CHAPTER FIFTEEN – SYLVIE
THOMAS: I just spoke to my mum, and I think I’ve figured out your veil issue.
I frowned at my phone.
What on Earth could his mum have said that would fix my problem right now? I’d woken up at four-thirty regretting all my life choices and gotten immediately to work searching the web for a veil that might vaguely resemble Hazel’s original one, but had I gotten lucky?
Had I fuck.
Needless to say, I was desperate, and that was exactly why I was responding to the man I’d accidentally kissed last night when I’d sworn blind to myself that I was never speaking to him again.
Ever.
Ever.
Desperate times called for desperate measures, though, and this most certainly qualified as desperate times.
I hit the reply box.
ME: I don’t see how that’s possible, but I’m open to anything at this point.
And I really was.
I was running on empty. I was utterly exhausted from a shoddy sleep and my brain waking me up before even the birds were awake, and I was emotionally spent over the whole wedding situation.
Of course, I felt a little better after eating at least half my weight in crumpets since six a.m.
All right. I’d eaten my entire weight in crumpets. There was nothing like hot, melty-buttery crumpets in the morning, and I wasn’t going to apologise for eating them all.
I’d have to replace them, or Gramps would throw me out, but I wouldn’t apologise. Not right now, anyway.
I was also lamenting the fact that I’d accidentally kissed Thomas last night. I’d swear that I only got any sleep at all last night because of the wine I’d had, but I’d even dreamt about kissing the sorry bastard, so the sleep I had gotten hadn’t been all that good.
Now he was texting me.
Right when I was ready to take a nap.
Ugh.
THOMAS: Mum said Julian’s family has a veil.
I blinked at the screen.
ME: Like a wedding veil? Or a veil to the underworld where Hades is king?
I didn’t mean to type that.
ME: Sorry. I woke up at 4am. I’m kind of tired and my brain/mouth filter isn’t working.
THOMAS: Huh. I didn’t know you had one of those things.
ME: …I think that’s an insult.
THOMAS: Maybe.
ME: Didn’t you text me to help me out of this problem with the veil? Is insulting me necessary?
THOMAS: I have a meeting. Can we talk later?
ME: Why are you like this?
ME: Why would you text me and not tell me?
ME: Is this because I kissed you last night and you’re punishing me?
THOMAS: …That’s quite the leap.
THOMAS: I really don’t have the time. Can I call you when I’m done? I’m 99.9% sure I’ve fixed this but I’m logging on for my meeting now.
ME: YOU ARE AS IRRITATING AS THE DAY YOU THREW THAT FUCKING CRICKET BALL AT MY EYE YOU BASTARD
THOMAS: I’ll talk to you later.
ME: YOU COULD HAVE JUST TEXTED ME LATER
ME: What a cliffhanger.
I stared at the screen for a moment longer, but he really must have gone because no response came.
That git.
That sneaky, rotten git.
I was going to throw a turkey at him. A frozen one. Right at his bloody handsome face.
Probably only a small one, though. I wasn’t that strong, and those suckers were heavy, especially when they were frozen.
I put my phone down and shoved my laptop to the side so I could lie down. I pulled the covers right up over myself and closed my eyes, lying flat on my back with my hands linked across my stomach.
One more bad thing, and I was going to channel my inner Wednesday Addams and cross my arms over my chest.
A coffin didn’t sound like a bad idea, either.
I doubted I’d be able to drift off for a nap, but I really needed a moment to breathe.
It was officially exactly two weeks until the wedding and I was feeling the pressure.
I really did want it all to go perfectly, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that the veil was going to be the least of my problems when it came down to it.
I wanted to shake it. Badly. But it was the same niggling gut feeling that said your boyfriend was cheating on you or that you actually didn’t have any chicken at home in the fridge, no matter how much you thought otherwise.
I couldn’t fathom anything else going wrong.
I really needed everything else to go off without a hitch. In fact, the only hitching I wanted was the one between my sister and Julian.
I sighed and opened my eyes. I was right. There was no chance I’d drift off now. Maybe the nap gods would smile upon me this afternoon.
I got out of bed, grabbed my things, and went downstairs. Nana and Gramps were goodness knows where—they had more of a social life than I did—and Beatrix Trotter was asleep on a dog bed in front of an electric radiator.
It was turned on and radiating heat. I’d been given strict hours for the central heating to be turned on in the house that I owned, and here this pig was, living her best life in front of an electricity-sapping hunk of metal.
Must be nice to be queen.
I put my laptop and phone on the ottoman and turned on the Christmas tree lights. They blinked and twinkled their way to life, and a small smile crept its way onto my face.
Was there anything better than Christmas tree lights?
There was just something about the way they made me feel. They were so magical that it felt for a moment like there was no stress weighing me down, and I was able to enjoy their twinkles for a minute before reality set in.
You know, the reality that there was a lot of stress weighing me down.
I sat down on the sofa and slowly blew out a breath, staring at the lights. My vision blurred until the lights became little stars, and I huffed again.
A part of me wished I hadn’t agreed to plan Hazel’s wedding.
Not only was my Christmas spirit on the verge of renaming itself Ebenezer Scrooge, but I was far too close to the wedding personally to be able to think rationally.
If this were any other wedding, I’d have already found another veil. I’d have it figured out in a heartbeat, but my emotional attachment to my sister and my overwhelming desire for her big day to be a success was clouding my judgement.
Simply put, I wasn’t thinking clearly. It was like wading through miles of sinking sand every single time I tried to fix it, and the one rope that had been thrown my way in the form of Thomas and his mum was snagged on a branch somewhere.
I reached over and pulled a candy cane from the tree. I snapped it in two, breaking the plastic wrapper, and shoved one end of the minty, sugary goodness in my mouth and sucked.
Beatrix Trotter woke up and, upon seeing me, got up from her spot in front of the radiator and walked over to me.
I looked down at her. “Hello.”
She didn’t respond, obviously.
She was a pig.
She couldn’t talk.
I hoped she couldn’t talk. I wasn’t sure I was mentally capable of handling such a revelation right now.
“Can I help you?” I asked, as if she really would just open her tiny mouth and tell me exactly what she needed.
No.
She just… stared. At me. With her two beady little black eyes.
It was like staring into a teeny tiny abyss.
She didn’t move, so I didn’t either. I just sat on the sofa, having a staring competition with a miniature pig.
I’d wasted time in worse ways before. Like my ex-boyfriend.
The front door opened, and moments later Nana said, “She wants to get on the sofa.”
I finally dragged my gaze up and looked right through the living room door to the hallway where I could see her unwinding her scarf from her neck. “I am not picking her up and putting her on the sofa. She’s a pig.”
“She’s a house pig.”
“A house pig is still a pig.”
“She fits in my handbag,” Nana continued. “And walks on a leash and poops in a tray. She’s like a dog.”
“But is a pig,” I reminded her.
With a mild huff, she strolled into the living room, picked up Beatrix, and plopped her down on the sofa next to me.
Beatrix, for her part, flopped onto her side with her tiny legs stretched out, pressed herself against my thigh, and snorted.
And fell asleep.
I eyed her. “Do I look like a pig pillow?”
“She seems to think so,” Nana replied, making her way to the radiator to warm her hands over it. “Is that a candy cane?”
I sucked on the sweetie. “No.”
“Don’t let your grandfather find out. He loves them.”
I pulled it out of my mouth with a little ‘pop.’ “How can he even eat them? He’s got no teeth! They’d crack his dentures.”
“He sucks them. Apparently, you can suck them until they disappear. Takes a while, though.”
“Huh. Like an erection.”
Nana’s lips threatened a smile. “Perhaps best not to use that analogy in front of him. You might traumatise him.”
I grinned, then bit a chunk off my candy cane. The ‘snap’ disturbed Beatrix who looked at me, snorted, and went right back to sleep again.
My grandmother’s eyes twinkled. “I think she likes you.”
Great.
That was just what I needed.
***
I pushed open the door to The Castleton Arms and looked around for Thomas. Why he couldn’t have just texted me the solution for the veil? Why did I have to come all the way into the village just to get that information?
Like I didn’t know.
If we met in person, I couldn’t avoid the inevitable conversation about how I’d gone in to kiss his cheek and ended up on his mouth.
God, he was infuriating.
So was tipsy Sylvie.
Tipsy Sylvie was a clumsy, blithering idiot.
Thankfully, Gramps had arrived home before I’d had to leave and had happily handed me his keys so I could drive here.
Unlike Tipsy Sylvie, Sober Sylvie was smart.
If I was driving, that meant I couldn’t drink or find myself in a car with Thomas again.
Win-win.
I caught sight of him at a corner table in the back, close enough to the fire to be warmed by it but just private enough. I hung my coat on the stand by the main door, keeping my scarf, hat, and gloves on my person until I tucked the latter in my bag on my way through the pub.
Thomas grinned when he saw me. “You didn’t walk here, did you?”
I held up the keys and jingled them. “Not this time.”
“Darn it.” A gentle laugh escaped him, and he stretched his foot out to push my chair. “Your seat, m’lady.”