Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Like we practiced at the rehearsal the night before, Caden and Paul are successfully married off on the beach beneath bright skies before a cloud burst sends the guests running and laughing into the hotel bar for a drink.
We had thrown rose petals at them, now sticking damply to everyone and everything, leaving a trail of pink and red.
Cozied up in a corner with Florian, it’s us and eighty other guests making me pity the bartending staff, since this bar hadn’t been in the forecast either.
We’re only temporarily here ’til we troop over to the reception venue after the squall passes.
Meanwhile, the lucky first arrivals have drinks, while the rest of us wait in a meandering and haphazard queue.
“I could offer my services,” I muse to Florian in our corner, because this compact bar has seating for about half our group, and we’re probably pushing some kind of fire code. I pluck a red rose petal from his lapel and a second from his hair.
Our gazes linger for a moment. I discreetly toss the rose petals down.
“Which services?” he asks gamely, then quickly adds, “Art services?”
“Drink services.” I nod at the bar, where the two staff scurry around as best they can in the confined space. “I mix a mean drink, you know. Even kind ones, occasionally.”
“It’s your day off. And…” Florian gazes at me, amused, something teasing in his gaze. “You’d leave me here alone with strangers?”
“A stranger is a friend you haven’t met yet,” I tell him cheerfully.
Florian gives me side-eye while I give him what I’m sure is my most charming grin. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that and save us both some embarrassment, Pollyanna.”
Delighted, I laugh. “I think it was Yeats, actually.” I turn my attention to the bar, where our corner at the end has one benefit, which is proximity to the bar staff for drinks.
Luckily for us, we get to place drink orders.
Of course, I’m analyzing his choice of drink, which turns out to be a double gin and tonic, appropriately summery.
And because of how we met, I choose a cosmopolitan.
Before I can protest, Florian gets the drinks.
“I’ll get the next round,” I tell him. “Please.”
Which implies there will be a next round and that he’ll stay more than five minutes.
I mean, he’s already having a drink with me and not heading for the motorway back to London the instant the wedding was over.
Though, to be fair, the wedding ended in a deluge, and there wasn’t much time to reflect on anything other than seeking shelter.
Florian makes a noncommittal sound, which could be maybe or we’ll see or I know you’re broke, Matty.
Okay, so he doesn’t actually say the last one, and I squirm a bit at the idea of putting drinks on my overdraft, but I squirm even more about not being able to repay the favor.
Because, after all, we’re fake partners, and fake partners must look after each other. The unspoken Rule 3.
He passes me my drink, which I sample and make suitably appreciative noises over. “Say,” I decide to test the waters, “I never did find out for sure if I had the right table that first night I met you. A lot of cosmopolitans went down that night. Were any of them yours?”
I give him a totally convincing coquettish look, which doesn’t seem to register as he searches his gin glass for answers.
“I don’t usually have cosmopolitans, no. But Billy did order one, if I do remember. As did his date.”
Interesting. “You’re keeping tabs on Billy? And his date?” I try. “And their drink orders?”
Florian grimaces, glancing away toward the view outside. It blusters, which we can see umbrellas at the patio flapping in the breeze as the squall continues. He clears his throat. “No. And it wasn’t a secret his date was there.”
We lapse into quiet. I study him, and he’s as beautiful as ever but pensive. I touch his arm, which startles him, not quite the reaction I was going for. “Billy meant a lot to you, then.”
“We were together for a long time,” Florian says simply, still looking out over the crowd and the view of the sea.
“Yeah, that’s rough. I can only imagine. I can’t say I’ve quite done the same. I mean, I made out with my friend Noah one time at a party, and we’re mates.”
Florian’s lips twitch. “We were engaged to be married. And we’d been together since uni.”
“Oh, shit.” My eyes widen. “I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean…”
Way to go, Matty, now you’ve really made things awkward. A drunken snog or two with Noah is definitely not the same.
“And here I’ve brought you to a wedding. Pretty tactless on my part, even as a fake boyfriend. I’m sorry.” And I mean it. Worriedly, I study him.
Florian’s giving nothing right now other than a cool, professional veneer. And he’s still not looking at me. Solid poker face. He’d be huge in Vegas. “I came of my own accord.”
“I know, but why would you do that? I mean, really?”
“You needed a suit. And a fake partner.” At last, Florian’s gaze flickers back to me, and there’s a hint of sparkle in his eyes. “In case you’ve forgotten. You told me your planned date couldn’t make it. Johan.”
I make a silent note that Florian’s keeping tabs on what I say, even if it is in passing. Which means he’s listening to me. And not only listening, but taking note. Like I matter to him, even with feelings not being efficient and all.
I pat my lapel. “I definitely haven’t forgotten about the suit. I mean, I’m not one particularly for formal wear, believe it or not. But what do you think?”
Florian nods, considering me in a way that makes heat rise in my face despite trying to look suave. “You look well.”
I laugh. “Florian, that’s the sort of thing you might say to someone who looks dreadful. Something like, cheers, mate, you look entirely borderline adequate tonight. Or, you know, a bit shit.”
He looks affronted. “Matty, you do look well. Excuse the pun, but the color does suit you.”
“And here I thought you didn’t have a sense of humor,” I tease him over my drink.
Anything to lighten the mood and distract him from worrying about his ex-fiancé.
God. I need to pull this conversation out of a death spiral.
It was impossible for me to know he had been engaged to Billy, but it doesn’t make me feel any better about potentially upsetting him.
And it makes me feel even worse about how I acted at Sotheby’s.
It’s really a miracle he’s here at all. It doesn’t make sense.
“Who knew. Well, you look brilliant yourself.”
Florian looks as startled as when I touched his arm a few moments ago. “Beauty is evidently in the eye of the beholder. And you see beauty everywhere. Whether it exists.”
I shake my head. “Good to know my fake partner can’t take a compliment. Resorting to clichés, for shame.”
“I can accept compliments.” He furrows his brow in a very appealing, brow-furrowing sort of way.
Kind of adorable, actually. He’s so serious about this.
“When it matters. On my accomplishments. Dressing myself to accompany you is not an accomplishment. And my parents are responsible for how I look. Genetics. I take no credit.”
I laugh. “You’re fab with bow ties. You barely looked, and it’s perfect. And perfect grooming.”
Florian shrugged. “Years of events and school before that. Ties I can do in my sleep.”
“Maybe I’ll need to test that one day to be sure,” I say lightly. “Could be useful one day.”
He just shakes his head, but a hint of a smile appears before it washes away again. Florian finishes his drink.
“Want me to get yours this time?” I offer. “To return the favor. And, um, to be equitable.” That’s probably Florian’s love language right there.
Looking continually startled apparently is his fashion this afternoon. “I… suppose. To be equitable.” Florian gives a decisive nod after the moment’s hesitation. It could be my imagination, but there’s the slightest tinge of pink in his face. The alcohol, I tell myself.
“And then I ought to take you to meet the groom and groom, if I can find them in here. I mean, I’d hate to keep you for the reception too, since you’re busy and need to get back to London.
But there’s a spare dinner since Johan’s not here, and also, after two cocktails, you should probably wait a while before driving. ”
Florian raises an eyebrow at me, unreadable once more. “Indeed.”
Then, we do just that: a second round of cocktails as the sky brightens outside, and the bar crowd thins as people start to trickle over to the reception.
And somehow, amazingly, Florian’s still here, seated at the table beside me, showing no sign as yet of leaving Brighton.
And something in his shoulders eases ever so slightly.