Chapter 3
Theo
Not even Saoirse’s mates can save this party.
Miles and our parents ensured that when they invited along every turgid motherfucker they do business with.
And my ambitions to charm my way back into Mum and Dad’s good books and into a cushy job in the firm do not extend to making small talk with their pale, male and stale business associates and their predatory wives (though I don’t blame the wives for hitting on me.
Not when they’ve got to get into bed with those guys later).
Worse, most of the younger guests at the party saw me immortalised in all my glory with Trixie and Dixie and are treating me like some kind of novelty. I escape one handsy fifty-something and make for the bar. And just like that, my evening gets better.
There’s a woman alone at the bar, her back to me.
Her brown hair is a glossy mane pulled over one shoulder.
She’s in a stunning pale blue dress that skims her curves to perfection.
It’s classy but feminine, and best of all, the neck dips at the back, exposing an enticing V of creamy skin.
I run my eyes down her body. Killer legs. Sexy AF heels.
And best of all, she’s alone. Her evening’s about to get better, too.
I rake my hair back, tug on the lapels of my blazer and slide in beside her. But the beginnings of a chat-up line die on my lips when she senses my presence and turns to face me.
Fuck me. It’s my cousin Elle’s mate, Nora.
I recover quickly. ‘Hi, Belle.’
She’s openly despised me since I kissed her at uni, but tonight her expression is less horror and more deep discomfort.
‘Romeo.’ She says my old nickname in a flat mutter, but she doesn’t look me in the eye.
I’ll take it she’s seen Charmed in Chelsea, then.
‘You look good.’ She really does. I rake my eyes down her front.
The dress fits her like a glove and brings out the blue-green of her incredible Disney eyes.
Eyes that earned her her nickname. I remember that much about that evening.
We’ve seen each other a few times over the years, at social events where Elle and I have overlapped, but as my cousin’s got more famous, those events have become fewer and further between.
And given Nora here makes no secret of her contempt for me, that suits me fine.
‘Thanks.’ Her voice is tight. Hostile, even for her.
‘How come you’re here? Is Elle here?’ I crane my neck around to look for my cousin.
‘No, she’s shooting in Elstree. Your brother and Saoirse have hired me as their wedding planner.’
‘No way! Nice one. Why did I think you were in journalism—weren’t you at the Times?’
‘I only lasted there a year.’ She fondles the stem of her champagne flute.
‘I did precisely no journalism, but my boss from hell made me plan her wedding. I decided it was a flaky industry and I could do a good job if I stripped out the emotion and added even an ounce of competence. So I quit the Times and struck out on my own.’
She tilts her chin up defiantly, as if she’s expecting me to laugh at her or call her out on her story, but I don’t.
‘Makes sense. No wonder my brother hired you. Last time I made the mistake of bringing up the wedding, he said all the planners they’d met with were called things like Peony. So I can see him digging your approach.’
‘I like your brother. He doesn’t take any shit, and he knows what he wants. And Saoirse’s lovely.’
Her face softens slightly. Nora’s a piece of work. On the occasions we’ve seen each other, I always feel compelled to wind her up, because she is so goddamn easy to wind up. She takes everything so seriously. But there’s something flat about her tonight. Her usual spark is missing.
‘Saoirse’s a babe,’ I agree. ‘God knows what she sees in my wanker brother.’
‘He’s successful and competent, and that’s attractive. They’re good together.’
She takes a sip of her champagne and I can’t resist a little dig. Probably because she just called my brother successful, competent and attractive. She has no way of knowing this, but the first two adjectives hurt me far more than the third.
‘Drinking on the job?’
She flushes and puts the flute down instantly.
‘I shouldn’t. But God knows, I need a drink just to hold it together.’
Weird. Nora Wilder shouldn’t need anything to hold it together. She’s Little Miss Self Sufficient.
‘You all right, Belle? You don’t seem your usual feisty self.’
Her Disney eyes slide away to somewhere behind me, then back to me. She really is gorgeous. Shame she’s so uptight. The only fun you can have with her is riling her.
‘Jonathan’s here.’ She grabs the flute again and takes a decent slug.
‘Your boyfriend Jonathan?’
Let me tell you right now. Nora’s boyfriend, Jonathan Holmes, is a snooze fest. I played rugby with him at uni - we overlapped on the Blues in my final year and his first year.
He was a decent prop, but I avoided him like the plague off the field.
He’s a big, gormless oaf. I suspect he may have been hit in the head by a rugby ball one too many times.
I have to lean in closer to hear Nora.
‘He broke up with me just before Christmas,’ she mumbles.
Even I’m not enough of a dick to kick someone when they look like an orphaned kitten.
‘Ah, shit. I’m sorry.’
She can do so much better than him. Though from what little I’ve seen of them together, they weren’t the worst match. I think she liked bossing him around, and he was placid and dumb enough to take it. To like it.
‘He’s here with his new girlfriend.’ She sniffs. ‘The one he dumped me for. I just met her.’
Yikes. That’s rough. I crane my neck around again, looking in the direction of Nora’s moony gazes over my shoulder. When my eyes hit Holmes and his new chick, I can’t help it. I snort so hard my champagne goes up my nose. Oh God. I’m dying.
Nora stands there while I try to get my choking under control. She folds her arms in disapproval.
‘That’s his new girlfriend?’ I wheeze. ‘The girl in the yellow dress?’
‘Yeah.’
Holy fuck. I sneak another look at them. My eyes are on stilts.
‘Stop it!’ Nora hisses. ‘They’ll see us looking.’
This has made my day. It’s fucking hilarious. That dark horse Holmes is far sneakier than I’d have given him credit for.
‘Do you think she’s pretty?’ Nora asks, and despite myself, my heart breaks just a little for her.
‘Honey, I have no idea. You think I was looking at her face?’
She rolls her eyes. ‘You’re impossible.’
‘I’m pretty sure I can explain Jonathan’s decision to date her in two words.’ I steamroller on, despite Nora putting her hand up to stop me. ‘Tit wank.’
She squeezes her eyes shut, and genuine hurt flickers on her face, and she crosses her arms defensively over her own chest. And I feel like the worst kind of twat.
‘I’m sorry.’ I put a hand out and touch her on her forearm. ‘I’m sure she has a lovely personality.’
‘Fuck off.’
I’m back-peddling now, driven by an uncharacteristic desire to make Nora Wilder’s evening better. She’s here to work. I’m sure Miles’ wedding’s a big gig for her, and she doesn’t need this shit from her douchebag ex. I sneak another look behind me.
‘Look. She’s pretty in an inoffensive, forgettable way. That’s it. She’s not beautiful. Not like you. She doesn’t have your bone structure.’ I allow my gaze to linger on Nora’s face. Objectively speaking, she’s stunning. When those eyes aren’t rolling or glaring, they’re insane. Massive.
I wish I remembered what they were like when I kissed her. That whole evening is a bit hazy, apart from the stupid nickname thing.
‘Shut up.’
She’s even more prickly than normal. I think about extricating myself, but I don’t want to leave her here alone. She probably doesn’t know many people, hence why she was at the bar by herself in the first place. Maybe I’ll just steer the conversation onto safer topics.
‘So. What dark secrets can you spill about the wedding? Do they have a location?’
‘They seem to have decided on Sorrel Farm in Kent. I can’t believe they’ve managed to book that place out in July, but the Commercial Director, Evelyn, knows Miles, so…’
Of course she does. My brother is a relentless networker for such a grumpy fucker. I’m not sure how he gets people on board when he’s permanently wearing a face like a slapped arse (though less so since Saoirse’s come on the scene, thank Christ).
‘Nice. I wouldn’t put it past Miles to have held it here.’
‘I think they wanted a destination. Somewhere they could make a fun weekend of it. And you know they’re having a joint stag and hen in the south of France? I’m organising that, too.’
I smirk. ‘I do. I’m the best man.’ I bet Nora will have the entire wedding party whipped into shape. As far as I’m concerned, that means less work for me. Especially if the stag and hen are a joint operation. She’s Miss Sensible. Mum would love it if I brought someone like Nora home.
Her face drops.
‘Looks like we’ll be spending a lot of time together this summer, huh?’
There’s a smart retort on the tip of her tongue, I can feel it, when her face freezes. ‘For fuck’s sake.’
‘What is it?’
‘Jonathan just kissed her. And they’re coming over.’
She stiffens. Bless her. I edge forward. I can’t just watch her idiot ex make a fool of her when she’s trying to be professional.
‘Do you trust me?’
She looks at me as if I’ve grown a second head. ‘No.’
‘Tough. Just go with it.’
That silky curtain of hair is still hanging over one shoulder. I slide my hand around the side of her neck that’s bare, a graceful arc under my palm. Her skin is smooth, but her pulse is racing. I don’t, for a second, fool myself that my touch is doing that.
‘Pretend I’m hitting on you,’ I mutter under my breath.
She narrows her eyes at me. ‘From where I’m standing, you are hitting on me.’
‘In your dreams, Belle.’
She looks over my shoulder and squeaks. ‘Hi, Jonathan.’
I turn around slowly, my palm still doing lazy laps of the area where Nora’s swan-like neck meets her shoulder. My thumb traces the ridge of her collarbone.
‘Holmes.’
He’s such a waste of space, this guy. I offer him my hand and he takes it, but his eyes are fixated on my other hand.
The one on his ex-girlfriend’s neck. For his benefit, I slide my fingertips under the thick strap of her dress and stroke.
This charade is no hardship at all. She’s such a sexy little thing.
Her collarbone is fine, the skin glossy.
‘Montague.’ Jonathan’s eyes are on stilts as he shakes my hand before rousing himself. ‘This is my, er, girlfriend, Lucy.’
I shake her hand, forcing myself to keep my eyes on her face. I was right in my assessment from afar. It’s a forgettable face. A little snub nose and a few freckles. Nice enough. But nothing to write home about.
‘Hi, Lucy.’ I flash her my trademark smile.
‘Hi! I saw you on Charmed in Chelsea! You were fantastic in it!’ She’s beaming at me, and given I have normal, human levels of peripheral vision, I can’t help but see her tits heaving in that monstrous yellow get-up.
She’s basically said I saw you naked. I allow myself a smirk. Jonathan looks fit to burst.
‘That’s so kind. Thanks. Enjoy your evening.’
I turn back to Nora and slide my other hand around her waist, pulling her into me. I whisper in her ear.
‘Let me know when they’ve gone.’
‘You didn’t need to do that.’ She wriggles out of my grasp. ‘They’ve gone. Whew. You didn’t need to grope me like that.’
‘I stroked your collarbone, Nora. I wouldn’t get too hot and bothered about it. I’m capable of a lot more.’
‘I know you are.’ She glares at me. ‘I had the misfortune of seeing exactly what you’re capable of last week from my sofa. With Trixie and Dixie.’
‘I bet you didn’t change the channel, though. Did you, you dirty girl?’
‘You’re horrific. And I don’t need you to play games with Jonathan.’
‘It was just a bit of fun. I thought it would make you feel better to get some revenge. He was fucking furious.’
‘I don’t want revenge. I want him back.’
‘Seriously? Move on. You can do better.’
‘No, I can’t. Don’t say that. He’ll come to his senses. My future is with Jonathan. I know it.’
‘Well, in that case, you should be thrilled with me, because I just made that man very jealous.’
‘I don’t like playing games like that. I don’t want to stoop to his level. When they go low’—she gives a shaky but defiant nod—‘we go high.’
That stops me in my tracks. ‘Did you just quote Michelle Obama to me?’
She gives me a duh face. ‘Yeah. She’s my hero. What’s the problem?’
There is no problem, except the cogs in my mind are picking up steam. In fact, they’re turning so fast they’re probably sparking.
‘Nothing. Tell you what, Belle. You should date me.’