Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
Harry
In a rare turn of events, and contrary to British weather, it’s the perfect day for a wedding.
Sunlight filters in through the arched windows, highlighting the high vaulted ceilings of the cathedral.
The aisle I’ll soon be escorting Poppy down is lined with candles, white, tall, and immaculate.
Every detail has been perfectly curated.
I fucking despise how Richard spares no expense for events such as this, flaunting the money he potentially made by selling women against their will. But for today, I guess I’ll just have to grin and bear it.
The animosity forces me to crack my knuckles, a stark contrast to the violin music floating on the air.
The tune is regal, elegant – two words I never thought I’d associate with Poppy, but she’s planned today beyond my expectations, especially since she’s not the materialistic type.
I turn from my spot at the front entrance towards where the guests are finding their seats in pews with soft pink ribbons draped across the back.
It’s all so fragile, like a fairy tale, yet as I stand greeting the guests filing through the double doors, half of them look fucking miserable. It’s easy to distinguish the members of the Circle since they’re all wearing grim smiles as if they attended some kind of mass murder yesterday.
Sceptical, I smile as I shake hands, laugh when I’m supposed to, and even make a joke about the bride being fashionably late.
But that’s far from the truth – Poppy is in one of the corner rooms after demanding she needed time for herself before the ceremony.
That’s why I’m standing in the doorway making small talk with people I barely know.
But in the grand scheme of things, I don’t care. It’s of little inconvenience, because if there’s even a slight chance of catching a glimpse of Gigi before the ceremony begins, I’m taking it. The air smells like perfume and roses, and it only makes me think about her more. But she isn’t here.
I’ve scanned every face walking through these double doors. Every pair of heels clicking across the marble. Every silhouette that isn’t hers. I haven’t seen these people in months, save for my leaving ceremony, but they aren’t my priority.
“Harry.”
A voice draws my attention back to the marble steps.
“Good to see you.”
Whizz Tech Dan lingers in the doorway, glasses balanced on the end of his nose and his dark hair hung across his forehead. He offers out his hand. I take it, shaking it in mine.
“Dan, how are you?”
“Tired, to be honest with you.” He pushes his specs higher. “It’s always ‘Dan, can you wipe this,’ ‘Dan, can you wipe that,’ or ‘Dan, can you find someone for me’ …”
His voice floats straight over me as my attention is dragged behind him.
Hudson Anderson strides up the steps, his head ducked low.
He purposely saunters past, dodging his shoulder inwards to avoid making contact.
Despite me keeping my eyes heavily trained on him, he refuses to spare me a glance.
I turn in his direction, watching as he silently slips through the crowd, sticking to himself.
“… and the wage is great,” Dan continues, “but never enough for the hours.”
I adjust the front of my black blazer to retain my focus, but the action only reminds me of the last time I wore this suit. Greg’s funeral.
“The work is just fucking constant. You know what I mean?”
With the memory having thrown me, I lift my head quickly. While Dan is still awaiting my response, it’s the figure beside him I’m captured by.
“Andy.”
He freezes, eyes turning wild, before he slowly lifts his head. The sight of him forces the word to tumble out of me.
“Christ.”
I knew the recruits were looking worse for wear, but this is something far more extreme. Fucking hell. My best friend looks like a stranger in his own body. We have so much to talk about, so much to catch up on, yet I’m paralysed as I stare straight through him.
Before I can even consider getting words out of him, he visibly swallows, the thin, pale skin of his throat tightening against his Adam’s apple.
Dropping his head, he slips past me quickly, leaving me dumbstruck.
It takes my thoughts a second to catch up before I’m able to turn my attention back to Dan.
“Sorry, mate.” I place my hand on his shoulder, offering a smile. “We’ll catch up later.”
He waves me off, mumbling something under his breath as he follows the trail of people. My shaking hand hovers over my jaw, and I fist my chin, trying to pull myself together for the last remaining guests. They move through quickly, eager to claim their seats.
Once they’re all inside, not another straggler in sight, my brows draw inwards.
Where is she?
I linger at the top of the stairs, rocking back on my heels in the hope one final car will pull up and Gigi will scurry out. But at least five minutes pass with no sign of anyone else.
I spin on my heel, passing the ceremony room, where the laughter of hundreds filters into the hallway, headed for the corner room where Poppy’s hiding out. On my approach, muffled conversation filters through the crack in the door. I throw it open.
Poppy pauses, her finger held just an inch away from a man’s face, her nostrils flared and her expression harsh. He bends down at the knees, bringing himself down to her eye level. At full height he’d be at least twice the size of her.
Voice deep, he drawls, “Whatever you say, wife.”
This must be Leo. He has a few years on me. At least. Dark brown hair, stubble lining his jaw. I barely spare him a glance, although the tattoos are hard to miss. They scale his neck, leading underneath his collar and imprinted across his knuckles.
Poppy barks, “What is it?”
“I was just wondering if we were waiting for more guests to arrive.”
“Everyone should be here by now.”
“Well, they’re not.”
She throws her head back, irritated. “Harry, just give us a minute.”
I smile forcefully. I’m not about to lose my cool with the bride-to-be.
I close the door far harder than I should, making the wood groan. Lingering outside, I lean against the wall, resting my skull back against the cold surface. My gaze trails towards the ceremony room Poppy and I will soon be walking through, my attention passing over the occupied seats.
And then I see her.
Gigi.
Slowly, as if my body is in some kind of trance, I push myself off the wall and take cautious steps closer.
It’s only her back, but I could trace her silhouette with my eyes closed.
She hovers in one of the front pews, a few seats in from the aisle.
Her chin is tucked down to her chest, strands of softly curled brunette hair splayed across her back.
Did she arrive through a back entrance or something?
I take a few steps sideways, trying to peer round the heads blocking my view.
Richard comes into my line of vision, just two seats down from where Gigi sits.
He’s dressed too well, perfectly aware he’s the most dangerous man in the room.
As if he can feel my stare, he turns to me over his shoulder, smiling too wide for it to be sincere.
The door behind me opens, and Leo walks out a few seconds later, taking long, confident strides into the ceremony room. Poppy appears beside me, watching her future husband silently before he disappears round the corner, trailing up the aisle.
“Don’t ask.”
I raise my hands. “I’m saying nothing.”
I offer Poppy my arm, and she takes it, her fingers tucked into the crook of my elbow, trembling just slightly. I don’t point it out, predicting she’d happily ruin her manicure to hit me for noticing the detail. Instead I give her a small nod – the kind that says, “You’ve got this.”
“Shouldn’t you say something about how my dad would be proud, or something equally cringe?”
“I’ve lost track of your creative ways to murder a man. I’m not sure ‘proud’ is the right choice.”
She turns her attention ahead. “Fair point.”
The violin music swells, delicate and haunting, followed by the scuffled footsteps of guests rising to their feet. I wait for her cue, and after a steady breath, she nods. We slowly round the corner, taking the first steps under watchful gazes.
I tighten my grip on Poppy’s arm – gentle, steady, the way I’m supposed to be. But inside I’m unravelling, awaiting the moment we’re closer to the front.
Guests smile, women waving delicate fans near tear-stained eyes to keep their emotions at bay.
Christ, it’s all so fucking fake.
But Poppy plays the part well, her footsteps slow and precise and the veil of her gown trailing behind her. It’s enough to keep me focused – until I turn my head.
Gigi stands just a few feet away, a mauve dress hugging her body like it was designed specifically to ruin me.
It’s elegant, thin ruffles cascading down the fabric, and it hugs her in all the right places.
A slit up the thigh gives way to soft skin ingrained in my mind since the moment she left.
Legs that hugged my waist tightly as she came on my cock.
I can’t take my eyes off her.
She’s so fucking beautiful.
And then I see him beside her.
Jamie fucking Callahan.
The pretentious fucking wanker, with his hands on my fucking woman.
His arm is slung casually round her shoulders as if he owns her. As if she’s his. His fingers toy with the ends of her hair. Possessive. Familiar. My chest turns too tight.
Poppy’s voice is a distant hum beside me, thanking people softly as we pass.
Jamie’s fingers rest there on Gigi’s shoulder as if he knows what that does to me; as if he wants me to see it. My heart punches my ribs like it’s trying to escape.
Gigi meets my gaze, and time slows in that cruel, cinematic way it does when the world wants to break you. There’s something in her stare – rage, ache, love, maybe. Or what’s left of it after we tore it to shreds and buried the pieces.
Her mouth is frozen in something that’s almost a smile but doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Eyes that mirror the war ripping me open from the inside too.