Chapter Three
AMIRA
“H oney?” Noah keeps his eyes on the road but reaches across the console to poke my side.
I hold in a groan, elbowing his arm away before crossing my arms over my chest. At my lack of response, Noah continues rattling off ridiculous pet names, each more far-fetched than the last.
He clicks his fingers in delight. “It’s gotta be something sweet, for all the treats you make. Sugar? Sweet cheeks? Cupcake?”
The groan finally escapes as I press my thumbs against my temples. Shaking my head, I shift in the seat to face Noah. His hands grip the steering wheel, and although he doesn’t face me, I can see how his lips turn up at my reaction.
“Don’t,” I warn.
“Oh, I will. Cupcake it is.”
My eyes roll, and I’d push back but I know how Noah is. The more I fight, the more determined he will become. And I’d never admit it to his face, but there is an element of truth in his reasoning. As ostentatious as ‘Cupcake’ is, it gives our relationship a hint of believability. And if I want my father off my back, he needs to believe Noah and I are the real deal. So, I’ll put up with a silly nickname for one night.
“Is there anything I should know about your family?” Noah asks as we pull into the carpark of the repurposed warehouse.
Noah’s comment has stress clawing its way up my spine. In hindsight, we probably should have gone over this before right now . But the few times I’ve seen him I was too busy trying not to look at the man I’m about to pretend to be in love with. Just thinking about tonight would make my cheeks burn. No one wants to pretend to be on a date, and here I am making Noah do exactly that. I mean, yes he offered , but I doubt he knew what he was getting himself into. And I was so worried that if he found out he’d back-pedal. So, I did everything in my power not to bring it up only now I’m thinking maybe we should have come up with a plan. If for nothing else than to have avoided him calling me Cupcake all evening.
What can I tell him about my family now, as we’re pulling up for the wedding? How do I succinctly wrap everything up into an easy to consume, two or three sentences?
“Uh, everyone knows everyone. You’ll have to meet my dad at some point, but otherwise I’ll try to keep him away from you.”
“Why?”
“Because he’ll hate you. Or, what you stand for.”
Noah frowns, a deep crease forming between his brows as he runs his hand through his hair. Any attempt he made at keeping his slightly too long blond waves neat melts away under his fingers. “I thought he wanted you to be with someone. Wasn’t that the whole point?”
“Believe me, it is more about control. About forcing my hand to accept the date he had lined up. He won’t be happy I’ve ‘found someone’”—I hold up my fingers in air quotes because it’s ridiculous—“he’ll be frustrated he didn’t get his way.”
“Right.”
Noah pulls my hand from the air and wraps his fingers around it. I feel his arm twitch like he wants to pull me into him, and despite everything I’m ready to fall into his arms. But instead he drops my hand with a faint sigh. “Amira, what can I do?”
“Be charming and friendly without drawing attention to yourself. Pretend you’re in love with me without being overbearing because I’d never put up with that in a relationship.”
“So, just be myself then? Got it.” Noah chuckles, then nods over my shoulder. “I think they’re waiting for you.”
I turn my attention to the venue, and sure enough a group of women in matching brown dresses huddle by the door. The outside of the converted warehouse looks classically drab. Tall white walls with paint peeling in the top most corners. There are no windows, but the wide entranceway must have been a truck-sized roller door in a past life. Wrought iron gates have been attached, and although most of the opening has been closed off by glass, the double doors are propped open by large wine barrels covered in overhanging greenery.
When I’d asked my cousin if she wanted Cassidy’s details for the flowers, she’d brushed me off saying it was ‘all sorted’. The way roses are scattered through the gum leaves that cascade over the tops of the barrels is haphazard, almost as though ‘all sorted’ meant ‘we will do it ourselves’. It wouldn’t surprise me; nothing has been conventional about this wedding. It’s all a big contradiction. Save money everywhere but spend a house deposit on a dress, finger food only but a wedding cake I know cost in the thousands, have a gaggle of too many bridesmaids but not spend the morning with them.
Noah’s out of the car before I even reach for my door handle. I’m still checking my hair and lipstick in the car mirror when he opens my door and offers his hand. I take it begrudgingly. His fingers wrap around my palm and now that he’s not instantly pulling it away, I notice just how big his hands are. And warm. Not in a weird way, but in a soothing way that cascades up my arm and over my chest.
His free hand rests against the car, caging me in as he leans down. For a moment, I think he’s going to kiss me. My eyes dart to his lips before fluttering closed and my body gravitates towards his. I’ve never wanted to kiss Noah; I still don’t think I do. But something about having an incredibly attractive man lean over me is apparently my undoing. I’m shocked back into reality when he brushes his cheek against mine.
“The bridesmaids are watching from the door,” he whispers. “Kiss my cheek.”
My mouth falls open on a gasp, but I turn my head towards his and do as he asked. Rosewood , that’s what my lipstick brand called the shade of pink now smeared across his cheek. There’s a flash, behind my eyes, a tease of where else I could smear the deep blush pink. It’s gone before I have a second to process it, but a searing heat is left in its wake. Reaching between us, I try to wipe it off with my thumb.
“I’ll get it,” Noah says with a smirk. “I’m going to get a beer and some food at the pub down the road. I’ll be back before the ceremony.”
He drops his hand to my back and steps out of the way, guiding me to the group of women now crowded just outside the venue. They’re not even trying to look like they aren’t watching us. I smile and wave, but after taking a few steps there’s a pull in my chest, an odd feeling like I’m being watched. Admired. I turn my head and look back at Noah over my shoulder.
Leaning against the car, Noah has his arms folded and one leg cocked up. His eyes light up when our gaze meets, and he winks as he blows me a kiss.
“Have fun, Cupcake!”
I turn away without responding and brace myself for the inevitable grilling I’m about to get from the posse of women now cheering like a pack of schoolgirls. My cousin is yet to be seen, but as I make my way to the group, a lively photographer in wide-leg black jeans and a loose black shirt calls us all further into the space. She hands each of us a single white rose tied with a satin ribbon as we enter.
“Slight change of floral plans,” she says with a smile and a shrug.
The old warehouse still holds its rustic industrial appeal, with exposed steel beams cutting across the ultra-high ceiling and brick walls. At least ten high bar tables are scattered around what must be destined to be the dancefloor but is really just an open section near the top end of the room. Venue staff carry chairs from beyond the side wall and begin lining them up facing the elaborate bridal arch covered in more of the native greenery. The old concrete floor has been covered in floating floorboards, and our heels click away as we follow the photographer towards them.
We walk a straight line through the tables, and I realise this must be the aisle. It’s beautiful, at face value. Far more extravagant than anything I would choose, but it suits my cousin.
“Kaya!” One of the bridesmaids cheers. I still don’t know her name and I have little care to find out. Maybe that makes me a bitch, but I’m certain I’m only part of the bridal party because our mothers are sisters, so I’m not overly concerned with making friends with Kaya’s besties. The only bridesmaid I know is my other cousin, Ella. She lives in Adelaide though, and the last time I saw her she was more teenage punk than the young adult she seems to have grown into. She steps towards me now as the rest of the group crowds around Kaya and fawns over her vibrant white puffy ball gown.
“Do you think Kaya realised we’d look awkward in photos if we had nothing to hold?” She leans into me as she whispers under her breath, careful not to let her words carry over the group.
“Probably.”
We share a quiet laugh, but as I fiddle with the stem of my flower, I’m thankful to have something to do with my hands.
“So, who’s the guy?” Ella asks as we’re lined up around Kaya.
I stammer, choking on the words as I force them out. “My, uh, my boyfriend,” is all I can string together, and my voice pitches high at my blatant lie. I’ll have to figure out a way to say it without wanting to vomit. But I’ve been avoiding any kind of committed relationship for years now, so even pretend, the word tastes entirely foreign on my tongue.
The photos take all afternoon, and by the time Kaya is whisked off to some other room before the guests arrive, I’m ready to sit down. The empty rows of chairs practically beg for me to choose a seat and give my feet a rest. Before I can entertain the thought any further, the big doors swing open and guests begin to stream in. I spot my parents before they see me and duck into the bathroom to avoid seeing them before the ceremony. I’ll do whatever it takes to minimise the amount of time I have to spend talking to my dad about ‘the young man who dared fall in love with his daughter without his permission.’ Bold of him, to assume it was a man no matter how many times I tried to explain to him that gender doesn’t matter to me.
I’ve loved men and I’ve loved women, but he always finds a way to brush over or ignore my bisexuality. To the point that if I ever do find someone I don’t want to let go of, I almost hope it’s a woman, just to rub it in my father’s face a little.
I spot Noah as soon as I exit the bathroom. It’s not hard, with him being at least a head taller than everyone else. I run my hands through my waves, nervously fiddling with the ribbon tied to my rose. The satin knot comes loose too easily, and I nearly drop the flower.
Noah catches my eye as I’m fumbling to retie the bow, and my stomach drops. I look away before I break into a sweat. I can’t look at him. His hair is a little more windswept than earlier, like he took a brisk walk around the area. His jacket is slung over one shoulder, and he holds it in place with those large fingers. He wears a ring. On his right hand, but still. Who’s it from? I never thought to ask if there was someone in his life, never thought it mattered. But the thought has my cheeks burning all over again.
Stupidly, I risk looking up at him again. He’s turned away, but the sight of him still knocks me off my feet and I stumble a little as I make my way to the rest of the bridesmaids. His arm is curled up where he holds his jacket, the soft white of his shirt folded up over his forearm and stretched around his bicep.
Usually, he wears all black everything. I guess it became a staple colour when he moved to Melbourne and started working at the winery, and the few times I’ve seen him in anything other than work clothes he’s worn faded tees and casual shorts. This Noah is … something else entirely. I saw him back at the apartment, and I saw him in the car. But in this room, the way he stands out from the crowd because of how damn perfect he looks, it’s like I’m actually seeing him for the first time. His suit looks like it was made for him, and he stands like he owns the whole room. Polished and proud and honestly, downright fuckable. I want to tear the buttons off his shirt and run my hands across his chest. I want to know if he has a spattering of hair trailing down below his waistband. I want to follow it with my tongue. I want to … fuck .
This was not part of the plan.
Fake dating, Amira. Fake.
But I can’t look at him without wondering why I never thought to date him for real. I try to remind myself of all the reasons I brushed off the idea of him, but they seem inconsequential compared to this.
The heat of a blush creeps over my collarbones and up my neck and I’m about to turn back into the bathroom to splash cold water over my face when Noah turns his body towards me. His lips curl up in a smirk and he winks. He mouths something over the sea of heads now finding their seats, and I’ve never been any good at reading lips but given the way his shoulders shake afterwards, I’d bet he calls me ‘Cupcake’.
Soft piano music begins to chime, signalling the start of the ceremony, and Ella calls me over to my place in front of the crowd. There are easily over one hundred people here, but only one set of eyes are on me. Noah’s gaze never breaks. It leaves goosebumps over my skin, like the cool air and warm sun when you step out of the waves on the beach. I shift on my feet, thankful when the ceremony nears its end. Standing in line, I clap politely when the celebrant proudly announces the married couple.
I watch with a smile as my cousin kisses her husband, but relief floods over me when they walk through their guests and everyone turns their backs to watch them go. They stop for another kiss at the back of the crowd and everyone awes. Everyone except Noah. Who still has his eyes on me.
“Introduce me to him.” Ella’s elbow hits my ribcage in what I think was meant to be a friendly jab. But it hurts, and I wince at her unintentional strength.
“I’d rather take a bite out of the cake before Kaya gets to cut it.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
I snatch two glasses of sparkling wine from a roving waiter and pass one to my cousin. “A few more of these and I might.”
After we sip our drinks, I shift a little to the side to look through the crowd. We’re standing on the outskirts of the dancefloor, but I find Noah instantly. He’s like a beacon of light in the dark sea and I try to tell myself it’s only because of how tall he is, but I know it’s something more. Maybe it was a coincidence that I looked right at him without having to scan the crowd, but maybe, wishfully, I wonder if it’s more.
He has seamlessly, by the look of it, inserted himself into a small group of people. They talk and laugh, and you’d never know that before tonight he’d never met anyone in this room. I’m glad he’s mingling, glad he’s comfortable enough to not cling to me the second he had a chance, glad I have a few more moments to figure out what I’m going to say when I introduce him to my family. I can almost hear my father’s disapproving questions already.
This time, Noah hasn’t seen me watching, so I shift my gaze before he does. Near the centre of the crowd, my parents converse with another couple and a young man. My father looks almost sorrowful. His shoulders are hunched and he bows his head as he shakes the young man’s hand. Although they seem occupied now, it’s only a matter of time before my father struts over demanding to meet my so-called boyfriend.
I probably should have given Noah more of a heads-up. He’s a smart enough man—he’d have to have at least a few wits to run the events at the winery after all—so he’s probably figured out that my parents have some rather … traditional … views on relationships and women. But he may not have been expecting the sheer mass of overprotectiveness that’s about to head his way.
“Does your dad like him?” Ella changes the subject ever so slightly. Only I don’t think it’s any better.
I finish my cheap wine before I answer. It’s acidic and crisp, and the bubbles feel sharp against my tongue even after I swallow. Nothing like the fancy wine I’ve come to appreciate from Noah’s winery. I started drinking those because they came cheap or sometimes free, with uneven or torn labels. But apparently, the Mornington Peninsula’s best winery has ruined my palate for anything else.
“Dad hasn’t met him yet.”
Ella’s eyes widen briefly, and she throws her free hand across her chest. “You really threw him in the deep end, didn’t you?”
“I suppose I did. He’ll be alright though. I’ll introduce them as soon as I can find another glass. I need all the liquid courage I can get for that conversation.”
Her laugh is petite and refined, and almost as soon as she starts she snaps her mouth shut again. If she knew the extent of why I wanted to be a little buzzed before facing my father, she’d throw her head back with a large chuckle instead.
“Speaking of,” she says, “I think your father may have found him.”
I look over my shoulder, and sure enough, my dad is now making a beeline for Noah. I can only assume he’s figured out Noah is my date and is on his way to berate him for not introducing himself first. Or to question Noah’s intentions with his daughter. Me; I’m the daughter and I hate that my father still thinks he deserves some kind of say in the people I date. But there’s no time to fret over my mild family trauma. I need to save Noah from the firing line.
He signed up to be my date for this wedding. My fake boyfriend. Not my father’s metaphorical punching bag. I leave Ella behind and race across the room.
“Dad!” I call out when I realise I have no chance of getting to Noah first.
Freezing mid-step, he turns his head when he hears me calling. The rough, greying ends of his overgrown beard catch on his tailored vest. As I rush towards him, weaving around other guests, his eyebrows pinch together. Over his shoulder, I see Noah break away from the people he was mingling with. He steps into the crowd, but before I can call him over my father places a firm hand on my arm.
“My princess.” His voice is slick with the kind of cutesy adoration one holds for their only daughter, but it churns my stomach.
I search for a waiter, for another glass of the wine—although I’d take anything with an alcohol per cent higher than two right now. We’re too close to the centre of the crowd though, and none of the waiters even try to get close enough for me to swipe a drink. All the guests still crowd around the dance floor, as though waiting for permission to spread out between the high tables.
“So.” My father squeezes my arm as he draws out the word. “I had a date lined up for you, and instead you chose to bring a blond Australian boy, and you haven’t even had the nerve to introduce us.”