Chapter 36
Nora
Waking up with only Olive in Elle’s beautiful, immaculately redecorated spare room is depressing as hell. I peer down at her as she stands beside the bed on her hind legs, her front paws scrabbling at the base.
‘Come on then, sweetie.’ I pull her up and set her down on the empty pillow next to me.
That’s better.
Theo’s sent me a WhatsApp. I click into it and laugh. He’s shared his Wordle score from today. The bastard got it in two.
Beat that Wilder xxx
Goddammit. The pressure’s on—he’ll be insufferable if I can’t match his score. I stick an extra pillow behind me and settle back, smiling at my phone.
On it
Ten minutes and four lines later, I’m sweating, a doodle-covered pad and pencil next to me. Shit. I could swear there is no word in the English language that contains this particular array of letters. I should just shower and come back to it with fresh eyes.
A message comes through.
How you getting on?
Grr. 4 lines down. 2 greens 1 yellow and 0 fucking clue
He sends back a line of crying with laughter emojis.
Want a little clue?
Ugh.
Ok.
There’s a double letter.
Ahh. The double letter thing always, always foxes me. I mess around with the letters again on paper. I always have to write it down to see the pattern. Theo can do it in his head.
Bingo.
I message him back triumphantly.
TIARA.
I win. Suck it, Wilder.
Ahem.
Er, think we decided not to do that anymore. I smirk and send it.
Ruin my day before it’s started, why don’t you.
Whatcha doing today?
He’s the sweetest. The desire to be in bed with him right now, wordling away in competition next to him before he pulls me into him and presses that deliciously hard body down on me in triumph is like a physical pain.
Sorrel Farm. Final prep for the big day.
He’s straight back with
Want me to drive you?
Yes yes yes yes yes.
No thanks. Not a good idea.
Why?
Because we’d totally have sex in your car.
Why do you think I offered?
I can’t bear this guy. I know he’s joking about the sex (well, I think he is.
You never know with Theo). But I’m not his responsibility.
He’s already done so much for me. You know, letting me stay in his home for weeks and teaching me that sex can indeed make the world go around.
Teaching me that I’m desirable. Powerful.
He doesn’t have to chauffeur me around, too. I can take the train.
I sigh as I put my thumbs to my screen.
We’re supposed to be staying away from each other. Clean break, remember?
Shit. He’s video calling me. I smooth down my hair before answering. His gorgeous face fills the screen. He too has bed head, and it looks great on him.
‘There she is. Morning, gorgeous.’
‘Morning.’ I stare shamelessly at him, drinking him up. I can’t see much below his collarbones, but he’s topless.
Naked, probably.
Jesus. I press my thighs tightly together.
‘Let me drive you down.’
He’s doing the Mafia-boss-with-puppy-dog-eyes thing. I can’t bear it.
‘Don’t you have work to do?’
‘I have a modern contraption called a laptop. It’s amazing—I can take it anywhere. And it’s a gorgeous day. I’d rather work out of Sorrel Farm than be stuck in London. Come on, sweetheart.’
I consider. I do have a stack of wedding stationery to cart down with me: name cards and menus for the tables as well as the order of service.
‘No car sex.’
That dirty grin. ‘No car sex.’
I clarify. ‘No sex of any kind.’
‘Done. We’re friends, Belle. I want to be your mate. This is something I can help you with, so throw me a bone. Besides, seeing you makes me happy. I miss having you around, you know?’
Well, I can’t argue with that, can I?
I don’t let any of my other ‘friends’ hold my hand the entire way on a car journey, their fingers grazing my thigh. But none of my other friends are as touchy-feely and boundary-less as Theo Montague.
(Also: none of them are as hot as him. So.)
My body is so ecstatic to see him it’s both tiresome and tiring. Of course it’s ecstatic. It’s been conditioned to expect earth-shattering rewards when Romeo’s in the vicinity. We’re all dopamine addicts these days. I just need to find a new form of dopamine hit to replace him with.
Like extending the amount of time I allow myself on Pinterest.
Or with my vibrator.
That said, I would appreciate my head having some sort of superiority to my lady parts when it comes to how I actually act.
I don’t act on my baser urges. I am a planner.
If I can make a career out of planning things, surely I can manage it for my personal life, too.
My body would respond to Theo as needily as Olive did when he picked us up, if I let it.
I refuse to be the woman who chooses a life partner based on orgasms alone. Even if the wonderful, stable life I envisage with Jonathan manifests as a soft, contented glow in my mind’s eye as opposed to the nuclear-level blinding light of what it’s like to be with Theo.
It appears said bestower of sanity-destroying orgasms is still keeping up the fake-boyfriend facade for Evelyn, because when we turn up at the farm, he waits around with me in the charming courtyard till she appears, his arm draped lazily over my shoulder, the heat of his body searing into my side.
‘My favourite couple,’ she quips as she greets us. She’s in what looks like full-on Chanel and has a sweet little black spaniel with her. He and Olive make an excited beeline for each other’s bums, settling into a bumbling circle that’s like a rotating sixty-nine.
‘This is Charlie.’ She nudges him with her foot. ‘He hasn’t got the memo that his balls have left the building. He’s still a total tart.’
‘Just like Theo,’ I comment, before remembering that he’s supposed to be a devoted monogamist.
‘Reformed tart, thank you very much.’ Theo’s hand slides down my arm and around my waist, tugging me to him more tightly. ‘Once I met this one, I realised quality was far more satisfying than quantity. Right, baby?’
He presses his lips to my temple and I close my eyes for a second, to more fully absorb the sensation. I force a smile.
‘Right.’
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ he tells me and Evelyn. ‘And I’ll see you at noon for that coffee, right, Evelyn?’
‘In the Oast House,’ she promises.
I look up at him. ‘Huh?’
He grins. ‘Hotel stuff. I’m tapping Evelyn for some info. See you when you’re done.’
As he saunters away, Olive removes her snout from Charlie’s bum and sits, staring forlornly at his retreating figure, his MacBook tucked under his arm.
I know how she feels.
‘You’ve got a keeper there,’ Evelyn remarks as we walk over to the Oast House. ‘Charlie. Heel. He looks at you like he can’t believe his luck, and he’s pretty easy on the eye too, if you don’t mind my saying.’
‘It’s not how it looks.’ To my horror, my eyes prick with hot tears.
‘He’s not—he doesn’t want to settle down.
’ Even as I say the words, they seem wrong.
Inaccurate. Undeserved. But I don’t have a better way to articulate Theo’s objectives in life.
‘Not here, anyway. I think—I think he’s going to end up in New York, doing a project for his family. ’
The idea of him leaving, being thousands of miles away, sucks the breath out of my lungs, for some reason. A world without Theo in it will be a world drained of colour. Of life.
‘Oh, honey.’ Evelyn puts a hand on my arm. ‘And you wouldn’t go with him?’
‘He hasn’t asked me.’ It’s true. He hasn’t asked, because it hasn’t even been a consideration between us.
Theo’s on a journey to prove himself to his family.
He has a glorious adventure ahead of him.
Meanwhile, I’m not the adventurous type (not outside of Theo Montague’s bedroom, anyway).
I actually want precisely the opposite of adventure.
Which means that what I need is precisely the opposite of Theo.
Jonathan, to be exact.
No matter how confused my sex organs seem to be about the situation.
‘Oh.’ Evelyn visibly deflates. ‘I wouldn’t have guessed that. He seems so in love with you. Are you sure you guys can’t find a way to make it work?’
I get it. She’s mistaking his emotional sluttiness, easy affection and sound acting skills for something deeper. It’s an easy mistake to make, believe me. I’ve allowed those things to confuse the hell out of my subconscious, too.
I shrug. ‘The chemistry is great. He’s gorgeous, obviously. But we want very different things. We’re such opposites—it could never work.’
‘It sounds like me and Angus.’ Evelyn holds open the Oast House door for me and our furry friends to pass through.
‘My husband. When I met him, I was still reeling from finding out I’d been married to a gay man for a decade, and I was as anxious to preserve my work partnership with him as I was to dissolve my marriage.
I was desperate to get back up to London and restore my public brand, and Angus was a quiet guy who wanted a quiet life doing really great work on this farm.
‘In the end, though, we found a way to be together without my having to give up any of my ambition, because the pull was just too strong. We weren’t an obvious fit, but I fell in love with him, so what can you do?
And, as it turns out, being complete opposites has made life far more colourful.
He grounds me, and I perk him up.’ She shrugs.
‘And it works?’ I ask.
‘It more than works.’ She turns the full wattage of her smile on me. She really is stunning. ‘We’re deliriously happy. Everything came together so perfectly. I really think it was fate.’
I envy Evelyn her certainty, even if it is driven by hindsight. And more than that, I envy her her happiness.
The Oast House is jam-packed, the air full of the contented hum of conversation.
We sit in a sun-filled corner and work through the details of the wedding weekend.
Delegating such a sizeable chunk of the workload to Siobhan’s team makes my life far easier, but it’s still by far the biggest, highest-budget event I’ve overseen, and I want it to be absolutely perfect for Miles, Saoirse and Bea.
As the dogs curl up at our feet in a sweet little black and gold ball, Evelyn and I cover off the schedule for the weekend, including but not limited to the set-up schedule for the Walled Garden, the Friday night rehearsal dinner, the Saturday morning preparations, the wedding breakfast, the security detail (Miles has some pretty high-profile friends) and the Sunday barbecue brunch and pool party.
We check the list of guest accommodations for the millionth time and pour through my budget.
There are a couple of line items the farm hasn’t yet confirmed, and I want them squared off before we get any further.
Some of the guests are arriving from overseas via private jets, and the farm is providing car transfers where necessary.
Some are arriving by helicopter from London, and we confirm the coordinates of the field that doubles as a helipad.
Inevitably, the highest maintenance guests are the ones that have left it the longest to confirm, assuming that we’ll cater to their every whim, so crystal-clear communication with Evelyn’s team is vital.
Press won’t be allowed—Miles and Saoirse are using the farm’s own photographer, Clara Molloy, who’s highly acclaimed, and select images will be released to the press after the fact.
In short, there are a million moving parts jostling in my head, but as we work through the spreadsheet and check off my outstanding questions, I grow calmer. Everything is in hand. I’ve wrangled this massive beast into a million line items that I can quantify and tick off. Control.
When we’ve covered off the bulk of the admin, Evelyn leans back in her chair and narrows her eyes.
‘You’re seriously good at this.’
‘Thanks.’ I flush. ‘I mean, having Siobhan on board makes it a lot easier—’
She tuts. ‘No, no. This is a mammoth task. Don’t deflect.
When this goes off beautifully, that’s on you.
Sure, Siobhan will have the place looking stunning.
That’s her gift. But you’ve corralled this entire shit-show into something slick and manageable.
I should be having a heart attack about now, but you have it all in hand. So own it.’
She’s right. I’m proud of how it’s looking. Obviously, there could be a huge storm or a security threat or any manner of fuckups, but I’ve done a good job and I can afford to take a minute to pat myself on the back.
‘Thanks.’ I bow my head. ‘That means a lot.’
‘You know, most people don’t realise wedding planning is far more of a left-brain endeavour than a right-brain one. But you have this running like a Swiss watch. What are your plans if and when your gorgeous boyfriend jets off Stateside? Do you have enough to keep you busy?’
The reminder of Theo’s imminent departure bursts my bubble pretty damn quickly.
‘I have a small pipeline,’ I admit, ‘though it thins out once the summer’s over. But I’m hoping this wedding is high profile enough to get my name out there a bit more.’
‘If you want a more regular gig,’—she takes a sip of her coffee—‘come and be our in-house planner. You’d be great.’
I stare at her. ‘Seriously?’
‘Deadly. It’s insane that I’m having to do this.
We had someone in-house, but she left, and she was more an admin than anything else.
I want someone who knows their stuff and can split their time between pitching and planning.
We should be doing far more weddings and events, but we don’t have the capacity to go on the offensive.
I’m pulled in so many directions. We need someone to manage our events—a proper professional.
I like you a lot, and I enjoy working with you. You’d do a great job. Think about it.’
After she kisses me goodbye and leaves me to my work with that bombshell to mull over, I check my phone. There’s a message from Jonathan.
Really need to talk to you Nor. When’s a good time to meet up? X
Fuck.
I put my head in my hands. If someone could hand me a crystal ball and tell me how everything will pan out, that would just be great. Because I have an ex-boyfriend who may or may not be about to roll over and fall into line with my life plan. A job offer—an amazing job offer—I didn’t see coming.
And an ex-fake-boyfriend I can’t stop pining over for long enough to get my head in the game for my other plans.
I could use some Michelle Obama wisdom right now. But when I ask myself WWMD—what would Michelle do—I don’t have a fucking clue. Because, obviously, Michelle would never have got herself into such a mess in the first place.