Just Like Her

Chapter 65

Emma

True to form, within a minute of our arrival Tom had been pulled away to speak with several MPs. He glanced down at me in apology, but I forced a brave grin.

"I'll be fine," I assured him with a brief peck on the cheek. "Go on."

He squeezed my hand before politely following the tuxedoed man through the thickening crowd.

I had mistakenly assumed dinner implied a smaller affair, but within the adjoining parlours at least fifty people were milling about with more and more filtering in through the double doors.

A served strode by with a tray ladened with champagne. I smiled gratefully as he paused to offer me a flute and had to remind myself not to down the whole thing in one go.

While I had certainly gained plenty of experience navigating society events in recent weeks, I had always done so with Cynthia or Tom to guide me. I wasn't even sure Cynthia knew we were in attendance, though I doubted she didn't.

That woman knows everything, I thought to myself as I took another measured sip.

Including what to say and what definitively not to say. I, on the other hand & to my growing anxiety, had no bloody idea.

"You must be Emma," a voiced chirped behind me.

I plastered a demure smile on my lips and turned to greet a glamorous looking middle-aged woman.

Her long blonde hair was tied back in its typical low bun and her trademark double strand of pearls practically shimmered under the chandelier lighting. She was shorter than she appeared in the papers, but even without Cynthia's guidance, I knew not to voice my observation to the woman standing before. The Prime Minister's wife.

"Y-yes. I am." I stammered before quickly sticking my hand out to her. "Emma Henderson."

She nodded politely and squeezes my fingers. "A pleasure."

"Thank you for having us," I managed to say somewhat more eloquently.

"Oh, I'm so glad you could come on such short notice!" She exclaimed, still not letting go of my hand. "Really the invitation should have been sent to you weeks ago. An administrative oversight. I do apologize."

I smiled politely and didn't correct her that it had been an MP—not her husband—who had extended the invitation.

"It's an honor to be thought of at all," I attempted to assure her.

I glanced around as her trill laugh caught the attention of those around us. "Oh, Emma dear. Surely you must know with all the press you receive that quite a few people think of you quite often."

"I try not to pay attention to the press."

She batted her eyelashes prettily. "But you were once a member of it, were you not?"

My eyebrows lifted in surprise. "I was, yes. I was a book reviewer until recently."

"For The Print," she nodded.

I cleared my throat, suddenly feeling quite warm. "Yes."

"I noticed they haven't been covering much of the royal family's events these days," she pressed.

I opened my mouth to ask her what she meant, but we were interrupted by a flurry of camera shutters.

I closed my mouth and forced a smile towards the flashing lights. When the photographer finally left, I turned back toward the Prime Minister's wife but she was already patting my shoulder in parting.