Chapter 22
Max
Even the sound of his stream turned me on.
I tried not to look, but at one point I caught a glimpse through the shower door and a side view of his dick, long and thick.
I was so overcome with lust that I thought I was going to faint.
I don’t know how I’ll cope if I run into him in the bathroom again.
Better avoid it at all costs. Hunter has made it clear that nothing is going to happen between us. Except . . . he did get a bit flirty back there. What was that about?
I mustn’t read too much into it. He was clearly hiding what he’s planning to do today.
I bet it’s a hook-up. We haven’t talked about that, but it would be silly to think he wasn’t going to sleep with other people.
In fact, it would probably be good for us.
Not that I like the thought of him with other guys.
It will be a relief to arrive at the office and focus on work.
‘Here he is!’ exclaims Linda from Accounts. ‘The blushing groom.’
Conveniently for Linda, I turn red.
‘I assumed you wouldn’t be in this week,’ says Linda. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be on your honeymoon?’
‘Oh, I, er—’
‘Come on then,’ says Sunita from HR, swooping in. ‘Tell us everything.’
For the next five minutes, we’re like some sort of AI simulation of a happy, harmonious office.
We stand around chatting and laughing while I tell everyone about my wedding.
Hunter and I agreed to tell people we’re going away for a proper honeymoon in the autumn when work has calmed down.
I’m poorly equipped to remember the details that my colleagues want to hear, the outfits and menus and how many people cried.
But nothing can dampen people’s excitement over a wedding.
I can’t help noticing that my colleagues are treating me differently.
It’s not just because they’re excited to have something to gossip about.
I feel like they see me as a success now, simply because I’m married.
Which I have to admit feels nice, but it does beg the question: how did they see me previously?
Eventually, I drag myself away from them so I can get on with my work. At least, that’s the idea. Mariam looks up as I take a seat.
‘Good bash at the weekend,’ she says. ‘Did you get my wedding gift?’
‘Er, I don’t think so.’
‘Damn, then I forgot to send it. I was hoping I’d remembered.’
Classic Mariam.
‘That’s OK. You really shouldn’t have.’
‘I didn’t.’
‘Well don’t.’
‘Salad tosser.’
‘Pardon?’
‘That’s what I’m getting you. Horrible, isn’t it, when lettuce goes soggy.’
‘Oh, it’s the worst.’
We both know she’s never going to get around to giving me a salad tosser.
‘I had a great chat with that Napkin lady,’ says Mariam.
‘Who?’
‘Edwin’s agent.’
‘Doily?’
‘That’s the one. I’m not surprised Edwin needs a back-up career, the way the industry’s going. Did you know Benedict Cumberbatch is doing a Ronald McDonald biopic?’
‘What’s that?’ asks Quentin, coming over.
Great. This is the last thing I need.
‘Just talking about all the lovely people I met at Max’s wedding,’ says Mariam.
‘Ronald McDonald?’ asks Quentin, deadpan.
‘Thanks so much for coming,’ I say to him earnestly.
‘Not at all,’ says Quentin, smiling slyly. ‘Lovely ceremony. Beautiful house.’
I nod politely. I’m not giving this man an inch.
‘Funny little slip-up in your vows,’ says Quentin.
My breath catches. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You called him Hunter. Then you corrected yourself.’
Fuck. Trust Quentin to spot that.
‘Easily confused,’ I say, my heart pounding. ‘That’s the problem with stage names.’
‘Yes,’ says Mariam. ‘Look at Reginald Dwight.’
‘What?’
‘Elton John to you and me.’
I feel a jolt of pure fear, and it takes me a moment to realise Mariam hasn’t somehow made the connection to the garden gnome.
I’m going to have to deal with this for the rest of my life every time someone casually mentions one of the world’s most famous singers.
Thankfully, Mariam has been distracted by her emails.
‘Ooh Quentin, you might want to check your email,’ says Mariam. ‘You’ve made the shortlist for Athens. Congratulations.’
My heart sinks. I’m not sure why this information is being shared with Mariam, but if she’s telling Quentin he made the shortlist, then presumably I didn’t. I pull out my phone and see an email telling me I’ve also made the shortlist. I give Mariam a wounded look.
‘I made it too. No congratulations for me?’
Mariam looks at me wearily. ‘Honestly, Max, I got you a salad tosser. How much more do you want from me?’
I force a smile and turn away to find myself face-to-face with Quentin.
‘Well done, Max,’ he says. ‘It will be nice to spend a bit more time with Hunter. I mean Edwin.’
He’s scanning me, looking for a reaction, but I refuse to give it to him. ‘Call him what you want,’ I say casually. ‘We can’t wait.’
I really don’t know what I did to make Mariam prefer Quentin to me for this position.
She never seemed that biased towards him in the past. I should be excited that I made the shortlist, but it’s all too much, what with lying to everyone about the wedding and waiting to hear back from our immigration interview.
All I want to do is sit in the corner and get on with some work.
Unfortunately, the one remaining desk is next to Nessie.
‘Thanks for coming this weekend,’ I say.
As Nessie looks up at me, all I can see is that perm.
‘My pleasure,’ says Nessie. ‘Were you all right?’
I freeze, then recall my dizzy spell.
‘Yeah. Just overwhelmed. Edwin looked after me.’
Nessie looks touched, and I feel a tug of guilt. Not for the first time, I have an urge to confide in her the way that Hunter does with Zosia and Thiago.
‘Max, can I ask you something personal?’ Nessie says tentatively.
Shit. Why is she being so coy? Could she tell something was up at the wedding? Has she sussed me out? I don’t know why I thought I could pull the wool over everyone’s eyes. All of a sudden, I don’t want to confess anything.
‘Er, sure,’ I say. ‘Can’t promise I’ll answer it, but fire away.’
Nessie shifts from foot to foot. ‘It’s my hair.’
I feel a flood of relief that this is about her, not me.
‘Everyone keeps telling me how much they love it, but . . . I feel like they’re lying.’
She knows. She knows how bad it looks. But it can be hard to be honest with yourself when everyone else is lying to you.
And even though I have been lying about this to Nessie from the start, a lot has changed since then.
I made it through my wedding vows. I survived the immigration interview.
I can tell Nessie the truth about her terrible hair.
‘They are lying,’ I say. ‘We all are.’
Nessie’s mouth drops open.
‘The perm is bad. It doesn’t suit you. And you did it for the wrong reasons. You’re not boring. You just have friends who don’t appreciate you. You looked great as you were.’
Nessie is lost for words. Her eyes have filled with tears. I’m convinced I’ve blown it, but she throws her arms around me.
‘Thank you, Max.’
I’m taken aback. ‘It’s nothing.’
‘It’s everything.’
I know what she means. True honesty can feel like a gift.
‘Happy to help,’ I say, brushing it off.
‘Seriously, Max, I owe you. Let me know if I can help with anything.’
I think of all the other things I could be honest about with her.
The stress of faking it. My fears that Quentin is becoming suspicious.
My crush on Hunter. I have no doubt that every one of these would feel a little lighter if I talked them through with someone like Nessie.
But now is not the moment for such a momentous conversation. I give her a smile.
‘Thanks, Nessie. I definitely will.’
For the first time, it’s not something I’m scared of. In fact, I’m already looking forward to it.