Chapter Twenty-Eight
Six months ago—at Hattie’s engagement party
Finn let out a low whistle as he and Mel stepped into the lobby at the Ham Yard Hotel.
He didn’t usually hang out in posh hotels, but he could immediately see why Hattie had picked it for the engagement party.
It was like a living art gallery, both elegant and quirky—a bit like Hattie.
The artwork was bold, eclectic and so colorful he wasn’t sure where exactly to look.
Mismatched sofas and armchairs took up most of the space, where a couple of people were lounging, staring down at their phones as they did so.
He wasn’t one to worry about interior design—when he’d been flipping houses he never thought that far ahead, leaving things as neutral as he could so that people could see the potential and could put their own stamp on the place.
But he had to admit this was pretty cool.
He glanced at the oversize clock in one corner, which showed that they were five minutes late and grimaced a little.
He didn’t usually care whether he was late or not, but his little sister’s engagement party seemed like the sort of thing for which he ought to be on time.
Especially when he’d been asked to do a speech, though why for the life of him she wanted him and not Mark to do that was beyond him.
He patted his suit jacket, reassuring himself that his notes were definitely there, and fought to fight away the annoying curdle of anxiety that had lodged itself in his gut last night and refused to leave.
Mel, however, seemed to notice none of this, as she’d been glued to her phone since the moment they got off the tube. Probably work. Almost definitely work. Still, he couldn’t help asking. “Who are you talking to?”
She didn’t look up. “It’s no one, Finn. Don’t worry about it.”
He didn’t say anything to that. Back when she was starting out, when the business took off, she used to tell him everything.
He’d get regular blow-by-blows, and although a lot of it went over his head, he’d loved watching her enthusiasm.
She glanced up at him, noting the silence.
She could read him as well as he could read her.
“It’s just work,” she said, with an apologetic smile. She took his hand, squeezed it. “I’m in the room now, I promise. And this place is amazing.” She looked around as they crossed through the foyer to the lift—Hattie’s party was up at the top of the hotel, on the roof terrace.
“I know. I’ve got no idea why we don’t hang out here more often.”
“Probably to do with the fact that one night here would likely equate to about half our mortgage payment.”
“Yeah. Probably that.”
They took the lift up to the rooftop bar, and Mel stopped in her tracks as they stepped out. “Wow.”
Finn knew what she meant. It was part garden, part sleek and elegant bar, with olive, apple, and pear trees, and he caught sight of various herbs and vegetables cordoned off by picket fencing.
Plush seating areas were nestled among lush greenery, with strings of fairy lights and lanterns giving the place a sort of glow—which also may have been the sunset that was currently firing up the sky in shades of pink and orange.
The best part, Finn thought as they stepped farther into the bustle, was the view of London’s skyline, various landmarks peeking through. It was almost enough to convince him that maybe he could fall in love with London after all. Almost.
They started to make their way toward the bar, which promised a selection of fancy-sounding cocktails, when Hattie marched over, looking all sorts of glamorous with her blond hair waved, bright red lipstick, and a matching dress.
“You’re here!” She gave Finn a quick, hard hug, then pulled away to grab Mel’s hand. “Come on, let’s go get a margarita.” She gave Finn a stern look. “None for you, though. You can’t have one until you’ve done the speech—they’re lethal and we can’t have you stumbling over your words.”
Finn rolled his eyes, though he felt a shot of nerves again.
Hattie dragged Mel away, with Mel giving him a little shrug as if to say she knew protesting was futile.
Finn watched the two of them laugh at something as they reached the bar.
He loved how well Mel got on with his sister.
But was it odd that Mel looked more at ease here than she did with him at home?
He glanced around the rooftop, saw his mum sitting among the foliage. She gestured him over and he moved, embarrassingly grateful to have someone to talk to. He kissed her on the cheek, smiling politely at the woman who excused herself as he arrived.
“A cousin’s cousin of Dylan’s,” his mum explained. “Something like that, anyway. She lives in London and, reading between the lines, that’s the only reason she got an invite.” She took his hand, pulled him down next to her. “Now, love. How are you? How’s the grand old world of fruit juice?”
He winced—both because it was totally ridiculous that he ever took a job at a juice company, and because he was currently working out his notice period. Something he’d not yet told Mel about.
“It’s good,” he said, lying as easily as he had when he was a teenager, and ignoring the squirming in his gut. “Very juice-like.”
“Hmmm.” She was quiet for a moment, then, “Have you spoken to your dad recently?”
He tensed, the way he always did when the subject of his dad was mentioned in the family. “No,” he said, as casually as he could. “Why?”
“I was trying to get Hattie to invite him tonight.”
Finn frowned. “Why would you want him here?”
She sighed. “I don’t, particularly, but I also don’t mind him being here.
” She laughed at the skeptical look he gave her.
“It’s true. I put up with him through an entire marriage—I could have managed one evening.
I just, I thought Hattie might want to have him here—it’s such a special occasion. But she says she didn’t.”
“Well, then,” Finn said with a shrug. “That’s that.” The two of them looked over to Hattie leaning against the bar with Mel, sipping a margarita.
“She still hasn’t introduced him to Dylan,” his mum said quietly.
Finn nodded. “I know.” He and Hattie had talked about it, and he got it. He’d put it off for ages with Mel.
“He’s her parent.” His mum’s voice sounded sad now. “She can’t just write him off like that.”
She could, and she would, if he knew Hattie. And it’s not like their dad had done all that much to stay in touch, had he?
He took his mum’s hand, squeezed it. “You’re the only parent we need.”
She looked a little saddened by that statement, but squeezed his hand back, then got to her feet. “Come on. Let’s get a drink for the toast.”
Hattie caught his eye from over at the bar, and tapped her glass meaningfully. Right. He supposed it was better to get it out of the way.
Mel was moving toward him, though she had her phone pressed to her ear. “I’d love to,” she was saying. “Absolutely. I’ll call you first thing on Monday.” She hung up just as she reached him. “Showtime?” she asked.
“Looks like. Who was that?” He gestured to her phone.
“Just work.”
Right. But now was not the time to press it. He didn’t have a champagne glass in his hand. Shit, that was an oversight, wasn’t it? He needed something to clink, and to raise for a toast at the end of the speech.
Without asking, Mel pressed an almost empty martini glass into his hand.
“It’s not champagne, but I’m sure Hattie won’t mind.
And I’ve heard you practicing your speech.
It’s great, so don’t be nervous.” Then she gave him a gentle shove, so that he moved into the center of the roof terrace, London’s dusky skyline at his back.
He cleared his throat, feeling awkward as fuck, and tapped his glass. Hattie, thankfully, clinked hers more forcefully to get people’s attention and followed it up with an “Oi! Speech time!” She crossed to Dylan, who wrapped an arm around her, cementing her firmly to his side.
Everyone turned to look at Finn, smiles expectant.
He took a deep breath, worked up a smile he’d been told more than once was charming.
“When Hattie first told me she’d fallen in love with an actor, I’ll admit I was a bit worried.
As anyone here will know, Hattie is very much a leading lady of her story, not a supporting act, and here I was, imagining someone equally as dramatic as her. ”
Hattie gave him an eye roll, and Mel gave a subtle thumbs-up.
A few people around the terrace tittered appreciatively.
And some of the tension left his body, allowing him to settle into the rhythm of it.
“Thankfully, Dylan doesn’t live up to the typical cliché of what an actor should be.
At the risk of offending several people here tonight, he doesn’t demand to be the center of attention—meaning Hattie can be that—and, from what I can tell, he isn’t inclined to throw tantrums when things don’t go his way.
Which, again, means that Hattie can do that.
” She sticks out her tongue at him, while Dylan laughs, showing off those impressive white teeth.
In writing the speech, it had struck him how little he really knew Dylan—but with his sister, when she said it was right, he had to believe her.
He carried on through, barely having to consult his notes, and got a few more laughs and one or two whoops—probably from Hattie’s school friends, if they were anything like his memory of them.
He tried not to, but his gaze kept drifting back to Mel as he spoke.
Mel, who he’d once imagined proposing to—having a party just like this one, though maybe not quite as glamorous.
She was watching him, smiling at all the right places, but one hand was tight around her phone, which had found its way back out of her bag.