Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Beck
I didn’t like weddings even if I’d been invited.
There was always someplace better to be—work, hiking with the boys, an abattoir.
But this wedding was different. This wedding was work.
And Henry Dawnay was the only meeting I had planned.
I scanned the bright, sunny room where they were having welcome drinks, trying to look as if I wasn’t looking for anyone.
Which I totally was. It might be day one, but I didn’t want to miss an opportunity to run into Henry.
“God, this is pretty,” Stella said. I wasn’t sure if she realized she’d tightened her hand in mine as if I were her life jacket in choppy, open waters.
I looked around the room again, trying to see what she did.
I supposed it was pretty. There were blue and white fresh flowers everywhere I looked—framing the doors, in swags around the picture rails, and small arrangements on every table.
The French doors opened up to a brick patio where people were spilling out onto a lawn.
Perhaps Henry was out there. It sounded like they had a string quartet playing—maybe he liked the music?
As we walked through the room, a waiter approached us with a tray of champagne.
I took two glasses and handed one to Stella, who promptly downed hers, so I handed her mine.
She smiled, slightly embarrassed, but took the glass nonetheless.
She needed to take it easy on the alcohol, or I was going to have to carry her back up to our room.
She was beyond stressed out. And I wasn’t sure if it was just because it was her ex’s wedding or if she was worried that we’d be caught faking it.
Getting to know her had been eye-opening.
I’d gotten an insight into how women thought.
With me, what you saw was what you got. I’d realized over the last couple of weeks that the women I normally spent time with didn’t tell me half what they were thinking.
In contrast, Stella didn’t hold back. I had a near-constant running commentary on what was going on inside her head.
She’d assured me that all women thought similarly about various issues—men who only called late at night, men who wouldn’t go down on a woman but wanted a blow job, and men with back hair, among many other things.
I also knew her opinion on men who ghosted women—which had happened to Florence before Gordy came along, apparently—on the joys of working from bed, and the importance of hedgehogs.
It was as if I’d suddenly inherited a sister.
Except Stella was hot.
“You look beautiful,” I said, trying to calm her nerves. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she had a drinking problem, but I’d never seen her like this before.
She was looking particularly stunning today. She’d picked out a floaty, floral dress with long, billowing sleeves and a deeply cut neckline. When she walked, I got a glimpse of her toned, tanned legs. It was a dress that looked demurer than it turned out to be.
And that suited Stella—one thing on the face of it, hinting at something more interesting underneath.
That dress could have been made for her.
But my favorite thing about her today was the way she’d scraped up one side of her hair with a clip that had fresh flowers on it.
It was innocent and sexy at the same time.
It showed off her long neck and emphasized her cheekbones.
She was gorgeous, even if she didn’t realize how gorgeous.
She had nothing to worry about. I’d only laid eyes on the bride once, but the first time I’d seen Karen, I wondered why on earth Stella’s ex had dumped her. Not that Karen wasn’t attractive, but she wasn’t as beautiful as Stella, either. Not even close.
“I don’t see Henry,” she said, emptying her second glass of champagne and catching a passing waiter, swapping her empty glass for two full ones.
She handed one to me.
“Are you sure you’re not going to take both of them?” I asked with a smile.
She grimaced. “Sorry. I need to be medicated to get through tonight. Hopefully it won’t be so difficult after I see them for the first time.”
But she was friends with them, wasn’t she? I wasn’t getting the full story from Stella, but given she’d been so open about so much with me, she must have her reasons to keep secrets. I wasn’t going to make her feel uncomfortable.
“Here’s Florence and Gordy. They might have seen Henry.”
“How are you holding up?” Florence asked once we’d all greeted each other.
“I’m fine,” Stella replied. “Well, you know, as fine as can be expected.”
“You need a drink,” Florence said. “Or maybe you don’t,” she added as Stella stumbled on a completely flat surface. It wasn’t even eight yet. At this rate she’d be throwing up within the hour.
“That was my shoes, but I have to admit, this isn’t my first glass. At this rate, Beck will have to carry me upstairs.”
“And that’s not part of the package,” I replied, and Stella blushed and put her finger to her lips.
I hadn’t meant part of our deal—it was an offhand comment that was just meant to be a joke, but I could feel the heat in her cheeks in the tips of my fingers even though I hadn’t touched them. She needed to stop being so fixated on what was fake between us and focus on what was real.
I really knew her—more than any woman.
I really liked her.
And I really wanted to get to know her more.
Right on cue at just before ten, Stella clutched her stomach and said, “I’m not feeling great. I might head back up to the room.”
I hadn’t spotted Henry and felt sure he wasn’t about to arrive just as everyone was leaving.
I’d have to be patient. It was just that all of my patience had been used up getting to this point.
I needed his signature on the contract. I had exactly a week after the ceremony to get his signature.
Then I could call the bank to tell them to call off the dogs and I could start on redevelopment. I was done waiting.
“I’ll come up with you,” I said, taking Stella’s glass from her before she could down the last half a glass of champagne that we’d likely both see on the way back up.
Luckily, Stella was a harmless, funny drunk.
Cute really. I’d had a couple of girlfriends who turned into two-headed, fire-breathing monsters after a couple of glasses of wine.
I’d not dated one of those for a while. The last one had been Joan.
She’d been cool and sexy, and it was all going so well until one Friday night we went for dinner after she’d been drinking—it was as if she’d been possessed by an evil spirit.
She’d started telling me how no one was going to fall in love with me because I was such a cold-hearted bastard who used women for sex.
Her cool-girl act had been exactly that—an act.
Stella just got more relaxed. Her shoulders fell by several inches each drink and then her head had tilted to one side as she kept telling Florence and Gordy how much she loved them.
Stella grabbed Florence and they hugged each other as if they were expecting to never see each other again.
“It’ll be about nine hours until you see her at breakfast,” I said.
“Yes, and Bea and Jo will arrive soon. It will be so great to see them.” Stella launched her hand in the air and cocked out one hip. She was going to take somebody’s eye out. “To see all the girls from St. Catherine’s.”
Hopefully, Henry would arrive tomorrow. Joshua better have been right when he’d said Henry would be here all week, or we were going to fall out.
“Right. Bed,” she said.
I placed my hand at the small of her back, gently encouraging her forward.
“Beck, you’re a very nice guy,” she said, pointing her finger at my cheekbone as we started up the old, oak staircase, her toned thigh slipping out from under the fabric with every step she took.
The dress was perfect for her—sweet and sexy.
If the dress had downed at least a bottle of wine, I’d say they were related.
“You’ve been the perfect gentleman tonight. ”
“Were you expecting something else?” I asked as we reached the landing, and I pulled out the key to our room.
I turned when I realized she wasn’t by my side—she was frozen in the middle of the hallway.
“Am I attractive?” she asked.
The ground beneath my legs suddenly felt less stable—was she about to turn into a Joan?
Was this a trick question where any answer I gave provoked rage?
If I said yes, I would be objectifying her, and if I said no, I’d be some kind of mean bastard.
“Of course. Let’s go inside.” I gestured to our room, holding the door open.
“Do you mean that?” she asked as she slid past me. “Or are you just saying that?”
I took a deep breath as I got a great view of her bottom as she bent from the waist to unclasp her shoes.
There was no doubt she was attractive. From the moment I’d laid eyes on her, I’d been struck by her openness.
And her high cheekbones and her eyes that watched me so intently.
“I rarely say things just for the sake of it,” I replied, shrugging off my jacket and placing it on a hanger.
“But am I marriage material?”
Oh God, were we really going to do this? I wasn’t her therapist. I wasn’t her sister or best friend. I didn’t do girl talk. “I have no idea what marriage material is.”