8
The first person I see is the guy from the stairs. I’ve forgotten his name, but in my own defence, I was blindsided by this whole event and it’s only just starting to settle in that I am at a family party with a complete stranger pretending to be his girlfriend.
“Del, you remember Seb from the stairs,” Miles is saying, gesturing to the guy who is sans his moody-looking girlfriend now but standing between two other men, “And this is Isaac and Owen, more friends from school,”
Isaac is going to be the funnier of the two. My intuition tells me so. And the fact the next words out of his mouth are ribbing Miles makes me believe what I’ve always known, I’ve got brilliant intuition. Except for where Caleb was concerned.
“I didn’t know you had a girlfriend,” Isaac says, looking between us with a grin, “Good timing, ey?”
He winks at me and I raise an eyebrow at him. Isaac is the shortest of the three men I’ve been confronted with, and he seems to be the funny one too. His light curls are messy, and his thick-rimmed glasses are clearly his attempt at making bad vision a style choice.
“She knows about Jas,” Miles says, rolling his eyes.
“Shame,” Owen says, “It would have been a right laugh if she had found out tonight that the bride-to-be was the girl who robbed you of your innocence at such a young age,”
“Oh, he left that part out,” I say grinning up at Miles.
He rolls his eyes at me, “Guys, this is Delaney. She delights in my misfortune,”
“Sounds like we’ll get along,” says Isaac with another wink in my direction.
“My kind of girl,” adds Owen, reaching out to grip my hand in his big one. He’s only an inch or so shorter than Miles and just as cool, with the kind of mid-length hair men can only pull off in period dramas or if they frequently run their hands through it. After shaking my hand, Owen runs his hands through his hair, and I bite back a smile.
“Miles,” someone calls from behind us. We both turn and I watch Miles roll his eyes at an older couple. “We didn’t think you would come,” the man adds. He looks to be about the same age as Mile’s dad and is definitely related to him. This must be the groom’s parents.
“Uncle Trevor,” Miles says stiffly, shaking his hand and then smiling at the woman next to his uncle. She’s stunning with long dark hair and large brown eyes. She looks like Carrie will look in two decades. She smiles affectionately at Miles and then her eyes land on me, widening slightly. “Aunt Isobel,”
“Miles,” she says, “I’m glad you’re here,” she adds, and though there’s warmth, there’s also something else in there and it makes me steel myself to play the part of the doting girlfriend once more.
“Hi,” I say, “You must be Carrie’s mum. You look just like your daughter,”
Isobel smiles, reaching out and gripping my hand, while still looking at Miles “Your mum told us you brought someone, and what a treat she is,”
I don’t know what a treat is, but it doesn’t sound great.
“Del is my girlfriend,” Miles says.
Trevor chuckles, “I told Julian you would use your plus one. He bet me you wouldn’t,” he says, and then he turns me with a huge and evil fucking grin on his face, “I’m sure you’ve heard that our soon-to-be daughter-in-law left Miles for our son,”
Miles rolls his eyes and Isobel smacks her husband, but I just smile, “Oh yes,” I say. The anxious woman in my brain is now unconscious on the floor after being knocked out by the evil, drunk woman who has taken the reins, meaning that the next thing out of my mouth is, “I’m excited to meet the woman who passed on someone as fucking fantastic as your nephew. I’ll have to thank her,”
Trevor’s mouth hangs open, Isobel’s eyes widen, but Miles just snorts and pulls me away, chortling .
“That was fucking beautiful, Del,” he says, beaming at me as we make our way over to another group of friends he’s just spotted.
“Yeah, sorry,” I say. The anxious woman is returning to consciousness and freaking the fuck out in my head right now.
“Nope,” Miles says, “No apology necessary, I’ve never seen Trevor speechless in my life. It will go down in history,” he adds, grinning at me and squeezing my hand.
*
The party continues in rounds of people whose names I don’t hear and names I forget, and I am feeling slightly overwhelmed when Miles grabs us a beer and then pulls me out onto the smoking deck. It’s on the roof and overlooks the city, making me feel like I’m in a film about my own life.
“So, that was a lot,” he says, turning and putting his forearms on the railings, his beer hanging between his fingers. He looks like a fucking model in a Calvin Klein advert.
“Yeah, you might have to write down everyone’s names for me,” I say, leaning my back against the cool railing.
“Most of them aren’t worth remembering, don’t worry,” he says, looking out at the city skyline. I raise an eyebrow. His family sure must have done a number on him if he feels like that. He chuckles, “That sounded bitter,” he adds, looking at me now .
I nod, “Yeah, but I think I’d be bitter if my entire family were celebrating the engagement of my ex-girlfriend to my cousin,”
“It does sound very scandalous when you put it like that,” he says, shaking his head and sighing.
“So, did he meet her through you?”
He shakes his head again, “Julian and I are the same age. We were raised like brothers, really. And we were at school together, so he’s known Jas as long as I have. To be honest, I think he always had a thing for her, but he wasn’t much of a big shot in school,”
I raise an eyebrow, “Were you a big shot in school?”
He nods earnestly, “Oh yeah, big shot—huge, in fact,” I laugh. “Nah, I guess Julian just got more confident as he got older. And then he got his job with my dad, he drives a nice car, wears designer clothes. Exactly the kind of guy Jas goes for,”
I struggle to reconcile a girl who goes for Finance Bros like Julian, going for Miles as a teen, but maybe my very limited knowledge of Miles is standing in the way.
“He drives?” I ask, “In London?”
Miles nods.
I watch the skyline for a minute and then sigh, “What a tool,” I say with a grin.
He snorts, “Right?”
“So, is it awkward?” I ask, gesturing inside to the party we’re avoiding.
He shrugs, “I told you before, I’m not really sure I ever liked her that much,”
I nod, “I get what you mean, about them all thinking you’re heartbroken,”
The way they acted. Every one of them. Looking at Miles like he was a brave little boy to be there. He doesn’t seem very devastated to me. Mostly he seems like he’s fucking sick of people acting like he should be.
With my family, I get it. I am to be pitied. I was thrown over, I guess. I have not yet fulfilled my womanly duty of marrying and Caleb was my one chance for that, so it seems. But Miles? Don’t men get a free pass until they’re about 45? And then they just become silver foxes who fuck women half their age and still don’t get half the shit women do. We’re all looking at you, Leo.
He nods, “It’s the way they look at me,” he says, “I mean, they did it when they first got together, y’know, as if she’d chosen him over me. As if we hadn’t been broken up for nearly a decade,”
I nod. I do know that look. I know what it feels like to be passed over, which is why I know that Miles hasn’t been. You know it in your heart when you’re not good enough for someone.
We’re interrupted by Isaac calling out both our names and requesting we join him for tequila shots. And it is a good thing I get a good few in because the slight buzz means I don’t totally freak out about half an hour later when I am blindsided with Jas who is, in fact, the most beautiful human being on the planet.
Like, wow.
Insane-level beauty.
She’s got that long curly hair that stays perfectly in place and is probably done using one of those contraptions that the vacuum cleaner guy made. And she’s managed to make it to 11 pm and her makeup is still intact, and she hasn’t spilt anything on her white midi dress with one arm ruffle. She’s just so goddamn good at being a girl, it hurts.
Maybe Miles’s family has got a point? Maybe they’re just sad that he and Jas won’t make babies that are so beautiful they’d probably ascend to heaven and make us worship them like Gods. Actually, maybe it’s a good thing they didn’t procreate…
But instead of totally melting down, the tequila makes me squeeze her back when she hugs me, and say ‘No, look at your dress,’ when she compliments my outfit. I ask her questions about the wedding and even squeal when she shows me the ring.
It’s like watching myself from the outside, and I’m watching in awe at this girl who hasn’t had a meltdown at the actual goddess that her fake boyfriend used to date. I don’t even think once how people must be looking at me and thinking he downgraded. (Okay, maybe once.)
I even manage to wait until we’re out on the street an hour later to voice my opinion that Julian is punching so far above his weight with Jas that it should be illegal.
“In fact,” I add, “He should have to pay some form of tax for having a girlfriend that is that beautiful when he is mediocre at absolute best,” Miles laughs, shaking his head at me. “I mean, I know he’s your cousin,” I add, realising the tequila is making me mean.
Miles shakes his head, “Julian is a bastard, and not even because of Jas. Honestly, him marrying my ex is probably the least dick-ish thing of all the dick things he has done,”
“Okay, well,” I go on, “I won’t feel sorry for him being in your family because the rest of you are like the Cullens, you know if the Cullens tanned in the sun and didn’t sparkle,”
Miles snorts, “I don’t know how I feel about that,” he says, “I was always Team Jacob,”
“Oh my god,” I say, “Me too,”
We’re walking down the road and I assume we’re heading towards the nearest tube station. I’m just following Miles and hoping he knows where he’s going. Honestly, even after living here for five years, I still have no bearings at all when it comes to London.
“So, tonight was actually fun,” Miles says, “If only to watch my dad’s face as you rapped all the words to Super Bass with my mum,”
I laugh, thinking of the hangxiety that I’m going to get for having dragged an almost stranger’s mother onto the dance floor to dance to a Nicki Minaj song. The sober part of my brain didn’t even try to fight that one. She just sat back and laughed as the drunk part egged me on.
“Do you think your mum has ever heard of Nicki Minaj?” I ask.
“Oh no,” he says, “I am certain that that is the first time she has done her mum-dance to any of Nicki’s catalogue,”
I snort.
“Your mum is lush,” I say, thinking of the delicate woman who pulled me aside and thanked me for being brave enough to meet the whole family at once, and for making Miles smile.
Miles nods, “She’s too sweet for my family,” he says thoughtfully.
“I don’t know,” I say, “You seem pretty sweet, I mean, for a criminal,”
“Yeah well, drug dealers have feelings too,” he says, grinning down at me and ushering me across the road.
“So, both your brothers work for your dad, huh?”
He nods, “I never really fancied it. Even when I was a kid, I always wanted to do creative things and he hated it. Then my granddad died a few years back and left us all a ridiculous amount of money. So I started the shop and made my dad eternally disappointed in me,”
I frown, “How is owning a shop a disappointment? Especially in London, does he know how high rent is?” I ask, wondering how much a ‘ridiculous amount’ of money is, then realising that, no, I probably don’t want to know.
Miles snorts, “Exactly,”
“Well, I had fun tonight,” I say, “Much better than going to Koko with Emme and her marketing friends,”
He raises an eyebrow, “Really?”
I nod vigorously, “I’m incredibly boring,” I explain, “I hate going out out, especially with Emme’s marketing friends,”
He considers me, “I’ve only met you twice, and both times you were out out,”
I shake my head, “House parties don’t count as out out,”
He raises an eyebrow, “They don’t?”
“They don’t,” I say, “But I still think I’m deserving of a solid month indoors after two weekends in a row of socialising,”
“That’s good, you’ll be back out in time for the actual wedding,” he says, winking but looking slightly sheepish.
I smirk, “Are you asking me to be your fake date again?”
I hope so.
He looks at his feet as we cross another empty road, “Maybe, ”
I snort, “I mean, tonight was one thing, but faking it at a whole wedding?” I say.
“Look, you don’t have to, I just, well, for continuity's sake…” he trails.
I laugh, “I’ll think about it,” I say, and then I grin, “If you think about being my fake date,”
I’m not entirely sure that Sober Delaney will think it’s a good idea, but right now, all I can think of is how fucking fantastic it will feel to waltz into Tilda’s wedding with Miles on my arm. The awe, the admiration—wow, it’s truly a fabulous idea.
He grins, “Oh, I already signed up for that one,” he says, “Got an outfit picked out and everything,”
I laugh, trying hard to think of a reason not to go to a stranger’s wedding with an almost stranger. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?
Murder. Murder is the worst thing that could happen. Yes, I am aware.
“So, what is the neck tattoo and how much did it hurt?” I ask, changing the subject now in an effort to avoid overthinking about the prospect of becoming a statistic.
Miles grins, “It’s loads of drawings,” he says, opening his collar a little so that I can see better. There are anatomical drawings, a Vitruvian man, architectural style drawings, maps with longitude and latitude lines, and even some Renaissance sketches. It’s like a designer’s sketchpad, DaVinci’s notes, and it continues all the way down as far as I can see on his chest. His forearms have similar style ink too, with astronomical drawings and botanicals.
“They’re so fucking cool,” I mutter, still studying. “Did the neck hurt?”
He snorts, “Yeah,” he says, “A lot,”
I nod, continuing to walk as he buttons himself back up. “How did your family react?”
He laughs, “Well, you’ve just met them. How do you think?”
I grin, “About as well as my mum did when I arrived home with a half sleeve?”
He nods, “Yep,” he says. “Do you have any other tattoos?”
“Yeah,” I say, gesturing to my hip, “I have more flowers on my thigh and hip and another on my spine,”
“You like florals,” he says, studying the piece on my arm and shoulder too.
I grin, enjoying the feel of his eyes on me a little too much.
We’re walking for what must be more than an hour before I realise it and frown. I am caught up in Miles telling me about some flower market he’d gone to when he was in Amsterdam when I realise I actually don’t recognise a single thing around me and my brain goes into panic mode.
Like, usually, I could at least tell you vaguely where I am in London. But right now, we could be anywhere. We’ve been walking aimlessly for so long and I hadn’t even noticed.
“Where is the tube station?” I ask, hearing the panic in my own voice.
He frowns and then looks up too, “I… I don’t know,” he says, eyes widening as he, too, realises we’re lost, “I was following you,”
“I was following you,” I say, “I thought we were going for the tube,”
He stares at me for a second and then laughs, “I actually don’t know where we are,” he says, and then he starts off in a different direction and I jog a little to keep up, considering that it’s probably better to stay with the almost-stranger I have gotten lost alongside in the early hours of the morning, even if a small part of my brain is telling me to run.
How the fuck did I manage to not notice we had walked so far.
“That’s Finsbury Park, I’m pretty sure,” he says, stopping and pointing at a fence and what looks like a big field.
“How certain are you?” I ask, reaching for my phone, “Do you want to go up against Google Maps?”
“Not particularly,” he says, “But I’ll concede to her,” he adds, smirking.
I shake my head and open the app. He’s right, of course. It is Finsbury Park, and that means we’re not totally lost.
“Okay,” I say, “Well, we’re in the vicinity of where I live, at least,” I add, my heart rate slowing slightly while the anxious little monster in my brain calls me an idiot for not realising we had been walking for so long.
“Where do you live?”
“Wood Green,” I say, “But it’s close enough to Muswell Hill that I tell everyone who doesn’t live in London that that is where I live,” I say, beginning towards the direction Maps is now pointing me.
He snorts, “I do the same,” he says, following behind me.
I raise an eyebrow, “And where do you live, generational wealth-boy?”
He shakes his head, “Oh, what a witty nickname,”
I laugh, “I’m too tired to be funny, Miles,” I say, “You’re just going to have to laugh at me anyway. I need a confidence boost after meeting your ex,”
“I live near Turnpike Lane station,” he says, “But my shop is in Crouch End so that’s where I say I live too,”
I snort, “Oh, I’d tell people I live in Crouch End if I could get away with it,”
He grins.
“So, you live with Emme?” he asks.
I nod, “Ever since uni actually,” I say, “We moved from Manchester together right after we graduated, ”
“But you don’t get along with her marketing friends?”
I snort, “Emme works in fashion marketing and her friends scare me. They’re all those kinds of girls that are, like, really good at being girls, you know?”
He frowns, “Uh, no,”
“You do,” I say, “Jas is the perfect example. They’re the kind of girls whose hair stays in place and their makeup stays on for longer than a millisecond and they never spill drinks on their clothes and they can always walk in heels and they’re like the perfect amount of funny to be attractive to guys but not too much that they become the guy’s sidekick,”
His frown deepens, “Is this, like, a real girl?”
I nod, “I have met them,” I say, “They’re fucking everywhere. Every single one of my exes is now in a relationship with one of them,”
I mean, Caleb was even seeing one of those girls for the last year of our relationship, just to make sure I knew I wasn’t good enough.
“Why can’t they be too funny?” he asks curiously.
“Because the funny girl always becomes the sidekick, you know, his friend who he asks about girls’ secrets so he can finally pull one of the girls-who-are-good-at-being-girls,”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, looking at me like I’m speaking gibberish.
I frown, “Have you never seen an American high school movie? The funny one is always the sidekick. It’s why they have to get the balance right between being boring and being too funny for their own good,”
“I see,” says Miles in a way that makes it clear he very much does not see.
I roll my eyes and move on, “Anyway, the point is, Emme’s marketing friends are terrifying and I hate going out with them. I never really know what to talk about and they don’t find me as funny as they should, because I am undoubtedly hilarious,”
He grins, “If they can’t see that, are they even worth it?”
I shake my head with a grin.
“I would like to point out that this isn’t me saying I’m not like other girls,” I say, suddenly realising that I don’t want to come across like a Pick Me Girl, “Like, I am very much like other girls. Other girls are great, and I’m sure Emme’s marketing friends are great, we just don’t have a lot in common,”
Honestly, it feels like there’s a world between me and Emme’s marketing friends. They sometimes make me feel like an alien who has just landed on Earth and is learning to impersonate humans but is getting everything wrong that they could possibly get wrong.
Miles is watching me as I stew this over in my head and when I catch his eye he grins, “What did you study at uni?” he asks .
“English literature,” I say, thankful for the topic change.
He nods, “Did you enjoy it?”
“As much as you can when you know you’re probably not going to get a job at the end of it,” I say, “Choosing a degree with no vocation at the end is probably the closest I’ve ever come to being middle class,” I add with a wink.
He snorts, “I would argue with you, but I studied film and French,” he says, looking sheepish.
I laugh, “At least you got the language out of it,” I say winking at him again and marvelling at the fact I managed to wink twice in a row.
“Oh yeah, it’s done me wonders living my entire life in the UK,”
I chuckle, “How did you go from film studies to… floristing?”
“Floristry,” he corrects with a grin, “And my grandma on my mum’s side was a florist and her shop was my favourite place on earth. When she died, they sold it onto a chain before she was even in the ground,”
I frown, “That’s sad. Did she teach you?”
He nods, smiling wistfully, “She got sick of catching me making swords out of the stems I found on the floor, I think,”
I snort, picturing a younger Miles waving the stem of a flower around like a sword.
“Anyway, when my granddad died and he left us all this money, I didn’t really know what to do,” he says, “All my friends told me to go on a mad holiday or travel the world but the only place I ever really wanted to go was back to her shop and money couldn’t buy that, but I figured it could buy something close,”
I watch him for a minute, amazed at him having a place that means that much to him. I have never had that. I can’t even imagine that.
“Wow, that was really depressing,” he says.
I shake my head, “Actually, it was rather poetic,” I say.
We continue walking, checking my phone every now and again until we reach the tube station around the corner from my house. He insists on walking me the ten steps to my door and then I insist on him texting me when he gets home, and I wait up until after 3 am just to make sure he does.
Not once does it occur to me that we could have gotten on a tube at any point in our nearly three-hour journey home, because why would we?