CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO – THOMAS
ME: What are you doing?
I stared at my phone.
“What are you doing?” Julian asked, peering over. “Who’s Cleopatra’s Tomb?”
“That’s a long story,” I said slowly. “And I’m not really sure how to explain it.”
“Is it my sister?” Hazel said, putting two pints on the table in front of us. “I had dinner over there earlier and an advert for a Cleopatra show came on and she cracked up.”
I grimaced. “Yeah. Please don’t make me explain it.”
“No, I need you to explain it.”
“I’d really rather not.” I’d had a long enough day without going into that again. “Do you know what she’s doing?”
She paused, holding her gin glass to her lips, and narrowed her eyes. “Why? What are your intentions with my big sister? I won’t stand for you hitting it and quitting it, you know. She and I might be in the middle of a fight right now, but I’ll still hit you.”
“Why are you fighting?”
“We’re sisters. We fight over toilet paper if there’s nothing else available.”
In other words, Hazel had another crazy last-minute wedding idea and Sylvie told her where to shove it.
I raised my eyebrows. “So, you were both being unreasonable.”
“Sylvie is always unreasonable,” Hazel grumbled. “But don’t think I’ll forgive you if you mess with her.”
“I think Sylvie can take care of herself, honey,” Julian said, fighting back a laugh and ending our back-and-forth. “Especially against this guy.”
He could say that again.
“I was only asking,” I replied.
“She has a call with a client,” Hazel said, finally putting me out of my misery. “I give it ten minutes before she’s here, because she said she’s a complete bridezilla. If she even comes.”
“I’m so glad you aren’t like that.” Julian wrapped his arm around her shoulders and kissed the side of her head.
Mm. I’d heard enough of Sylvie’s complaints to think that statement wasn’t necessarily entirely true.
“That’s because Sylvie hit me with a bridal magazine,” Hazel grumbled. “Right on the head. Like five times.”
“If it works, it works.” I shrugged. Pretty sure it didn’t, though.
Hazel shot me a dark look. “Why do you care what she’s doing, anyway? Are you sure you didn’t do anything to her the other night?”
“What exactly could I have done to her?”
“I don’t know. Asked her out?”
“And risk my life? No, thank you. I’m too young to die.”
Julian snorted. “She’s not as hostile to you as she was. She used to wrinkle her face in disgust if your name was mentioned, but now she doesn’t even bat an eyelid.”
“That’s not true. Nana asked if she had a good night last night, and she blushed. That’s why I want to know what he did to her,” Hazel said, pouting.
I held up my hands. “I didn’t do anything to her.”
Well, not really.
“There was nothing more than a badly placed bet on my behalf,” I settled on.
“Does that explain the Cleopatra thing?” Hazel asked.
“Not really. But if you see her bossing me around like a slave, it’ll explain that.”
Julian laughed. “Well, now I know what I want as a wedding gift. To see Sylvie bossing you around.”
Hazel shook her head and stuffed her hand in her bag. “It’s my hairdresser. I have to get this.” She pulled her coat on as she headed outside, ramming the phone between her head and her shoulder.
“Why does Sylvie get to boss you around?” Julian asked the second his almost-wife was out of sight.
“A badly placed bet, like I said. In my defense, I’d won all the rounds of Connect-4 prior to that one, so my confidence wasn’t because I was a bit drunk or anything.”
He stared at me. “Wait. Are you telling me you two got stuck in the snow, hightailed it to your place, got a bit drunk, and played Connect-4?”
“I didn’t think Monopoly was wise with Sylvie’s temper. Nor Jenga, given the sharp edges of those blocks.”
“You, a single man, and Sylvie, a single woman—who you quite obviously have a crush on—got drunk together and nothing happened?”
“Julian, you sound like a sixteen-year-old virgin.”
“I’m starting to think you’re a thirty-year-old one.”
“Who’s a thirty-year-old virgin?” Sylvie asked, unwinding her scarf from her neck as she walked up behind Julian.
He looked over his shoulder. “Thomas is.”
“Doesn’t surprise me in the least,” she said blithely, dropping onto the empty chair next to me. “Is that Hazel’s drink?”
“Yeah, why?”
She reached over, grabbed the glass, and downed the half-empty glass in one go. “Thanks.”
“The meeting went well, then,” I said dryly.
She hit me with a dark look. “I’m one email away from cancelling her contract.
I don’t care how much she’s paying me. She’s changed the venue three times already.
I’ve spent the last hour in a four-way Zoom call with her father and her future-mother-in-law trying to reason with her not to change it again. ”
“Why would you change your wedding venue that many times?”
“She’s got so many screws loose that her head is about to roll off her neck,” she snapped. “The only thing keeping it attached is spite, I’m sure of it.”
“Should you be bitching about your clients like that?”
“Would you like me to bitch about you, too, slave?” She shot me a look before waving her hand. “It’s fine as long as I don’t mention her name.”
Was that how it worked?
Sure. Whatever made her feel better.
“I see the foreplay has started,” Hazel said, sitting back down. “Where’s my drink?”
Sylvie eyed her for a moment before speaking. “I finished it. Sorry.”
“In one,” Julian added brightly.
“Oh. There was no alcohol in that.” Hazel looked at Sylvie.
“Why would you get a gin and lemonade with no alcohol in it? What’s wrong with you?”
Hazel touched her fingers to her face. “I’m getting married in a week. I’m not drinking until then. I don’t want my face to be puffy.”
Sylvie reached over and pinched her cheek. “Your cheeks have been puffy since the day you were born, my little hamster.”
“I’m going to kill you.”
“Go ahead. Then you’ll have to finish planning your own wedding. After today, you’ll be doing me a favour by giving me eternal rest.”
“I think I’m getting a headache.” Julian rubbed his forehead. “Sylvie, would you like a drink?”
“I would love one. Thank you. You are my favourite person at this table.” She beamed at him as he got up.
“Suck up,” I muttered.
She knocked her foot against mine under the table. “Don’t be jealous just because I’m nice to him.”
Hazel looked between us. “I don’t know if you two should sleep together or never see each other again.”
“I know which one I’d vote for.” I smirked at Sylvie.
“So do I,” she retorted. “And I bet it’s a different vote.”
“Maybe you should compromise and do both,” Hazel muttered, checking her phone.
And to think she’d just told me not to hit it and quit it.
“Maybe you should get an early night, so your face doesn’t get puffy from lack of sleep. The bonus will be you not saying stupid things,” Sylvie ground out.
Hazel waved her hand in response. “You’re only here another two weeks or so. What could go wrong?”
“Sounds like the start of a bad romcom movie,” Sylvie replied. “So, the answer, naturally, is everything.”
“I have to agree with her on that one,” I said.
“Of course, you do. You want to get inside her knickers.” Hazel checked her phone again. “Oh. Shannon is calling again. I’ll be right back.”
Sylvie blinked at her sister’s back before slowly turning to me. “Shannon? The hairdresser?”
“I guess so. She said was on the phone to her hairdresser when you came in.”
“Hmm. I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear any of that. I can’t deal with another crisis right now. I may lose what little sanity I have left if anything else happens.”
“It’s not that bad, is it? You’ve handled everything so far.”
“Yes, but if Shannon has a problem, I’m going to end up playing hairdresser, too. I won’t be able to find another. Do you know how busy they get right before Christmas?” Sylvie groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I’m never taking another Christmas wedding again.”
“It’s only this stressful because it’s your sister,” I reasoned, gently rubbing her upper back.
“You’re right. If she ever gets married again, I’m not planning it for her.”
“I’m offended you think she’ll have a second wedding,” Julian said, putting a glass of gin in front of Sylvie.
She instantly looked up. “If that’s non-alcoholic, I’m suing you for unfair working conditions.”
“No, you aren’t,” he replied blithely. “And I’m not that stupid.”
“You’re right, I’m not, but the threat makes me feel better.” She pulled the straw towards her mouth and sipped. “If Hazel only has one wedding, it’s because you’re actually a saint sent from God to save my withered soul.”
“Bloody hell,” I muttered. “What happened between you two today?”
Sylvie’s dark gaze hit mine. “Do. Not. Go. There. Unless you want to die.”
“Who’s dying?” Hazel asked, joining us yet again.
“If you guess right, I’ll spare your life,” Sylvie drawled. “Against my present desires.”
Hazel wrinkled up her face. “Are you still mad? I’m over it. Can’t you be?”
“Not while I have to look at you.”
“Then don’t look at me.”
“I will spit in your shampoo, Hazel.”
“You’re too old to be a brat like this.”
“So are you, but it doesn’t stop you acting like one. Do you want me to smack you with a magazine again?”
Hazel glared at Sylvie. “I’m leaving you a bad review on wherever it is I can review you.”
“It would be my pleasure to read your scathing review of the wedding planning services I’m giving you at a seventy-five percent discount. By all means, please leave me one so I can make sure my actual customers get an even better service from me.”
“See? You’re still being a brat.”
“Thomas. My dear slave.” Sylvie looked at me. “Find me a magazine so—”
Hazel’s phone rang again, and she glanced at the screen before getting up. “Consider yourself lucky, or I’ll beat you with a magazine.”
“Not with those chicken wing arms, you won’t.”
“You… Ugh!” Hazel stormed off towards the door with her phone against her ear once again.
Sylvie sipped her drink. “I mean it. If Shannon bails, I’m not doing her hair. Unless she wants to be bald.”
***