Six
Devon
I spend most of Sunday nursing a hangover, with Wiggles music looping around in my head. Mental note: never get drunk at Ryan’s while he’s on dad duty ever again.
Fortunately, I manage to recover enough by the evening, so by the time Emma knocks on my door I at least look presentable, even if I still feel like the walking dead. The prospect of dinner with my parents and her family isn’t exactly doing much to improve my mood.
“Hey, you ready to do this?” she asks a little awkwardly.
“Was Marie Antoinette ready for the guillotine?”
Her brows shoot up and she offers a wry smile. “You’re in a dramatic mood today.”
I let out a soft chuckle and close the door behind me, falling in step with her as we make our way to the tube.
“Listen, there’s something else going on that I didn’t tell you yesterday,” Emma says after a few minutes of random chitchat. “I was going to, but then I just…chickened out, I guess. I didn’t want to pile on.”
“What is it?” I ask warily, my thoughts immediately straying to the conversation with Ryan about how Emma’s not the kind to sneak around behind my back.
She stops walking and turns to face me, tilting her chin up and squaring her shoulders as though bracing for impact. “I’m moving to Paris.”
I blink at her in confusion. “Paris…?”
She nods. “Yeah. I’ve got a new job with the marketing team at Chanel, so…”
“Wow, that’s amazing.” I offer her a broad grin, feeling genuinely happy for her. “Why were you worried about telling me? Why did you think you’d be piling on?”
“I guess…” she sighs, running a hand through her hair. “I guess I didn’t want you to feel like I was choosing a job over you.”
“Wow…that’s a very flattering picture you’re painting of my ego,” I say dryly. Although I did break into her emails last night because I thought she might have been seeing someone else, so I’m not exactly on the highest ground right now, am I?
She winces. “Sorry.”
“Look, you took me by surprise yesterday,” I tell her. “But I’ve had some time to think about it—” and read your private emails, and vent my frustration at a complete stranger, I think with an inward cringe. “And I think maybe you were right.”
Her eyes widen in surprise. “You do?”
I shrug. “Ryan said something yesterday that got me thinking. I always thought we were so perfect for each other because we have the same priorities and were able to just kind of fit around each other,” I say, gesturing with my hand in an attempt to show how easily we slotted into each other’s lives without disrupting anything. “But maybe I was wrong…”
She nods. “I get it. I used to think the same thing. But then I realised we weren’t really in a romantic relationship anymore.
We were just friends who happened to be planning a wedding.
It wasn’t bad —not even close to it, but that’s not really how it’s supposed to be is it?
” She glances up at me, but I don’t really have an answer for that.
“I don’t know about you, but I want someone to come along and mess everything up.
I don’t want someone who’ll just simply fit into my current routine.
I want my life completely turned upside down. ”
I shiver. “God, I could think of nothing worse.”
She lets out a soft chuckle. “It’ll happen one day., I’m sure. Speaking of—this is yours.” She twists her engagement ring off her finger and holds it out to me.
I wave her away. “Keep it.”
“But—”
“Emma, it’s yours,” I insist. “Do whatever you want with it—sell it, have it made into something else, throw it in the Thames. Whatever you want.”
She stares down at the ring, glimmering in her palm, a hesitant frown on her face. “But…are you sure?”
“I’m sure. Why don’t you trade it in for a couple of designer handbags or something?” I suggest.
Finally, she nods. “Okay. Thank you. For now, I’ll just put it on this.” She tugs the delicate gold chain she wears around her neck out from under her top. “Can you help me?”
She turns around, moving her long, dark hair to the side so I can unclasp the chain and she can thread the ring onto it.
Breaking the news goes about as well as expected.
Jaclyn looks positively crestfallen, her husband attempting to soothe her with a gentle rub of the back.
Meanwhile, my mum just keeps shaking her head and muttering, “But it’s only two weeks away…
” and my dad can’t seem to stop looking awkwardly around, sipping on his beer as though he’s not sure whether he’s still allowed in the house now that the wedding’s off.
The only person who seems mildly happy about the current situation is Wes. Of course, he does—the bastard.
“There’s some other news,” I announce, deciding to break the tension. I flick my gaze to Emma and offer an encouraging smile. “Why don’t you tell them?”
She draws in a deep breath, scanning her eyes around the gathered party. “Okay, well, this is kind of big. But good—”
Jaclyn lets out an excited gasp, a hand flying to her chest. “You eloped! Oh, I knew there had to be a proper reason for cancelling the wedding! Honestly, I’m not even mad about not being invited…
okay, well, I’m a little mad. But mostly I’m just thrilled that you’re married!
Are you pregnant—is that why you decided to rush things? ”
Jaclyn finally stops to take a breath and Wes rounds on Emma, grey eyes flaring with mortification. “Em…please tell me Mum’s just finally gone off the deep end and you haven’t actually eloped!”
“No, we haven’t eloped!” Emma cries. “Devon and I are not married! We’re not getting married! We will never get married!”
I wince at the vehemence in her voice. “Thanks, Em.”
She casts her eyes back at me, a sheepish expression crossing her face. “Sorry.”
“So, what’s the news then, love?” Steven asks.
“I’m moving to Paris,” Emma announces with a wide smile, going on to reveal the details of her new job.
“Well, I think this calls for champagne!” Wes pronounces brightly. “The good stuff. I think I saw a bottle of Dom in the fridge—I’ll go get it.”
He starts to rise but is halted by Jaclyn’s sharp voice. “Wesley, sit down. This situation most definitely does not call for champagne.”
Wes adopts an expression of pure innocence. “But Mum—we need to celebrate Emma getting her dream job.” He leans over and drapes an arm around Emma’s shoulders. “She’s worked so hard for this. Doesn’t she deserve to be fussed over?”
“He has a point, Jackie,” Steven says with a nod to his children.
“But, Steven,” Jaclyn persists, her features formed into an uncharacteristic frown.
Steven just waves her away, turning to his son. “Go get the bubbly, Wes.”
As though he’s a five-year-old on Christmas morning, Wes jumps from his chair and bounds off to the kitchen.
“I’ll get the glasses,” I say, rising from my seat. “Seeing as we’re toasting Emma.”
I follow after Wes, finding him digging through the fridge in the kitchen. “Laying it on a bit thick, don’t you think?”
He stands and turns to face me, offering an unctuous smirk. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m just happy for my sister. She’s wanted to work at Chanel forever.”
“Right.” I reach up into one of the high cabinets and start retrieving the champagne flutes. “And that’s the only reason for your good mood?”
He finally locates the bottle of Dom Perignon and removes it from the fridge.
“There are many reasons for my good mood, Devon. There’s a new season of Bake Off on, a client gifted me a whole box of chocolate cronuts, I got tickets to see The Strokes again next year—it’s a great time to be alive.
” He pauses in the motion of tearing off the wrapping covering the cork to look me square in the eye.
“Why? Was there something in particular you thought I should be happy about?”
“Careful with that.” I nod at the bottle in his hand. “I’d hate for it to shoot out and hit you right in the face.”
“Now, why do I get the impression you wouldn’t actually hate that?” he asks with a wry smirk, deftly unfastening the wire and pulling the cork out with a loud pop! “You’re a bit of a sadist at heart, aren’t you?”
It’s not until I get home that I see the email.
I’ve done my best to put that less-than-noble behaviour from last night out of my mind today, but now I’m staring at a blatant—and rather rude, I have to say—reminder of my transgression.
I should just ignore it; do what I should have done last night and take the high road.
But it turns out I’m not quite that mature.