‘I’m a big girl.’ I brush off his concern with ease, despite it being entirely his fault that I wound up in that position. It won’t happen again. ‘And, anyway, you did come.’ I grin, trying to ease his guilt. ‘Inside me.’

He matches my grin. ‘Double sass.’

Footsteps interrupt us and Nan appears, her jolly face jollier than normal, and I know it’s because Miller is here and he’s agreed to let her feed him. ‘Hotpot!’ she sings, delighted. ‘I didn’t have time for anything more extravagant.’

Miller rips his eyes from mine and pivots on his expensive shoes. Nan’s delight increases, even if she’s lost the lovely view of Miller’s buns. ‘I’m sure that whatever you’ve decided on, it’ll be just perfect, Mrs Taylor.’

She flaps a tea towel at Miller, all bashful and giggly. ‘I’ve laid the table in the kitchen.’

‘Had I known we’d be eating together, I would have brought something,’ Miller says, taking my nape and encouraging me to follow Nan to the kitchen.

‘Nonsense!’ Nan laughs. ‘Besides, I still have the champagne and the caviar.’

‘With hotpot?’ I ask on a frown.

‘No, but I doubt Miller would have brought a barrel of cheap ale to slurp.’ Nan flips her hand, indicating a chair. ‘Sit.’

My chair is pulled out for me and tucked back under once I’ve taken my seat. His mouth meets my ear. ‘How fast can you eat hotpot?’

I ignore him and concentrate on soaking up the heat of his breath in my ear, probably a stupid thing to do, but it doesn’t matter how fast I can eat because Miller’s manners prevent him from scoffing down food.

He takes his seat next to me and gives me a salacious smirk, just as a huge pot lands in the centre of the table. I inhale the smell of meat, veggies and potatoes. And grimace. I’m not in the least bit hungry, only for the infuriating male seated next to me.

‘Where has George got to?’ Nan gripes, looking impatiently down at her watch. ‘He’s five minutes late.’

‘George is joining us?’ Miller asks, nodding at the steaming pot, his instruction for me to dive in. ‘It’ll be nice to see him again.’

‘Hmmm, it’s not like him to be late.’

She’s right. He’s usually sitting at the table armed with his knife and fork in plenty of time to be the first into the pot. Unfortunately, I get the pleasure today. I take the serving spoon with as much enthusiasm as I feel and plunge it into the middle, wafting the smell into the air surrounding us.

‘Smells delicious,’ Miller informs Nan, keeping his eyes on me. I’m not sure how much I can stomach, but with Nan and Miller both taking a vested interest in my eating habits, I’m destined to struggle my way through a whole bowl.

The chime of the doorbell saves me. ‘I’ll get it.’ I drop the spoon and lift my bum from the chair, only to be pushed back down.

‘Allow me,’ Miller interjects, taking the serving spoon and transferring a heaped spoonful into my dish before he makes off down the hallway.

‘Thank you, Miller,’ Nan croons, smiling brightly. ‘Such a gentleman.’

‘Some of the time,’ I mutter under my breath, collecting the serving spoon and piling Miller’s bowl high until it’s near to overflowing.

‘Is he hungry?’ Nan asks, her old eyes following the spoon travelling back and forth from the pot to Miller’s dish.

‘Starving,’ I declare, silently smug.

‘Save some for George. He’ll blow a gasket if he doesn’t get at least two helpings.’ She peeks into the pot, noting the remaining contents.

‘There’s plenty.’

‘Good. Tuck in.’ She waves her finger at my bowl, and I wonder where the table etiquette has disappeared to – the one where we wait for everyone to start together. Nan glances down the hallway on a wrinkle of her brow. ‘Do you think he got lost?’

‘I’ll go.’ I jump up, anything to delay eating, hoping by some miracle I’ll find my appetite while I’m finding Miller and George. Showing no urgency, I stroll down the hallway, catching a glimpse of Miller’s back as the door closes behind him.

‘What do you want?’ I hear him spit on an attempted hush. It’s a mega fail.

It takes me only a split second to figure that whoever rang the doorbell wasn’t George. They would be back at the table by now, and Miller wouldn’t be asking that question in such a vicious tone. My pace quickens and so does my heart. I take the door handle and pull, but it shifts only millimetres, the resistance increasing slightly under my tug. I don’t want to shout at him and attract Nan’s attention, so I wait a few moments until I feel the resistance ease up; then I throw all of my might into yanking it open. It works. Miller staggers slightly from his unexpected loss of grip, his hair falling onto his brow, his shocked blues darting to me.

‘Olivia.’ He hardly contains his sigh of exasperation as he steps towards me and slides a palm onto my nape. Then he shifts to the side, revealing the mystery guest.

‘Gregory,’ I breathe, delighted and cautious all at once. This isn’t ideal. I would never have chosen to try and repair our friendship with Miller around, but he’s here now and there’s nothing I can do about it. Gregory’s ticking jaw isn’t a good sign that his tolerance of Miller has improved, and Miller’s buzzing form touching mine indicates the same response to my friend.

‘Nice and cosy,’ Gregory grinds out with scathing eyes roaming from Miller to me.

‘Don’t be like that,’ I say softly, attempting to move towards him and getting nowhere. Miller isn’t releasing me, come hell or high water. ‘Miller, please.’ I twist out of his hold and get growled at for my trouble.

‘Forget it, Olivia.’ He reclaims me and I glance up, seeing murder etched all over his face. I don’t need this. ‘What do you want?’ Miller’s tone is soaked in threat.

‘I want to speak to Olivia.’ Gregory states his request on a snarl, matching Miller’s fieriness. They’re like two wolves in a staring stand-off, heaving and gnashing jaws, each one getting ready to attack, except I’m not sure which one will lose their control first. Gregory’s bravado is commendable.

‘Then speak.’

‘Alone.’

Miller’s head shakes mildly, confidently, supremacy oozing from every pore of his refined physique. ‘No,’ he says on a whisper, but the near-silent word is loaded with determination – no raised volume necessary.

Gregory rips his brown eyes from Miller and they land on me with a contemptuous bang. ‘Fine, you can stay,’ he relents, the vein in his neck throbbing.

‘That’s not up for negotiation,’ Miller clarifies.

My best friend doesn’t bless Miller with a disdainful look, instead keeping cold eyes on me. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says, with zero sincerity, his face holding the look of indifference that’s been apparent since I clapped eyes on him. He doesn’t appear or sound sorry in the slightest, yet I’m willing him to be. I want to apologise, too, but for what I don’t know. I don’t think I have anything to be remorseful for. Nevertheless, I’ll willingly offer up an apology if it means I’ll get Gregory back. I may have been distracted since our altercation, but he’s not been around and it’s been gnawing on my conscience. I’ve missed him terribly.