Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
A deluge, a bar, and a walk later, we’re at the reception, which looks suitably festive with rainbow balloons amid a lot of white decor, lights, and flowers.
Because this is a pack of mainly twenty-something artists, attire varies from formal to various twists on formal, like vintage to contemporary to basically anything goes.
But there are a lot of suits, so it’s comforting that I fit in, even if it is a pack of friends and Paul’s and Caden’s relatives.
In the happy pre-meal chaos, we find Paul and Caden to wish them congratulations. Paul’s dark curls are untamed, and he looks fierce in a black suit, and Caden’s in a pale lilac vintage suit, which is perfect for him, and the orange bow tie matches Paul’s handkerchief.
“Congratulations,” Florian says smoothly, shaking hands with them in turn. “And a pleasure to meet you both.”
“Hi, guys. Congrats.” I give them each a big hug and grin, nodding at Florian, then linking arms with him. “Florian’s my date, for the record. Not a wedding crasher. In case you’ve spotted him around.”
“That’s what all wedding crashers say,” Paul says lightly. “Great to meet you.”
“I looked forward to meeting Matty’s friends,” says Florian simply.
My smile broadens at hearing him call me Matty instead of Mathias, a surefire sign of progress being made. And a solid effort on the authenticity part.
“We have yet to meet any of Matty’s London friends. You’re the first.” Caden smiles back at Florian, plain intrigue across his face he’s not even trying to hide. “How did you meet?”
“At a bar. My bar. I mean, it’s not my bar. I don’t own it. Where I work.” Shit, that wasn’t very suave, but nobody seems to notice other than me. I force myself to stop talking.
“Yes,” Florian agrees, in true Florian style, and doesn’t say anything else.
Meanwhile, Caden looks like he’s dying to ask more questions that would be impolite in front of Florian.
“It’s been a great day,” I tell them warmly, which is true.
It has been a great day. The wedding, aside from the storm burst, which was surprisingly refreshing on a warm July afternoon.
And the top highlight was the surprise arrival of Florian at my hotel this morning—and staying around.
“And excited for your new chapter together.”
“Ach, you know, same old. Just with more hardware,” Paul says, with his Edinburgh accent. He and Caden show their wedding bands, a simple gold affair.
“And more small electric appliances,” Caden says sagely. “We had loads on our registry. Now we’ll need to find a shelf to keep them on.”
“I hope you’ve put down linens too,” I tease them.
“Oh yeah, so much. It’s gonna be a dream to have new sheets.” Paul grins. “It’s why we had the whole gig.”
“And here I thought you’d have a registry at an art supply shop.” I smile. Which wouldn’t be a bad idea at all, frankly. Supplies are damn expensive.
“Hmm.” Paul looks thoughtful. “Is it too late to do that?”
“Too late,” Caden affirms. “Afraid you’ll need to scrounge as usual.”
“Right. Scrounging resumes next week. We’re getting ready for the show at the Rose & Crown.”
“When’s the show opening?” I ask.
“Next month. Listen, if you have any time, Matty, stop by and lend us a hand to hang some more stuff. We’ve got beer on offer. And we’ll need to get you showing your work soon.”
I make a noncommittal noise and look away.
I’m making weird noises not because I’m opposed to helping—far from it—but I need to get paid for work, and I’m on the list for any spare shifts at Ivan’s.
But more than that, my guts twist due to a healthy dose of imposter syndrome alongside the usual anxiety about the future.
My friends are advancing in their careers already as artists, and I don’t even have a studio anymore to paint in, never mind have new work to show.
I mean, I’m not sure I can even afford supplies at this point. “I’ll try.”
Florian gives me side-eye. The arsehole knows me enough already to clock my discomfort on the topic. And we’ve already had a conversation about trying and doing. He doesn’t say anything to call me out, which is merciful, but I can tell he’s made a mental note for later.
“It’s lovely to meet you both. Congratulations again,” says Florian with genuine warmth. I squeeze his hand. And he squeezes back.
We tour around the venue, making introductions to my friends, but not lingering long with anyone in particular. They all buy into Florian being my date, incredibly. I can’t imagine what they think I get up to in London, hanging out with investors.
Noah’s nowhere to be found, along with his boyfriend, which means they’ve probably found some mischief. They reappear in time for dinner, where I make more introductions, and the night soon moves on to the dancing and festivities.
Florian and I explore, going past the cordoned-off stairs up to the mezzanine that overlooks the hall turned dance floor, under the vaulted ceiling of the deconsecrated church.
We find ourselves a spot along the burnished rail, overlooking the guests and celebrations below.
We were clever enough to bring up fresh wineglasses from the bar, but I do a double take as Florian shows me a bottle of wine that’s seemingly appeared out of nowhere.
“Drink?” Florian offers smoothly.
“Where did you find that?” We had the wine on the table from dinner, and we’ve moved on to wine from the bar. And he hadn’t slipped off on his own, that I noticed.
He just smiles, shrugs, and offers the wine, and in turn, I present my glass to him and watch his skillful pour. Not a drop of wine wasted, something I can appreciate. Then he tops up his own.
Before thinking about it, I open my mouth. “I hope you’re not planning on driving back to London tonight.”
“I can always take the train back.” Florian looks unconcerned.
“But… what about your car?”
Another shrug. “Unfortunately, it can’t drive itself to London, so I will either need to return to fetch it, or leave it with you if you have a driver’s license, or have my assistant collect it if he changes his position on the M25.”
I give him a level look. “Florian. I’m not your assistant,” I protest. “We have an entirely different arrangement.”
“That we do,” he confirms. “You didn’t tell me if you have your license, however.”
“Yes, I do, but I’m scared to drive whatever it is you own, because I’m guessing it’s not a clunker, and I don’t want to wreck it.”
“Are you in the habit of wrecking vehicles?”
“Well, no, but… remember Richard’s accident? And we’re definitely beyond the M25. He’s not going to have it.”
Florian deliberately flicks an eyebrow at me. “Fine. You can collect my car, then. I doubt I will have time to return in the next few days to collect my car myself.”
“Or…”
“Or?” The eyebrow persists, damn him. I’m getting the familiar deadpan look, which must be killer in the boardroom because it’s leveling me right now.
“Um.” I clear my throat, glance over at the dance floor through the colored lights, and gulp down some wine for courage.
“Or you could stay in Brighton. I mean, you’ve already stayed this long—why not just stay over?
We could pull an all-nighter. Though I guess with the jet lag, that might be a bit messy. ”
I hold my breath, and he takes me in, a long moment stretching out between us.
I don’t know why Florian’s agreed to stay on with me at the wedding, but I’m very glad he’s here. I thought fake breakfast was amazing and getting him to the ceremony. But he’s stayed around. For me. And he shows no sign of wanting to leave. How far will he go?
Florian looks amused, at least. “I’m not sure I would last ’til dawn. Maybe. But I suppose I could find a hotel room.”
“I suppose you could. I’m sure Brighton’s got all kinds of five-star options for the discerning millionaire.
” I deadpan him right back to see how Florian will react.
But he doesn’t even twitch. Like it’s a totally reasonable proposition for him.
If it were me, I’d end up pulling an all-nighter or sleeping rough. “Or billionaire, even.”
“That is an option.” He doesn’t miss a beat either.
“Good. So, we can just relax and enjoy the night, then. Wine me.” I reach my glass to him again, seeing as I gulped back most of mine a few minutes ago. I’ll need to pace myself, though, so as not to have any more embarrassing outbursts like I did the other week at Sotheby’s.
Florian pours. Then an awkward silence falls, but we both distract ourselves by watching the dancers below.
Florian’s so near to me, though, his arm next to mine on the rail, that I swear I can feel the heat radiating from him.
He makes no sign of moving, so I don’t move either, acutely aware of how near he is.