hyperactive frogs in there.

  With a sigh, she turned and strode over to the seating area and slumped onto the sofa, feeling utterly defeated. She snatched up one of the large cushions and cradled it protectively against her abdomen. Then, an idea having occurred to her, she lifted it to her face and clamped it over her mouth before letting loose a scream that started somewhere in the very deepest part of her and ended up mostly absorbed into the fabric and stuffing of the cushion. Panic, fear, frustration, and a whole bunch of other negative emotions poured out, and eventually she was left with a mighty sore throat, but feeling decidedly less like she was going to vomit.

  Figuring it was a vast improvement on the way she’d felt a few minutes ago, she got to her feet, shook and plumped the cushion before returning it to its rightful place, then went back to her desk. She took her seat, then reached for the glass of water she’d placed on her desk earlier. Gulping down two thirds of the glass’s contents soothed her throat no end, and she turned her attentions back to her emails much improved in mind and body. Distracting her brain with work-related stuff would help even further, since she wouldn’t have the capacity left over to worry about her personal life and the events that had transpired that morning.

  She’d just finished checking all the relevant rent payments had come in—they had, much to her relief, since chasing tenants was at the top of her list of most undesirable tasks—when her mobile phone rang. She made a silent plea for it to be someone she wanted to speak to, about a favourable topic, and snatched up the device.

  Arjun Chaudary calling, read the display.

  Her eyebrows seeming to shoot up of their own accord, Mia fumbled with the phone and almost dropped it before managing to get a grip—physically and metaphorically. She cleared her throat, then swiped at the screen to answer the call before lifting it to her ear, hoping she could hear him through the pulse that suddenly pounded there. “Hello, Mia Harrington speaking.”

  “Hello, Mia Harrington,” came the lightly-accented voice that sent thrills racing up and down her spine. “This is Arjun Chaudary speaking—owner of the Aventador, do you remember?”

  Do I remember? Bloody hell, I’d remember a guy as stunningly gorgeous as you if he owned a piece of shit car destined only for the scrap yard.

  Despite her thundering pulse, she paused for a moment before responding, as though trying to place him. Way to play it cool, Mia. “Arjun! Of course! How are you? It’s wonderful to hear from you.”

  “I’m very well, thank you. And yourself?” Sounds in the background indicated he was driving.

  “Yes, yes, I’m great, thanks.” Liar. “What can I do for you?”

  “Well…” There was a pause, and when he spoke again he sounded more hesitant. “When we met, I was incredibly forward and asked you out to dinner. You turned me down on that occasion for perfectly understandable reasons, but you agreed that some other time would be acceptable. So I’m hoping lunch today would be possible.”

  She frowned. “Today? Lunch?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry, I know it’s short notice, but I am on my way to your area for an appointment this afternoon. Only I didn’t realise just how close I would be to your village until it popped up on my satnav screen, otherwise I would have called before now. I completely understand if you’re too busy, Mia. It’s naughty of me to drop this on you so late, but I have thought of you often since we met and when I realised… well, I couldn’t resist. I won’t keep you from your work for very long—as I say, I have an afternoon appointment. But it would be wonderful to see you again.”

  She ran a hand through her hair, her brain whirring once again. So much for her work providing a distraction.

  But then… wouldn’t Arjun provide a distraction? A smart, handsome distraction? And it would only be for a couple of hours…

  Oh, fuck it. Why not? He might just put a positive spin on what’s been a shitty day so far.

  “Yes, all right. I would love to. Where would you like to meet? And at what time?”

  “Twelve thirty? As for the where—I don’t know. My appointment is at the university campus a few miles away from you, but I’m not familiar with the area, so perhaps you can recommend somewhere?”

  “Er… okay.” She racked her brain for a moment, then thought oh, what the hell, and named the pub in her small village. Her being there with a man might pique interest in the locals, maybe even spark a little gossip, but she could live with that. She was doing nothing wrong, and for all they knew, it was an informal business meeting. The biggest plus points were proximity to her home, and the delicious food served there. Oh, and the fact it got her out for a bit. She knew she couldn’t avoid Thomas and Betty for long, but even just buying herself a couple of hours to wind down had to be a good thing, right?

  “All right. I assume since you have recommended it that the food there is good?”

  “Yes, it’s amazing. Nothing posh. Just good, honest pub grub. If you’re looking for something more gourmet then we’ll have to go a bit further afield.”

  “No, no, good, honest pub grub is perfect. Will I find the place easily?”

  Mia chuckled. “Oh yes. The village is tiny, and it’s the only pub. If you can’t find it, you probably need glasses.”

  Arjun let out a chuckle of his own, and the warm, melodic sound sent a fizzing sensation through her veins. “All right. I hope my eyesight doesn’t let me down, then. I will see you at twelve thirty, Mia. I look forward to it.”

  “Me too. See you then. Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  A click signalled t
he end of the call. Mia replaced her phone on the desk, then jabbed at the home button to illuminate the screen so she could see what time it was. She had about an hour and a half to get ready and get to the pub. The centre of the village was only about a mile away from her front gates, so she could easily walk, but a glance out of the window immediately dissuaded her of that notion. As much as the fresh air would help clear her head, she didn’t want to arrive for her lunch date with Arjun looking like a drowned rat. Rain fell steadily, and steely-grey clouds hung low, indicating the weather front was here to stay for a while. Damn it. The car it is, then.

  She spent another half an hour working, then shut down her computer before heading to her bedroom to freshen up and get changed. While a jeans and top ensemble was perfectly fine for when she worked from home and didn’t see anyone bar Thomas, Betty, and James, a lunch date definitely called for more effort. Not too much, though—she didn’t want to set those tongues in the village wagging too hard. Ideally, she needed to find something pretty, but that said working lunch, rather than last minute lunch date.

  After a fair amount of deliberation, she went for a teal-coloured shift dress with a flowery pattern, teamed with opaque black tights and spike-heeled boots. She slung a cardigan over the top, which she knew spoiled the look a little, but she didn’t want to freeze to death on the way to the pub—on such a short journey, the heating in her car would barely get chance to kick in. She’d take it off as soon as she got into the pub—it was always warm in there, especially in the snug with the wood burner blazing.

  Once she was satisfied with her clothing, she redid her makeup, spritzed on some more perfume, added a necklace and some earrings, then made to leave. She’d almost reached her bedroom door when she realised she was about to make a huge mistake. Yet again. Shaking her head at her own stupidity, she hurried into her office and opened the hefty safe that sat in one corner. She pulled out her mother’s jewellery box and lifted the lid. Then she removed her engagement ring—feeling a pang of regret in her gut as she did so—put it in the box, and locked it away.