Chapter 4
Chapter Four
By one o’clock, Georgia felt decidedly tipsy.
The bubbles had gone straight to her head, and the croissant and smoked salmon blinis had done almost nothing to soak up the alcohol or delay its entrance to her blood stream.
At least she was in Docs, rather than the precariously high heels Mia had chosen.
The day was unusually hot, and the air spilling out of the marquee smelt of warm canvas. Mia fussed with the long length of Tam’s veil, spreading it out carefully over the train of her dress. Georgia’s stomach rumbled loudly.
Tam turned round sharply, messing up Mia’s veil placement again, and glared up at her. “Hotch, please!”
She’d become increasingly stressed as the morning had gone on, losing all pretence at calm about ninety minutes prior. At least they hadn’t had to travel to the wedding, just down the stairs of the grand house, through the lobby, and out to the marquee on the wide, flat lawn.
“Sorry.”
“It’s only a short ceremony,” Tam’s dad promised her, his hand on her arm. “And I hear the canapés here are to die for.”
Georgia smiled back at him, just as the guitar duo started up inside the marquee, and the venue organiser pulled back the drapes across the entrance and waved the procession in.
The little flower girls – Ollie’s niece and another child who Georgia had yet to identify – went first, drawing a chorus of adoration from the seated guests.
Mia went next, an enormous bouquet of sunflowers, dahlias and greenery held out in front of her, shooing the kids on with the blooms.
Georgia waited nervously. She’d stepped out on rugby pitches to crowds a hundred times this size. She’d – reluctantly – given interviews on live TV. All she had to do was walk down the aisle between a few rows of chairs holding some flowers and not fall over. She should not be nervous.
And yet.
Heart thumping, she followed Mia down the aisle, between the rows of seated guests, towards the front where Ollie was waiting. The photographer was there too, crouching down to capture the flower girls at their height.
Everyone was looking at Georgia. Halfway down the aisle, sat next to the other rugby lads, Matt turned in his chair, leaning one elbow over the high wooden back, and watched her as she walked towards him. Over his shoulder, Erin stared at her too, intense, focused and unsmiling.
Georgia stumbled, the toe of her Docs catching on a wrinkle in the heavy burlap carpet. She caught herself, straightening up just in time. Everyone else’s attention shifted to a point behind her, and she knew Tam and her dad had entered the room.
Matt’s attention didn't flicker.
His eyes made a long, slow pass up her dress, lingering on the swell of her breasts under the sheer material, and towards at the line of her shoulders, the slope of her neck.
“Looking good,” he whispered as she passed. Behind him, Erin rolled her eyes. Georgia ignored her, tossing her head and holding her chin high.
Once she was past them, she took her seat in the first row. In front of her, Ollie’s eyes were shining suspiciously brightly, and Georgia felt her own water in response. Tam’s mum leant over and clutched her hand, squeezing hard.
“Your turn next, Georgia,” she whispered, voice shaky with tears.
Her comment hit Georgia like a mid-game hand-off right on an old bruise.
She meant well, of course. It was the kind of thing people said to bridesmaids and thought nothing of.
Georgia forced a smile, nodded in a little machine gun burst, because that was what bridesmaids were supposed to do.
It didn’t help disguise the sharp twist of inadequacy.
At the front, Tam’s dad handed her over to Ollie and sat down next to his wife. He leant forward and surreptitiously wiped his eyes. The registrar started her practiced spiel, an introduction about love and commitment. Georgia wasn’t listening.
It could be her turn next.
For a second, Georgia let herself imagine that it was her up there, coming down the aisle on her dad’s arm.
Her imagination filled in the other details: Tam walking down in front of her, her mum sniffling in the front row, Matt waiting for her at the front.
Georgia shook herself. She wasn’t fifteen anymore, writing ‘Mrs Georgia Mitchell’ in scented gel pens in the margins of her schoolwork.
She was an adult.
Yes, he was hot. And flirty. And apparently into her. The look he’d sent her had sent a tingling buzz through her, and she felt light and floaty as she thought of it.
But she barely knew him. She had her career to think of, the next few years to squeeze out every last opportunity that rugby could offer her.
The lightness, the floaty-ness was the prosecco and insufficient breakfast. It was not a sign to be mentally sending save the dates and picking out household china. She should be focusing on her best friend’s actual wedding.
***
Her mind was still wandering as the speeches came to a close. People were laughing, dabbing at their eyes, raising glasses in perfectly timed toasts. This time, it had headed somewhere not entirely appropriate.
She blamed Matt.
He was sitting too close. Not close enough that anyone would think anything of it, but close enough that she could feel the warmth of him radiating through the space between them. Close enough that she caught the scent of his cologne every time he moved.
And move he did.
The shift of his arm on the table. The way his fingers tapped absently against his knee.
The stretch of his broad shoulders as he leaned back in his chair, exuding effortless, irritating confidence.
The easy, languid laugh at Ollie’s self-deprecating jokes.
It sent Georgia's mind spiralling, conjuring images that had no place in a wedding reception.
Him above her, all heat and muscle and teasing smirks. His hands braced on either side of her head, his weight deliciously heavy against her and the rough scrape of his stubble along her jaw as he whispered something dirty in her ear.
Georgia swallowed, shifting in her seat.
She needed a cold drink. Or a long run.
Something to distract her from the man next to her. The man who had just dropped his hand to her thigh.
His hand stayed there throughout dessert, and when the music started, he pulled her with him onto the dancefloor, piling into the knot of rugby players. They jumped and shimmied their way through the band’s first set, the boys cleaving from the girls as the playlist moved onto cheesy 90s pop.
Even after more years than Georgia wanted to think about, she still knew the words and the moves to Steps’ Tragedy, and screamed along to the Vengaboys. Tam grabbed Georgia when Dolly Parton's 9-5 started blaring and she swung them round and round, making the world spin.
Then the song flipped to something romantic and slow, and Tam twirled away into Ollie’s arms. The other girls left for a drink, and suddenly Georgia and Erin were left alone on the dancefloor.
Georgia gave her a tight smile, and Erin opened her mouth to say something.
Probably a weak excuse to leave, get out of Georgia’s company.
They weren’t exactly going to start slow-dancing together.
Before Erin had the chance to speak, Matt stepped in between them, his hand outstretched, charming and confident, like he’d been waiting for this moment all night.
He put his hand on the small of her back, low enough to send a sharp thrill of excitement through her, and he tangled the fingers of his other with hers.
He spun her out, twirling her around before catching her effortlessly. As he pulled her back into his arms, Georgia laughed up at him.
“You’ve done this before!”
Matt smirked, pulling his mouth into a self-satisfied smile. “What can I say? I’m a man of many talents.”
She made a show of rolling her eyes, but her fingers tightened slightly around his. She enjoyed the weight of him, the heat of his body this close. When was the last time she’d danced with anyone?
They moved in silence for a moment, swaying to the music. Over Matt’s shoulder, Georgia could see Ollie and Tam doing the same, lost in each other, unaware of the room around them. Her throat tightened.
They made love look easy. It hadn’t been, in Georgia’s experience.
Apps were made for swiping, for casual hook ups, and couples looking for a third. Guys in their thirties still freaked at the thought of anything serious, and girls wanted to fall head-over-heels after a six-day long first date.
Guys wanted less of her than she had to give, and girls wanted more than her commitment to rugby would allow.
Out of the corner of her eye, Georgia stole a glance at Erin, who was lingering on the edge of the dancefloor.
She was talking to the photographer, leaning in close.
Too close for casual conversation. If she didn’t know better – if Georgia didn’t know just how straight Erin was – Georgia would say it looked like flirting.
What was she doing, standing so close to Erin?
What was Erin doing, allowing it?
“Georgia,” Matt murmured, and something about the way he said her name sent a shiver down her spine, pulling her attention back to him.
The space between them had vanished, and she was pressed against his chest, feet overlapping as they swayed together. He reached up, brushing his fingers lightly along her jaw, just enough to make her heart stutter.
She barely had time to react before he leaned in, slow but deliberate. Georgia could feel her pulse hammering in her neck, feel the world narrow to this moment.
His lips were warm, promising and anything but hesitant. His hand slid to her waist, pulling her closer, fingers pressing just enough to make her feel wanted.
She exhaled against his mouth, sinking into it, sagging into his grip.
She didn’t care that she was at Tam’s wedding, in the middle of the dance floor. She didn’t care that Ollie’s rugby team and Tam’s family were watching them, that Erin would be watching.