Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
If I was lying, I’d say the next hour and a half is really stressful, what with having to keep an eye on my wayward demon friend, having to prevent my inebriated little sister from setting off magic spells into the crowd, and keeping a watchful eye on my older sister and Mr Bad Boy.
But in fact, it’s not stressful at all, because I’m having the best time.
Horatio intercepts Tiggie on three different occasions as she’s about to launch a drunken spell towards the ceiling. He advises Alex to steer clear of my demon best friend and reports on my older sister’s antics.
Usually I’d be stressing out about everything happening around me, waiting for another disaster to strike.
But being part of a team, a pair, a couple halves all that worry.
It’s nice to think someone has my back for once, even if it’s just on account of an exploding love potion and a fake-dating contract.
In between averting any disasters, we’re talking and laughing with his friends, who don’t turn out to be as uptight as I thought they were – well, all of them apart from Tasha Pasha Gnasha.
And the biggest delight of the night occurs when I finally persuade him onto the dance floor.
Turns out that Mr Hottie Hotshot cannot dance.
He cannot dance to save his life.
Mr Looks-Like-He-Just-Walked-Out-of-a-Modelling-Agency. Mr Flashy Apartment, Flashy Job, Flashy Car. Mr Horatio Shaw. Has Two Left Feet.
“Ha!” I say, giggling as he flaps his arms about like a funky chicken. “I’ve finally found something you’re no good at.”
“What?” he asks, shuffling from side to side like he’s queuing at the bank.
“You can’t dance. You’re awful at it. Dreadful.”
“There you go with all those compliments again, Molly,” he says, shaking his head with a smile on his lips. “You don’t like my dance moves?”
“You couldn’t possibly describe those as dance moves. I’ve never seen someone so uncoordinated in the whole of my life.”
“I told you I was uncoordinated.”
“You didn’t,” I say, thinking he seemed pretty coordinated when we were dry-humping on my sofa, and his tongue was definitely coordinated down there in the games room.
“I told you I was hopeless at football at school.”
“But you were really good at all those sports at the hotel.” He shrugs. “Did no one ever teach you to dance?”
“They tried to at school,” he says. “My stepdad,” – he pulls a face – “even suggested I get lessons when I got my first banking role. Said I’d need it for all the black-tie dinners.” He shrugs again. “I like the way I dance.”
I smile at him. “I like it too. It’s really entertaining.”
He lifts his middle finger up at me, and I grab his hand and twirl a couple of times underneath it.
“If you want, you can just keep still and I’ll dance around you.”
“No way. I told you. I like dancing.”
I laugh, and it reaches right the way down to the very bottom of my belly, and I realise I haven’t laughed this freely or felt this happy in forever.
My laughter only seems to spur him on, and soon he’s challenging me to a dancing contest, throwing out ever-increasingly chaotic shapes that I try my best to match. We shimmy across the dance floor one way, shuffle across it the next, and then he’s attempting to teach me the Running Man.
“Oh my goodness!” a shrill, haughty voice says as I’m almost doubling over with laughter. “What are you doing, Horatio?”
I find Tasha Pasha Gnasha scrutinising Horatio’s current dance moves in a haughty manner. I don’t think she approves.
And maybe I, the fake girlfriend, am not enough to put her off Horatio, but maybe his dancing will be.
Horatio halts his crazy moves, and stands there panting, adjusting his collar and brushing the locks of hair from his face.
Clearly it isn’t enough to put Tasha Pasha Gnasha off, because she bats her fake eyelashes in his direction.
“Oh my goodness, Horatio. Everybody was watching. People could actually see what you were doing. Have you lost your mind?” She snorts a piggy little laugh.
He shrugs, although he does look a bit uncomfortable, as if he’s suddenly become aware of himself and his surroundings, and is a little embarrassed by his actions.
“I thought we could do the cake,” she says. “Simon’s got to leave soon. He has that international call first thing in the morning, and Dina and Adriana have to get back to the office to finish those calcs. They’re all dying to taste the cake.”
“Right,” Horatio says, smoothing down his hair and letting Tasha lead him over to the cake table.
My sponge has been well and truly shoved to the back of the table, hidden behind the magnificent chocolate creation, now spiked with a giant candle that hisses, spits, and sparkles like a small firework when Tasha lights it.
Unfortunately, it’s not a candle Horatio can actually blow out, and he’s forced to just stand there and admire it, everybody else doing the same and oohing in appreciation.
My best friend slides up beside me as Tiggie comes to stand on the other side of me.
“What’s going on?” Damien asks as Tasha lifts a glass of fresh champagne and declares, “I’d like to make a little toast to our very good friend, Horatio Shaw.”
“Birthday cake,” I whisper to them both.
“Where’s yours?” Tiggie says loudly, pushing through the people in front of her to get a better look at the cake table. “You made a cake too, didn’t you, Molly? That’s what Damien said.”
I try to hush her, because honestly, no one needs to see my cake when there’s this one here. But my attempts to quieten them do not deter my drunken sister and my trouble-loving best friend, who both start chanting loudly, “Molly’s cake! Molly’s cake! Molly’s cake!”
Tasha clears her throat, taps a sharp fingernail against the side of her glass, and when this doesn’t work, throws a look that could kill in the direction of Damien and Tiggie. Honestly, how is this woman not a vampire?
“I’m trying to make a toast here,” she says snottily, as if the two of them are wayward children – which, to be honest, they’re acting like.
“Mwah mawah hwam,” Tiggie says, intimidating her voice and making a very good impression of Tasha as she wags a finger in her direction.
Tasha tosses her head and harrumphs.
I want to die simultaneously of mortification and embarrassment, but I decide that would be the childish thing to do. I need to be a grown-up and handle this situation.
So I step forward, lifting both palms to show I’m coming in peace.
Tasha takes a pace backwards, as if she’s deduced that I am a witch and about to zap her or hex her or both. I open my mouth to reassure her of my peacemaking intentions, but before I do, Tiggie has stepped forward and snatched the giant candle from the chocolate monstrosity.
“We need the candle in Molly’s cake too,” she declares to everyone watching. “She made her boyfriend” – she jabs her finger in Horatio’s direction – “a cake. Where is it?”
“Stop ruining things!” Tasha screeches, darting forward herself and making to grab the giant candle from Tiggie’s hands. Tiggie refuses to let it go, and for a moment we’re all standing there watching as two women wrestle a giant candle backwards and forwards between the two of them.
“This is brilliant!” Damien squeals beside me, clapping his hands.
But it isn’t. I can see a steely expression creeping over Horatio’s face. His jaw hardens, his shoulders stiffen.
“Stop it, Tiggie,” I beg. “Just stop it. Let go of the silly candle.”
“But you made him a cake. He should be blowing out your candle.”
The comment has Damien giggling away, clearly thinking it’s some euphemism or other.
“Please, Tiggie. Just let it go.”
“Yes, you demented little fool, let it go!” Tasha insists.
“Fine!” my sister snaps, all of a sudden releasing her grip on the candle.
Unfortunately, this action sends Tasha flying backwards. Immediately, I can see what’s going to happen. I search desperately for a way to stop it happening. Magic? Spells? Anything?
But there’s nothing. Nothing at all.
The only thing I can do is a bit of self-sacrifice and so I fling myself forward between Tasha and the giant chocolate cake.
Unfortunately – and probably inevitably, if I’d actually thought this through – this doesn’t solve the problem.
All that happens is Tasha tumbles back into me, I lose my balance, and both of us crash straight into the giant chocolate cake, the table collapsing beneath our weight, chocolate, icing, sponge, and cream flying up into the air and landing all over the both of us.
“This is the best night ever!” Damien shouts, fist-punching the air.
I can’t move, on account of the fact that Tasha has landed on top of me and is pinning me to the carnage on the ground.
But I can see all the faces staring down at us.
Damien is loving this. Tiggie, to give her credit, is looking pretty mortified.
One of two people are looking disapprovingly at us.
The others seem pretty amused; several have surreptitiously dug their phones out and are filming us.
I glance apprehensively towards Horatio, half expecting to find that he’s stormed out of the bar, never wanting to see me again.
But no, he’s still there. To my surprise, he doesn’t look cross or outraged, embarrassed or mortified.
All that tension in his face from a moment ago seems to have vanished, and now it’s clear he’s trying really hard not to laugh.
“Somebody help me!” Tasha screeches.
He holds out a hand to help her to her feet. She takes it, but as he pulls her up, her heel hits a particularly slippery bit of icing and she skids right back down onto her backside, more chocolate smearing across her pristine white dress.
“You idiot!” she snaps.
Several people step forward and help her up, leading her away to the bathroom as she curses and mutters and tantrums.
Thank goodness she isn’t a vampire, or a witch for that matter; I think she’d hex the hell out of me and my sister.
Horatio stands over me, hands on his hips, surveying all the carnage. Damien comes to stand beside him, a massive, amused grin stretching across his face. Tiggie’s there too, and Horatio’s friend Alex. They’re all staring down at me.
“Sorry,” I say.
“I’m the one who should be sorry,” Tiggie says. She turns to Horatio. “I’m really sorry.”
“Sorry?” Alex says. “Damien’s right. This is the most fun we’ve had at one of his birthday parties in years. That was seriously entertaining.”
“Plus, two beautiful women wrestling over a phallic-shaped object probably ticked the fantasy box of every straight male in this place. I wonder if we could get hold of a video,” Damien muses. “We could post it on the inter-web.”
“Internet,” I correct. “And don’t even think about it!”
“Are you okay?” Horatio asks, still trying not to laugh.
“Oh yeah, I’m fine. Absolutely fine. This is actually one of my fantasies – to dive head-first–”
“Bottom-first,” Tiggie points out.
“–into a pretentious chocolate cake.”
“Do you think it’s still edible?” Horatio asks.
I lift one of my hands, absolutely covered and smothered in chocolate ganache, icing, and sponge, and dip a finger into my mouth.
“Hmmm. It’s not bad, although not nearly as good as she was making out.”
“Would you like us to leave you a moment?” he asks. “Give you and the cake some privacy?”
“No.” I motion for him to come a little closer. “I’m not wearing any underwear,” I whisper. “I’m pretty sure most of the bar can see up my skirt.”
Horatio’s eyes darken for a second. Then he collects himself and holds out his hand, offering to pull me up, like he did Tasha.
I look up at his hand, then at his face, then back at his hand. He realises what I’m going to do in the next moment. It’s already too late. I’ve grabbed his hand and I’m pulling him straight down into the cake with me. He lands with a thud in a giant piece of squishy sponge right beside me.
Alex bursts out laughing, and Damien hoots even louder.
“What’s going on?” Prim has reappeared, with lipstick smudged all over her face. I can tell what she’s been doing. “Why are you down there on the floor? What happened to the cake?”
“Tiggie happened to the cake,” I say, pointing an accusing, chocolate-covered finger in my little sister’s direction.
“That woman was annoying me,” Tiggie says, “trying to upstage you and your cake.”
“That cake,” Prim says, bending down to retrieve my Victoria sponge from the carnage. To my utter disbelief, it’s survived the accident in one piece.
“Ha!” I say in triumph. “May not be as big or as beautiful or as expensive as her cake but it is indestructible.”
“It looks really good,” Alex says.
Horatio jumps back up onto his feet, nearly sliding himself on the icing, and then yanks me up too before I get another chance to pull him down again.
“Let me just go and write a big cheque to the bar for all this damage.”
“I’ll pay you back,” Tiggie offers.
But he shakes his head, dismissing the offer. “Then how about we head back to my flat,” he says, “demolish this cake Molly’s baked, and have a nightcap or two.”
“Afterparty!” Damien squeals, hooking his arm through Alex’s. “I love it. Let’s go find a taxi.”