Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
OLIVER
The whole of Glenwither has been consumed by a whirlwind of wedding stuff for the last week.
Two marquees—one for the dinner reception and one for the party—have been erected on the grounds, and now that it’s the actual wedding day, it’s hard to leave my room without tripping over a flurry of chefs and serving staff, hair and makeup artists, and people arranging flowers on every available horizontal surface.
Outside, supply vans and private cars with drivers are a constant stream, dropping off elaborately wrapped presents that are piling up in the formal living room at the front of the house.
Or as my mother has dubbed it, the “gifting salon”—I think she means it ironically, but I’m not totally sure.
Sofia had done her best to try to contain the plans for the day and keep it more modest, but our parents somehow managed to take over—and by our parents, I mean our mother.
All I want right now is a quiet cup of tea, so I head for the kitchen.
This merry dance involves skirting the string quartet setting up in the entrance foyer, dodging a guy carrying a case of champagne, and telling the woman who’s just slopped water out of a bucket of lilies that I’ll send someone to wipe it up before anyone slips and breaks their neck, or champagne bottles, on it.
Lexi is currently being styled, made-up, and coiffed. She was spirited away to a guest room earlier for the experts to, as my mother put it, “try their best to make her look like one of us.”
After seven days spent virtually glued to her side, it’s odd to be apart for even this couple of hours.
We’ve put in long days working on the book, wandering the grounds when it’s been warm enough, hunkering down in our room when it hasn’t. We went back to the waterfall one afternoon and returned to the children’s hospice another.
I’ve had one of the foundation’s executive assistants book everything for Kirsty and her dad’s polar bear-watching trip to Manitoba in Canada and send me the bill. When Lexi and I saw them during our visit, the father and daughter had received the tickets and couldn’t have been more excited.
Another gratifying thing about having concentrated togetherness time with Lexi is that she’s opened up to me more. While it’s literally her job to find out about my life experiences for book-writing reasons, she’s also been answering my questions about her life too.
Yesterday she told me that being here among my dysfunctional family has made her realize she should be grateful for hers and she’ll make more effort to keep in touch with them.
And we’ve also been getting closer in all the unclothed ways.
We clearly sense the limited timespan we have and want to cram in as much as possible, so to speak. So we’ve done it in the bed, of course, but also on the chaise, on the antique rug, in the shower, in the tub, and once in the potting shed when things got a bit heated on one of our garden walks.
The irony of giving whoever bugged us a real show from the shower wasn’t lost on either of us. And I almost choked on the running water when Lexi cried out, “Give me a right royal rogering.”
I catch sight of Flora dusting picture frames in the library as I pass the door. “I know you’re mega busy, but might you have a minute to mop up some water in the foyer before someone slips on it?”
“Of course, sir.” She stops what she’s doing for a second to look me up and down. “And look at ye, all handsome in yer Highland dress.”
I tug at the hem of the Prince Charlie and stand a little taller. “Thanks. It might be a bit breezy for a kilt today though.”
When I spotted the trees swaying outside the bedroom window this morning, I dug out the snuggest pair of boxer briefs I have with me to defend against the breeze.
They’re not exactly the sexiest underwear, but if Lexi wants to learn what a Scotsman keeps under his kilt, I wouldn’t object to her checking them out.
I’m pouring boiling water on my tea bag in the one quiet corner of the kitchen where Marjorie isn’t trying to keep some catering strangers in order and shoo others out when Flora appears, carrying a cloth and bucket.
“Water spill sorted.” She strides past me to the laundry room, leaving the door open behind her.
“Great, thank you,” I say.
I mash my tea bag while she empties the bucket into the sink, then rinses out the cloth and drapes it over the edge.
“Kettle’s boiled,” I call over to her. “Time for a cuppa? Or do you have a long list of pre-wedding chores to get through?”
“Och, I would love a wee tassie.” She smiles as she approaches. “But it should be me makin’ that.”
“Don’t be silly. I’m all ready and have nothing else to do.” I grab another mug and a tea bag from the cupboard, switch the kettle back on, and cross the kitchen to the fridge to grab the milk.
“Careful of the hor d’oeuvres in there,” Marjorie calls from the other side of the room when she sees me open the door. “If the mini oatcake towers collapse, I’ll have ye guts for garters.”
I shut the door with exaggerated care and grimace at Flora.
“She’s never forgiven ye for the smoke alarm thing,” Flora whispers when I get back with the milk.
I finish off our teas and return the carton to the fridge with all the care of a safecracker trying to tease open a vault.
Flora laughs and bats my arm with the back of her hand on my return. “Och, ye devil!”
When I hand Flora her “wee tassie,” we stroll over to the far end of the kitchen where the windows look over the garden. Hordes of people dressed in black-and-white uniforms are rushing back and forth between the house and the marquees.
There’s a woman setting pots of bright purple thistles along the path to the dinner tent. Thistles are apparently Sofia’s chosen theme for the day. Or maybe that’s one of the things my mother insisted on. I’ve kept out of it as much as possible.
“Ye look like a spare part without Lexi next to ye,” Flora says.
I hadn’t thought about it like that, but she’s perfectly summed it up. “I feel like one too.”
“It’s good seein’ ye happy.” She wraps her hands around her mug. “Ye seemed a bit stressed when ye first got here. But this last week…” She raises her brows and tips her head with a knowing smile. “Never seen ye so happy in me life.”
Little does she know there’s the dark cloud of a ticking clock hanging over that bliss.
“Does Lexi look happy too?” I venture.
“O’ course,” she says, as if I’ve asked the most ridiculous question she could imagine. “The pair o’ ye look totally blissful together.”
“She’s amazing.” I take a sip of my tea and look out to where a bagpiper is pacing the distance along the thistle-lined path.
Is he working out how much piping he needs to do when he leads the bride and groom to the dinner tent?
“She’s the smartest person I know. And all she wants is to make the world a better place for people who can’t fight for themselves. ”
“And she’s gorgeous.” Flora gives me a knowing smile.
I feel my cheeks warm like a lovesick teenager. “Yeah, she’s very beautiful.”
“Maybe this’ll be the two o’ ye before long.” She nods toward all the wedding activity in front of us and raises her eyebrows as she sips her tea.
“Oh, I doubt that,” I reply, maybe a bit too quickly.
“Whyever not?” Flora sounds shocked. “When you’ve met the right ’un, you’ve met ’em.”
“I doubt she’ll tolerate the bullshit that comes with me for long.”
“For sure there is a lot o’ that.” Flora giggles. “But maybe Lexi thinks yer worth the shite.”
Flora’s taking the last sip of her tea when she’s summoned by my mother.
At the same time, my phone buzzes in my sporran. Which is not an unpleasant experience.
It’s even less unpleasant when I discover it’s a text from Lexi asking where I am. Just the sight of her name on my phone accelerates my pulse.
ME
The kitchen. Are you ready? I’ll come to you.
LEXI
On my way down.
My heart skips as I rush out of the kitchen and back toward the entrance hall. I want to get up those stairs before she comes down, to see her in private, not surrounded by all the people and the bustling activity.
I round the bottom of the stairs and take them two at a time. I’ve made it to the first landing and turn right toward the room where she was getting ready, only to find her standing at the top of the next flight.
When people say something takes their breath away, I’ve never understood what that means. How can just seeing something squeeze all the air from your lungs?
Well, now I know.
I grip the banister to steady myself.
“Look at you” is all I can manage as I stare up at the vision of Lexi wearing a burgundy dress that nips in at her waist and flares out, stopping at her knees.
The V-neck is gathered on either side to perfectly cradle the curves of her breasts.
Sitting between them, at the base of the V, is a flower made from the same fabric as the dress, and hanging down toward it is a necklace sparkling with diamonds.
Her legs look phenomenal in heels that emphasize the curves of her calves. Her dark hair is sleek and glossy, with soft curls on the ends, her face aglow with understated makeup that lets her natural beauty shine through.
“And look at you.” She points at me from my head to my feet. “Guess I hadn’t processed that you’d be wearing a kilt and all the…fixings.”
I skip up the stairs toward her and rest my hands on her waist. “You are fucking beautiful.”
“That’s nice of you, but this doesn’t feel very me. I couldn’t exactly chase a reluctant interviewee in these shoes.”
“No interviews today. No work. Just you and me and a family wedding. But I promise if you chase me, I’ll let you catch me.”
When I move in to kiss her, she bends away from me, leaning into the arm I slip around her back.