Chapter 11
I stifle a yawn behind my hand as Daphne, the seamstress, zips me into the bridesmaid’s dress for a final check. Even balancing on this stool while she scrutinises the hem is tiring. Bloody work, keeping me up far too late, but there wasn’t another option.
I crawled into bed only after sorting the Hong Kong contract, and still my phone kept pinging.
Marcus, of course, copied me into every email he fired off, banking on me being asleep so he could show me up.
Not a chance. I added my tuppence-worth to each one, and our client can see who’s doing the thinking in this pairing.
Now I’m paying for it. This must be what having a newborn is like: you finally drift off and they’re demanding you again. First thing, my boss wanted another set of documents—because out in the real world, it’s just another Monday.
Then the weather packed up overnight, so I missed my ride on Solly. I feel out of sorts—not just because I crave the feel, scent and rhythm of being on horseback again. I missed being with Teddy, too.
By the time I arrived at breakfast, Ollie had already hustled the band off into rehearsal because their schedule is as tight as mine.
Like me, they have things that must happen this week, wedding or no wedding.
Once Christian and Haley return from their ten-day honeymoon, Stellar Riot dives straight into the studio to cut their album plus a stack of promo for their Christmas single.
I know they’re under pressure, but damn, I’d still have loved to start my day lost in Teddy’s coffee-brown eyes.
That brief glimpse of him through the doorway earlier—before Samantha, the little spoilsport, shut it down—only poured petrol on the fire.
We stepped over a line out in the stable last night—okay, maybe just dipped a toe in the water and yanked it back when we found it too hot—but it still felt significant.
Not only did I get another fix of his hands on my bare skin before Poppy interrupted our fun, I saw even more of the man behind those come-play-with-me eyes and tousled bed hair.
It only underscored what I’ve learned about myself these past few days.
I’ve changed. Now there’s no way I would jump into bed with a stranger just because he was pretty.
I need to know and like the man first. So if I’m planning to try and fuck Pierre’s dark presence out of my life, Teddy is the perfect place to start.
He’s shown me a lot of the man inside that attractive packaging, and I like every bit of it.
All I have to do is convince him I’m completely fine with being his wedding-week conquest before he’s released back into the wild—and the pack of women waiting to pounce.
“All done,” Daphne says with a satisfied smile. I step off the stool and pause for a moment in front of the massive mirror that dominates the parlour’s far wall. Haley’s designer nailed it; the plunging halter neck in lustrous emerald satin is exactly the dress I might have chosen for myself.
Sam appears beside my reflection. “The colour’s perfect on you, Rache. You look incredible.”
“So do you.” I turn to face her properly.
“Look at yourself.” She ducks with that shy smile, the one that always surprises me for someone so confident in other parts of her life.
She should smile at how she looks. Her dress of deepest green, a shade darker than my own, makes her peachy skin luminous and accentuates her mop of dark curls.
The cut shows off her curves beautifully.
“The perfect bridesmaid trio,” Liv announces, slipping her arm around my waist from the other side. She’s right—we do look good together. Liv’s porcelain skin and platinum pixie cut are ethereal against her pale moss-green dress, like she’s just stepped out of a fairy ring.
“Thank you all so much. How lucky am I to have the three of you as my friends?” Haley bounces on her toes, trying and failing to corral all three of us into a group hug, and we dissolve into giggles. “I wouldn’t want to do this without you, you know.”
“We know,” Sam laughs, steadying Haley as she wobbles. “We expect you to do the same when our turn comes. Even if I want to have an underwater ceremony or Rachel decides to get married in a haunted castle.”
My stomach lurches at the word married. Even though my head says it’s just as well Pierre and I didn’t make it to the altar, my heart mourns the future I’d envisaged for myself as someone’s one and only.
I catch the quick look of reproach that passes from Haley to Sam.
For two months they’ve tip-toed around the minefield, and now Sam has just stomped straight through it.
Sam winces, the laugh dying in her throat. “Right. Sorry.”
I come to her rescue, forcing a smile. Strangely, Sam’s blunder makes me realise it’s getting easier. The stab of hurt is still there, but smaller now. I can keep the mask in place without it slipping.
“Actually,” I hear myself say before I can second-guess it, “I’m starting to think I’ll get my turn after all. And Scotland’s knee-deep in haunted castles.”
Sam’s eyes brighten with something that looks like relief, and she laughs. “See, I knew you’d appreciate my gothic taste.”
“Christmas wedding at a haunted castle?” Haley suggests, keeping it playful. “I’m picturing mistletoe over medieval arches.”
“Perfect. And you’re absolutely my wedding planner.”
The lightness in Haley’s eyes tells me everything. She’s been walking on eggshells around me since the breakup—they all have. Time to let them know they don’t have to.
“You can all stop worrying about me now. I mean it. We’ve got a wedding to enjoy.”
“And another challenge,” Haley adds, mischief bright in her eyes. “You didn’t think I’d give you a day off, did you?
The manor house kitchen’s broad central worktop groans under more bottles than the back bar of a Mayfair members’ club on New Year’s Eve.
Martini glasses, champagne flutes and highballs line up beside shakers, strainers, barspoons and shot measures.
Ice buckets, citrus wedges, fresh herbs, cordials, tonics, ginger beer, syrups and bitters round out the arsenal.
We’ve split off into our pairs, each huddled in an allotted corner.
Phones confiscated—challenge rule number one is no googling—we’re relying on trial, and plenty of error, to conjure the perfect Christmas cocktail.
Luckily, Teddy and I have years of clubbing for inspiration. The execution is another matter.
“That better?” Teddy asks. My vision swims as I meet his brown eyes over the rim of my glass. Fumes of pure alcohol scorch my nose, and even a sip burns all the way down.
“No, it’s fucking awful,” I splutter, swiping my hand across my mouth. I snatch up the ginger beer and take a long swig to chase the taste away. “Try again. I told you, use the measure.” I push the metal jigger at him.
“Yes, boss,” he laughs. “But you gotta admit that’s dead boring.”
Teddy flips the bottle of vodka in his hand as effortlessly as he twirls a drumstick. He pulls a clean glass towards him, and this time, instead of adding the vodka with a flamboyant slosh, he carefully measures it, passing it in front of me so I note it’s perfect before he pours it in neatly.
Who’d have known Teddy fancies himself a showman when it comes to making cocktails?
For the last hour, he’s been carrying on like he’s auditioning for Drink Masters.
But this isn’t a performance sport; in half an hour we need to serve Loreena and Tommy a Christmas cocktail worthy of first place—and that last monstrosity is not it.
“We’ve only got time for boring. If I’d known letting you be in charge meant you’d morph into Tom Cruise…”
“I know. You’re regretting giving me the job. You like to be in charge.” His eyes darken and his voice lowers. “Always. Everywhere.”
That ball of heat low in my belly pulses at his dangerous tone. I think I’m a little drunk from all the sampling, but not so drunk I can’t read the invitation in his words. I swallow hard. Focus Rachel. Time for Teddy later.
“I like to win,” I say.
“And I’d let you.” He licks at his lips. Those lips I know taste so damn good, and fuck it if I don’t crave having them all over me. I blink the thought away.
“Teddy,” I huff in frustration. “Not now. Come on,” I plead.
“Later then.” With a smug grin, he reaches for the bottle of cherry liqueur he’s decided is the hero ingredient for our Christmas cocktail entry.
There’s a flicker of determination in his expression, a hint that behind his casual charm, he wants to win this as much as I do.
I thrust the jigger at him and go back to my part of the task.
I break another egg, separating the white carefully like my mum taught me, and grab up the little whisk.
Beating the crap out of the egg white until it turns to foam helps keep my mind off Teddy’s teasing innuendo and the other couples’ near-complete cocktails.
I want nothing more than to go three up in this competition.
The aching in my arm only hardens my resolve to give this challenge my all.
Despite the competitive tension, the smell of cinnamon and cloves wafting from a syrup Liv has simmering on the cooktop fills the air with a festive feel.
Ollie and Sam are bickering as usual, this time over whether to replace rum with brandy, and Haley and Christian are making cow eyes at each other as they take it in turn to sip from a wide-mouthed glass.
They may be our rivals, but it’s fun being here with this lot in the vast kitchen.
Still going to kick their arses, and clinch the third win.
Teddy and I finish a few minutes ahead of the deadline. Tommy pokes his head through the kitchen door and gives a brass handbell a jaunty ring. Time’s up. We all carefully lift our cocktails, taking slow steps while trying not to slop anything on the floor or dislodge the garnishes.