Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Stella
Oh. My. God.
Every time I thought back to last night, my stomach dived into my feet and I had to pause whatever I was doing to make sure I wasn’t about to throw up.
Why could I have not passed out rather than decide I’d try to kiss Beck?
It was as if I wasn’t content with the humiliation of being at my ex-boyfriend’s wedding with a stranger who was pretending to be my boyfriend.
I had to bear the additional shame of trying to kiss the most handsome man alive.
I was an idiot.
I wasn’t sure anything was worth spending the rest of the week here.
If I’d been sober enough to charge my phone, I was pretty sure I’d have booked a flight out of this cave of mortification by now.
It didn’t help that we were all being bused to Matt’s uncle’s castle from the hotel for a day of activities.
It might only be a fifteen-minute journey, but the narrow, winding roads mixed with the memories of the evening before were threatening to bring up last night’s dinner.
At least I was at the front of the coach—last on, first off.
I’d nearly missed it, and I was almost certain that by the end of the day I would wish I had.
The bus pulled up in front of Glundis Castle.
Last time I’d been here, Matt and I stayed in the west wing in the Churchill bedroom, named after its most famous occupant.
I tried to push away the memories. Things were different now.
I couldn’t change it. Every time we’d been away together in the last few years, I’d wondered if Matt would propose.
Last summer when we were here, it hadn’t been any different.
I pressed my head against the window to take in the turrets on top of the four stories of weathered red brick.
The wide, stone steps narrowed toward the entrance and a red carpet had been laid to give everyone the VIP treatment as they entered.
Last time I’d been here, I’d been treated as a member of the family. This time, I was one of many guests.
When I got off, I stood in the rare Scottish sunshine, trying to focus on something other than the sloshing in my stomach. “Hey,” Florence said, bounding over to me. “I didn’t see you get on the bus. I wondered if your head was hurting a little too much this morning.”
“Don’t remind me. I was a mess.”
Jo and Bea came up behind us and I opened my arms and pulled them into a four-way hug.
My girls. At least today I wouldn’t see much of Beck—hopefully by tonight, by magic, his memory would have been erased and he wouldn’t recall my sad, pathetic humiliation.
Today the men and women had been separated and different things planned for each group.
Apparently, the boys were shooting. We were probably flower arranging or something.
The invitation assured us it would be an enjoyable day. I knew better.
“It’s so good to see you,” Bea said. “I love that I get to hang out with you for an entire week!”
Thank God there was finally an upside of being here.
I was beginning to wonder if I should just spend the rest of the week with fake tonsillitis.
Or something more contagious that would give me an excuse to check into my own room, where I’d be as far away as possible from Beck Wilde.
If only I could just rewind and make myself go right to bed without speaking a word to him.
I was never drinking again. Ever.
“Can you believe this pottery shit?” Jo said as we followed the rest of the party around the back where five long trestle tables were set out with chairs on either side. Free-standing shelving full of plain pots and glazes flanked the tables. “Why can’t we go shooting with the boys?”
If I hadn’t made a complete fool of myself with Beck last night, I would have agreed, but today I was grateful we’d been divided by gender—even if it was sexist bullshit.
“Matt would never agree to pottery painting and Karen wouldn’t go shooting, so I guess it makes sense,” Florence said. “It’s kinda like the hen and stag parties they didn’t have.”
“I know, but I’m desperate to meet Stella’s new man!
” Bea said as we took our seats at one end of the table.
If I thought I’d have a reprieve from my nausea, I was wrong.
Florence was the only one who knew Beck was actually a fake boyfriend.
She’d convinced me that the fewer people who knew the truth the better.
I hated lying to Bea—she was always so open about her dating life.
“Well, we’ve got another four days so I’m sure you’ll get to see him at some point,” I said, trying my best to give a genuine, newly-in-love smile.
“Speak of the devil,” Florence said as we followed her gaze to see Beck heading toward us.
Oh God. What did he want? I’d faked being asleep when he got up for a run, then dashed into the shower and made it out before he returned.
I’d given myself a metaphorical pat on the back—it wasn’t as if we had anything in particular to say to each other.
And I needed a few hours for my humiliation to be brought down to a simmer.
Now I was going to have to act like the dutiful girlfriend. “Hey,” he said. “Hi, Florence. Jo.”
“I’m Bea, Stella’s friend from St. Catherine’s.” Bea stood and beamed at Beck.
“I’m delighted to meet you, Bea,” Beck replied as he bent down to kiss her cheek. “I’ve heard so much about you. And I’ve just met James.”
Impressive that he’d remembered Bea’s boyfriend’s name and put them together. He was so bloody convincing he should take acting up for a living.
“Stella,” he said and my heart ping-ponged in my chest as humiliation, confusion, and a little lust fought to be first in line. “Can I have a word?” He beckoned me toward him and started walking away from everyone.
I followed him over the grass. What the hell was he doing here?
I’d been such a complete lunatic last night.
I’d never tried to kiss a man before. Why had I started with Beck Wilde?
He was probably going to make us have some awkward conversation about how he thought of me as a friend, and I’d have to explain that last night hadn’t been about him—it had been about wine.
And trying to make myself feel better. Maybe it had been a little about him, because he was so bloody nice to me on top of that six foot two of good looking. It was hard to resist without wine.
He stopped about twenty meters from where everyone was choosing their pottery, so no one would be able to hear what we were saying.
“Look, I’m really sorry about last night, Beck,” I said, trying to head off the talk he was about to initiate.
Beck pushed his hands through his hair as if he were gearing up to deliver bad news.
“You don’t need to worry,” I said. “I promise it won’t happen aga—”
He cupped my face in his hands, his warmth heating my skin.
“What?” What was happening? Why was he touching me? Was this part of the show? I searched his face, looking for answers.
“I’m going to kiss you now. Are you ready?” he asked.
I took a step back and he stepped forward, keeping his hands on my face.
“Did you hear me?” he asked.
“I don’t understand—”
Before I could finish my sentence, his lips were on mine, and sparks of energy raced from his lips across my skin.
What was happening? His mouth was soft but insistent, and he smelled of coconut shower gel, freshly mown grass, and something indescribable but undeniably male.
He broke our kiss but didn’t move away, instead resting his forehead against mine. This had to be for someone else’s benefit—he’d done this to prove we were a couple.
“I’ve been waiting to do that.” He straightened and took a half step back, as if he wanted to check not just my face, but my entire body’s reaction to his kiss.
Which was entirely understandable because his kiss still reverberated from the bottom of my toes to the breath escaping from my lungs to the buzz of my jaw under his fingers.
I felt it everywhere.
“Did I miss something?” I stuttered, trying to figure out why he’d kissed me. Who was watching?
He snaked his arm around my waist, and he pulled me toward him, kissing me again, this time his tongue parting my lips.
He groaned as he moved deeper and my insides tightened, my heart sped, and my skin pricked like popping candy under my tongue.
My knees weakened and I had to lean into him to stop myself from falling.
But it didn’t stop the dizziness, the way the world seemed to sway as he touched me.
“Christ,” he said, pulling away but keeping me in his arms. “I’m not quite sure how I’m going to be able to leave you alone for the rest of the day, but I’m going to have to. I’m thirty seconds away from pulling you down onto the grass and dry humping you like my fourteen-year-old self.”
I smiled up at him, confused and a little disorientated. “What . . . I mean, did something happen? Did someone say something?”
He paused, and there was a softness in his eyes I’d not seen before. “Last night . . . Well, I wasn’t expecting it. You were . . .”
“Hammered,” I finished for him.
He shrugged. “I didn’t want to take advantage last night.
On my run this morning, I decided I didn’t want to wait a moment longer to kiss you.
” His expression changed as he caught me—presumably looking as dazed and confused as I felt.
“This is okay, right?” His thumb stroked my jaw.
“Last night you seemed to be on for the kissing.”
This entire situation was so weird. Last night I’d been a mess—a lunatic.
And this morning, when I’d thought about trying to kiss him, all I’d felt was complete mortification.
I hadn’t been picking out pottery to paint wondering if I still liked him or if he’d kiss me today, so I wasn’t prepared for his question.
“It’s fine,” I replied. “Unexpected. It’s not because anyone has said something? ” I asked.