Olivia stood at the bar, repeating her assumed name over and over in her head.

Charlie. Charlie. Charlie.

Her brain was smudged from the cider and wine, and a couple of times tonight, she’d nearly said the wrong thing. Given away facts about who she really was. And if that happened, all hell would break loose. She couldn’t imagine Rosie being so relaxed around her if she knew who she really was. And tonight, she was revelling in how relaxed they were in each other’s company. Although Rosie’s ex turning up had shifted the mood completely.

She paid for the drinks and the bartender gave her a once over. “How’s it going over there?” he asked.

His stare was unwavering, and Olivia was thrown. “It’s going… fine.” Was that the right answer?

“That’s good,” he replied, gripping a Peroni pump, his knuckles white. “Rosie’s very well loved around here, just so you know.”

Olivia’s eyes widened. Shit, she was getting the talk from one of the bar staff?

“I understand why,” she replied. “Thanks for the drinks.” She pocketed the change and crossed back to their table, her annoyance only fuelled as she saw Amy belting out the final bars of Whitney Houston’s classic direct to Rosie. It seemed like the whole pub was trying to tell her something tonight, but she wasn’t deterred so easily. Something had changed with her and Rosie today, and her alter ego, Charlie Smith, wasn’t a woman to ignore that.

As she sat down, the pub clapped politely for Amy, and Olivia saw the next song flash up on the large karaoke screen: Royals by Lorde.

She winced, the pub felt crowded, the room too small. She hated this song for obvious reasons, but that had never stopped her friends singing it to her on a regular basis. Jemima had even sung it the last time they’d been at a karaoke bar together, a couple of years back. Had she been singing it ironically even back then?

“Looks like I’m up,” Rosie said, giving her a wink.

Wait, Rosie was singing this? Could this evening get any more surreal?

Olivia watched her get up on stage, saw Amy take the opportunity to whisper something in her ear, to which Rosie shook her head, giving her a look as dirty as the martinis Olivia favoured back home.

Olivia narrowed her eyes: she’d only met her tonight, and already she was not an Amy fan.

Rosie tapped the microphone before she spoke. “This one’s for a newcomer to the village — I guess it’s payback time,” she said, before launching into the opening verse.

Sure, Olivia hated the song, but hell, Rosie had been holding back: she could really sing. Had honest-to-goodness, shivers-down-her-spine silky vocals. When she hit the chorus, even Olivia couldn’t help a smile crossing her face as Rosie’s husky voice nailed the lyrics, layering them with honey. By the time the song was over, she was transfixed. Rosie was a natural on stage.

When she sauntered back over to their table, Olivia gulped, taking in her sapphire stare, the curve of her hip, the sweep of her tongue on her lower lip.

Everything about Rosie was in technicolour tonight.

She stood, clapping slowly. “Hidden talents, Ms Perkins. That was just incredible — you should be on stage with a voice like that. I know some people…” She stopped, staring at her wine.

No, she didn’t.

Charlie Smith didn’t know any people.

Charlie Smith was an ex-soldier working in PR and marketing.

She heard her father’s voice in her head: “No getting drunk at the village pub, Olivia.”

But luckily, Rosie wasn’t paying attention. Instead, she gave Olivia a tight smile, before picking up her cider and downing half of it in three practised moves.

Olivia widened her eyes. “Thirsty?”

Rosie shook her head. “Blame my ex,” she said, giving a shudder as she took another swig. “My hands need something else to do rather than get tight around Amy’s neck, which some people in here might object to.”

Olivia wasn’t one of them.

Her stomach flip-flopped as she thought about all the things she could happily find to keep Rosie’s hands occupied.

And then she picked up her drink and took another swig.

Her father knew her so well.

Women and booze were always her undoing, weren’t they?

She jerked her head towards the pool table. “Shall we have another game to keep your hands occupied? No songs up for grabs, just loser buys the next round.”

Rosie grinned, her gaze raking the full length of Olivia’s body. “You’re on,” she replied.

Half an hour and another drink later, their pool prowess had taken a nosedive off a low cliff: they were both now officially drunk and officially terrible.

“I always thought playing pool got better as you drank?” Olivia furrowed her brow.

Rosie regarded her with glassy eyes and a satisfied smirk. “Maybe we should start playing strip pool, to sharpen our focus, up our game.”

Desire pressed into Olivia’s core and she cleared her throat and tried to think of something other than Rosie with her top off, breasts out. It wasn’t easy. “If you start undressing, I think that would have the opposite effect on my focus.” Then she closed her eyes, feeling her cheeks burn.

Charlie Smith was nowhere near as smooth as Olivia Charlton. Exhibit A: Charlie Smith got drunk on cheap wine and blurted out stuff without thinking.

Damn it.

Only, when she opened her eyes, Rosie was grinning at her with smouldering intent. Or was it drunk intent? Olivia couldn’t be sure.

“It might not improve our focus, but it’d certainly liven up the night, don’t you think?”

Something moved in Olivia low in her body. Way low down. She took a deep breath and pressed her feet into the ground.

They stood staring at each other, a heat creeping up Olivia’s back, when Amy’s spiky voice broke the moment, like taking a sledgehammer to ice. Thwack.

“All right ladies, who’s winning this one? Are you playing for the honour to sing again?” Amy stood between them, her back to Olivia, hands thrust into the pockets of her dark jeans. Up this close, Olivia could see a few grey hairs gathering on the back of her head; she’d have to start dying her hair soon, as Olivia guessed Amy wouldn’t be the sort to go grey gracefully. Grace didn’t seem high up on her list of virtues.

“No, we’re just playing for fun this time,” Rosie said, her voice harder than it had been a few seconds ago. “And you’re kinda in the way.”

Amy turned, giving Olivia a once-over. “And I wouldn’t want to get in the way of such a beautiful moment between you and Princess Olivia-lookalike here,” she said, reaching out and clutching Olivia’s chin, studying her face. “That’s who you remind me of, it came to me when I was singing. You really do look like her, if it weren’t for the shorter, darker hair and glasses. I don’t think princesses are allowed to have short hair, against fairy-tale laws.” She let go of Olivia’s face.

Rosie steamed in, grabbing Amy’s arm and spinning her around. “Hey! Enough with pawing our guests. Just because this is your pub, you don’t get to do whatever you like. I’ve told you that before.”

“It’s okay,” Olivia said, trying to smooth things over, even though it was far from okay. If she didn’t have her father’s words ringing in her ears, she would have kicked Amy’s arse by now. Grabbing her by the chin? Not a cool move. “I’m sure Amy didn’t mean anything by it, did you, Amy?”

As Amy spun back around to face her, Olivia fought down the urge to grab her chin, too.

Be the bigger person, don’t stoop to her level.

“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” she replied. Her surety reminded Olivia of her sister: she had a feeling not many people had ever said no to Amy in her life. Perhaps Rosie was the exception to the rule, and that was clearly driving Amy mad.

“You have to agree, though,” Amy continued, gesturing to Rosie with her hand. “Stick a brown wig on her and a posh dress, and she’d be the spitting image of the lesbian princess. The only thing is, I doubt a princess would be playing pool in the Dog & Duck, would she?” She nudged Olivia with her elbow. “You should have sung Rosie’s song, that would have been funnier.” She grinned at her own joke.

Not for the first time, Olivia wondered how Rosie had ended up with Amy. She was a good-looking woman, sure, but the problems started when she opened her mouth.

Maybe she should introduce Amy to Jemima.

“On the contrary, I don’t think anybody would have been able to sing that song any better than Rosie.” Olivia shot her pool partner a warm smile, which she was sure would wind Amy up.

Sure enough, while Rosie beamed at Olivia’s comment, Amy all but growled.

“She’s got an amazing voice — but I’m sure you know that, seeing as you used to go out.” Olivia paused, leaning on her cue, pulling herself up to passport height, a pleasing few inches taller than Amy. “I know it flowed through me like honey.”

Amy’s eyes flickered as she said the last line, and she stood up as tall as she could, squaring up to Olivia, getting right in her grill. “You think you’re clever, do you?”

“Amy, don’t—” Rosie said.

But Amy wasn’t listening. “—coming down here from London with your posh accent, your arrogant ways. Buying our homes, hitting on our women. Well you should know, money doesn’t buy everything. It doesn’t buy class, which you clearly don’t have.”

Olivia let out a strangled laugh. “And you do? Still pining after your ex when she’s clearly done with you? Singing that song tonight?”

“Enough you two!” Rosie shouted.

But she was too late.

“You want to do this posh girl? Because we can so do this.” Amy’s face was inches from hers, her cheeks alive with cider splotch. “You wanna take this outside?” When she said the last line, some of Amy’s saliva landed on Olivia’s top lip.

Keep your cool, keep your cool.

“I don’t think you want to take this outside, trust me on that.” A flare of anger blazed through Olivia and she glanced at Rosie, shaking her head. “It’s okay,” she told her over Amy’s shoulder.

“It’s not okay—” Rosie began.

“—Why, are you chicken shit?” Amy asked, placing her palms on Olivia’s chest and pushing her backwards. “Are you scared, posh girl? Because round these parts, we fight for what’s ours, we don’t just buy it.”

She finished speaking, narrowed her eyes and swung a punch upwards, aiming for Olivia’s right cheek.

But Olivia had seen it coming.

Rosie’s shout pierced the air as Olivia swayed backwards, keeping her balance with ease, and grabbing Amy’s balled fist in her hand.

With one swift move, she had hold of Amy’s arm, turned her around, twisted her arm up behind her back and pushed her down face first onto the green baize, the pool balls clicking and scattering at the intrusion.

Olivia’s blood coursed through her veins and she closed her eyes as Amy let out a surprised gasp as she landed on the table with a low thud.

The whole evening stilled, and Olivia winced, lowering her head so her mouth was level with Amy’s right ear. “I asked you nicely, but you didn’t listen. You do not want to get in a fight with me. And you especially do not want to upset Rosie, because that upsets me.”

She drew herself up, let go of Amy’s arm, and turned to Rosie, hesitancy creasing her words. “I’m sorry, but she left me no choice.” Olivia blew out a breath, holding her right arm, shaking as Amy stood up.

“I’m going outside to get some air.” Olivia ran towards the pub door, gasping for breath, her whole body shaking. She yanked the door open and fell into the summer evening.

What she’d said was true, Amy had left her no choice — she hadn’t retaliated with violence, she’d just tried to stop it. Still, it didn’t mean she wasn’t cross with herself for taking the bait and losing control.

She couldn’t afford to draw attention to herself, but she’d risked it all to defend Rosie.

Because in two short weeks, Rosie was already under her skin.