A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed so far – I really appreciate it. And a special thank you to my lovely beta elwren75 for your help with this chapter and all the others! Hope you guys enjoy this one – please review and tell me what you think!
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Part Eleven – A Convincing Act
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'So, how did you find Spain?'
It was that time again. Monthly family dinner time – or, as Margaret preferred to think of it, monthly interrogation time. She had had the pleasure of her first encounter with Mrs. Thornton in her home before the wedding in January, and then had had the even greater pleasure of missing the February dinner due to being on honeymoon with John.
Sitting at Mrs. Thornton's dinner table once a month, eating her admittedly delicious food (perhaps John's cooking obsession wasn't such a surprise then) and answering her questions was apparently a Thornton family tradition, and as the newest addition to the Thornton family, Margaret was expected by the stern matriarch to uphold it.
'Spain was great,' John replied sincerely. 'We had a lot of fun, going to art galleries, that kind of thing. We went to the beach once or twice as well.' He shot a glance at Margaret as he said it, and the corner of his mouth quirked up ever so slightly.
Margaret had to struggle to stifle a giggle. They had gone to an art gallery once, and had pretty much lived on the beach for the rest of the two weeks. It had been the most fun she'd had on a holiday since she'd gone with her parents to Disneyland as a kid, perhaps partly due to the fact that a wet John in board shorts was a damn sight nicer than that creepy old man in a moth-eaten Mickey Mouse costume. She shook her head slightly to dispel the mental image (both of them) – focus!
Wandering of attention was always dangerous when holding a conversation with Mrs. Thornton; brain had to keep pace with mouth, or else their cover would be blown to smithereens. There had already been a close shave earlier in the evening when she had refused the glass of wine Mrs. Thornton had offered her. The woman had given her such a shrewd look that Margaret was sure that she had figured it out then and there, but then John had hurriedly explained that Margaret never drank. Although fully aware of the irony of the fact that if she truly never drank then she wouldn't be here, Margaret had nodded and smiled, mentally making a note that she was now a teetotaler.
There was no way of telling if they had convinced her or not.
Some time later Mrs. Thornton casually speared a potato with her fork and chewed thoughtfully. When she was finished she asked, 'So Margaret, what have you and John planned regarding children?'
Margaret choked on the sip of water she had taken and began to cough. Did she know? John patted her back, and as she sneaked a glance at him out of the corner of her eye, she could see that he was worried too.
When she had recovered, she cleared her throat nervously. John's hand was still on her back and she knew from the meaningful pressure his fingers exerted for a second, that she was not to reveal the news yet. 'Well, we haven't really planned anything as such,' she began, and even as she was speaking, she could see herself in a hospital bed sometime in October, protesting to her mother-in-law that the baby was premature. Then a sudden thought occurred to her – goodness, what on earth would they say if the baby actually was premature? She shook herself inwardly, trying to resist her sudden mad urge to laugh. Focus, Margaret.
John's hand moved from her back until his arm had settled around her waist, and he smiled warmly down at her even as she turned her head sharply to look up at him, eyes wide. 'That's right,' he said to his mother. 'And besides, I'm enjoying Margaret's company too much to share her with anyone else just yet.' He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek, and she stiffened for a second before forcing herself to relax. She shouldn't feel anything when he did that – he was only pretending, after all. For some reason this, coupled with the fact that she remained highly aware of the feel of his arm around her for the rest of the evening bugged her more than it should have.
Later as they drove home, she said, trying to keep her manner playful, 'You didn't need to overdo the act, you know, just to convince your mother.'
He kept his eyes on the road, his expression inscrutable. 'What act?' he said.
Of all the things he could have said, this was the last she had expected. She was not sure what to say in reply.
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