Just Like Her

Chapter 8

Tom

"No phones at the table," a voice mockingly jeered from behind me.

"We're not at the table, you twat," I retorted as I slid my phone into my pocket and turned to face my cousin, Charlie, smirking down at me.

I was considered rather tall by most, yet Charlie was nearly a head taller. He was thinner, too, with a lanky athletic build that afforded him a gracefulness I had grown accustomed to cursing on the rugby pitch where he always managed to somehow slip from my grip like some sort of fish.

Off the pitch, it wasn't his build that I found myself cursing but rather his prankster sensibility. His elder brother, Edward, was incredibly serious—as the heirs to the thrown tended to be—and none of my sisters found Charlie's jokes to be either clever or amusing, and so his antics fell to me—on me or sometimes at me depending on whatever Charlie had in mind.

He hooked his arm roughly around my neck and steered us over toward the drink cart. "Could that possibly be a girl you're texting?"

I reached for the amber whiskey and poured us two tumblers. "You say that as if it were impossible."

Charlie shrugged as he accepted the drink I offered him. "You just don't date, that's all."

"I'm not a monk!"

He snorted and then took a long sip. "Sure," he finally said, "but you still don't date."

"I date!" I exclaimed, my voice pitching rather high in defense.

"Not very often!"

"Well it isn't particularly easy being a part of this family, is it?"

Charlie shrugged into his drink. "That's debatable."

I rephrased. "Shagging maybe, but dating isn't."

He opened his mouth to retort but quickly closed it, smoothly pulling his features into a doleful smile. "Aunt Eliza!"

I raised my glass to my lips and over its rim sent my cousin a curt look. He raised his eyebrows, but followed my unspoken request and said nothing more.

"Hello, Charlie." 

I could feel the smile in my mother's voice just as surely as I could feel the soft weight of her hand now resting on my shoulder blade. "You boys ready for dinner?"

We both nodded and dutifully followed her into the private family dining room.

* * *

I've never been sure when exactly the tradition began, but I'm fairly certain—like most things in the family—it began with Gran. 

According to my father's memory, she had been the one to institute weekly family dinners—rain or shine, political crisis or visiting diplomat—Sunday was a holy day reserved for God and family, though the order of which depended on which entity had irked her less the previous week.

The tradition of weekly family dinner maintained through both my Uncle Henry and my father's weddings and each of their first-born children. The running joke is that it was Cynthia's boisterous entrance into the family that finally broke it, but that line is only retold to distract from the unspoken truth: around the time of my sister's birth, my grandfather was quietly diagnosed with dementia. 

What began as irregular lapses in memory quickly evolved into longer and angrier spells of confusion. It was difficult enough to keep the signs away from the press; I doubt they were anymore eager for the grandchildren to bare whiteness to it.

By the time I came round, family dinner had been firmly established as a monthly occurrence, falling on either the first or second Sunday depending on if there were a birthday.

Though it was a family dinner, during which there was to be no mention of titles or state obligations of any kind, it was still not a casual affair. The dress code was cocktail attire and the number of courses tended to hover between five or seven, again depending on birthdays. It was strictly family-only, though an exception had been made for fiancés in the past (but only if the wedding date had been announced).

Tonight's dinner had gone as usual with Gran sitting at the foot of the table and my Uncle Henry at the head, the rest of us sitting and chatting freely between. At the end of the meal, we were allowed to get up and stretch our limbs as we sipped at our digestif.

I quietly slipped away to the nearby veranda. The afternoon had been warmer than usual, but the night air was cool and slightly crisp. It had felt the same the night Emma had walked along the edge of the fountain in Hyde Park. I closed my eyes briefly at the memory of her toe dipping just below the surface of the water, of me pulling her toward me, of her fingers running through my hair...

A shoulder bumped into mine and knocked me out of my reminiscence.

"So, what's her name?"

I glanced over at Charlie and then took another sip of the saccharine liquor.

"Has Cynthia met her yet?"

I swallowed and nodded.

"Well come on then! She obviously must mean something to you."

I sighed. "I didn't mean for them to meet—"

"Don't tell me you took her to one of those charity events—"

"Don't you start in on it, too," I groaned.

Charlie laughed. "Does that even work?"

I laughed, too, and shook my head. "Apparently... Her name's Emma."

His laughter faded into a somber smile. "Is it serious?"

I glanced over at him again and caught the sincerity shining in his eyes. I hesitated and then nodded.

"She know?" His voice was lower now, though I doubted anyone else inside could hear our conversation.

I cleared my throat. "Not yet."

"No one used your title at that bloody event you dragged her to?" He asked incredulously.

"We didn't stay long," I muttered.

"Just long enough for you to look good?" He retorted glibly.

"It wasn't about that—"

"I know," he laughed reassuringly. "But you'll still tell her?"

I nodded. "Soon."

"Next time you see her," he ordered as he downed the remaining liquid in his tiny glass.

"She's on a trip."

"So clear your schedule," he shrugged.

I began to roll my eyes. "Oh come on—"

"Oh come on, what?" Charlie clasped his hand on my shoulder and leaned in, his breath off-puttingly sweet. "I don't need to tell you how burdensome our titles can be."

"No," I admitted. "You don't."

He squeezed my shoulder, pulling me in closer. "So make the best of it! Clear your schedule, surprise her, and sweep dear Emma off her feet!"

"Charlie—"

"Show her the benefits," he continued seriously, "before she experiences the pitfalls."

A/N: What are your first impressions of Tom's family? Would you follow Charlie's advice? Leave a comment below & please don't forget to vote! 

Thanks for reading!