Chapter 8
RAFFA
After not sleeping well again, I drag myself out of bed the next morning and stumble into the shower, turning the water to freezing cold in an attempt to shock my system out of a weird sluggish state that’s overtaken me and into one of an alert and cognisant human being.
I need to be on my A-game during the wedding ceremony today so I can show that I’ve made the effort to be engaged and then hopefully be able to slip away early from the festivities without any passive-aggressive sniping being aimed at me for the rest of the week.
I’m not sure what’s going on with me at the moment, but something about spending time with Ida is making it nearly impossible to concentrate on the work I need to be doing while I’m here.
She has a way of making me feel like I’m missing out when I’m not with her. It was great, hanging out with her last night, even though I had to concentrate hard on what was being said and force my brain not to keep wondering what it would be like to kiss her.
My entire body was on high alert and every time she so much as shifted position behind me, whilst rubbing my shoulders, an electric thrill shot through me, as if in the back of my mind I was anticipating her abandoning the massage and doing something about the obvious tension between us.
I’m not just imagining it. I’m sure I’m not.
But I guess neither of us wants to be the one to break the pact we made about just being friends.
Because neither of us has the brain-space or inclination to launch into a proper relationship, even though a militant voice in the back of my head keeps telling me I shouldn’t say no to a fling while we’re here.
What harm could it do?
The trouble is, I have the feeling it could have repercussions that neither of us would want to face.
It’s the wrong time.
But very much the right place.
Which is only making it harder to keep a lid on my restraint.
I mean, look at this place. You couldn’t get a more idyllic setting.
Glancing around where Ida and I have just arrived on the beach to take our seats amongst the other wedding guests, who are waiting for the ceremony to begin, I allow myself a moment to soak in the beauty of this island.
The setting here is perfect, with the soft turquoise water deepening to a navy blue as the Indian Ocean stretches away from us.
The whole place seems to glow with an otherworldly aura, the backdrop of the natural-material-built five-star eco hotel lending weight to the feeling of being castaways on a desert island. Just us, in the middle of nowhere.
Away from the relentless, overstimulated pulse of life.
The sun is high in the sky and beating down on our heads, though it’s not so intensely hot it’s uncomfortable. I’m glad they made a point of telling people they didn’t need to wear suits for this ceremony because of the risk of overheating.
I chose to wear another of my linen shirts, this time in white, with a pair of light tan, tailored trousers. Ida’s in another sleek, elegant type of dress with her shoulders bare and her feet in low-heeled sandals.
She looks incredible again.
Speaking of incredible, as a quartet of musicians start to play a slow classical number – that I have no idea the name of, but definitely recognise – I turn to see that Margot is waiting at the beginning of the aisle, ready to begin her slow glide between the rows of the congregation to where Darian is waiting for her at the altar.
Wow.
She looks beautiful.
The wedding dress, which has been kept more secret than the nuclear launch codes, is perfect on her.
No surprise there.
Margot was always going to look knockout, no matter what she wore, but she’s genuinely taking my breath away right now.
I watch as she makes her way down the wooden aisle, which has been constructed over the white sand of the beach especially for this event. She’s smiling at the rows of guests who are all gazing back at her with the same appreciative fascination I’m feeling.
Yeah, my stepbrother is a lucky guy to be marrying her.
Not that he doesn’t know that. He’s rubbed the fact that someone as cool and beautiful as Margot is his partner in my face enough times over the years.
The guests, sat in the rows of seats set out in front of me, all turn to watch as she makes her way past them and a low murmur of appreciation follows her as she glides to the front, where the celebrant is waiting with Darian to start proceedings.
My stepbrother’s face is a picture of awe as his wife-to-be comes to a halt beside him.
Besotted.
It’s the only word needed.
Something in my chest twangs at the sight of it.
Yeah, okay, there’s probably an element of jealousy there.
She’s a wonderful person.
I glance over at my stepmum and dad, who are sitting on the very front row. They’re both beaming with pride and happiness as their future daughter-in-law moves ever closer to becoming a legally bound part of the family.
I’m not sure why they think it’s such a great achievement to get married. Any fool can walk down an aisle, say a few words to someone and then sign their life away.
Very few make it onto the world’s rich list, like I have.
Now that was a life-changing moment.
And it was a genuine thrill to be able to tell them all it was me who had won the game of life by becoming a billionaire a few years ago.
It still sends a pulse of satisfaction through me to remember that particular family dinner.
But, incredibly, they all still look cheerier today than they did back then.
Anyway, whatever. I know I might sound it right now, but I’m not bitter. I’m all for love and settling down, if that’s what floats your boat.
And my stepbrother’s not such a terrible guy, I guess.
As I mentioned to Ida, he’s the ultimate virtue-signaller, but that’s probably about the worst I can say about him right now. He makes sure to turn up to every single bloody family do the Olds put on, then makes sure to tell me how much my ‘presence was missed’ at each and every one of them.
I’ve tried pointing out that some of us have busy lives and can’t just drop everything at the last second to turn up to a barbeque and eat aggressively burned meat, but he has a way of making me seem like someone who doesn’t put in enough effort, despite the fact I very rarely have any time to myself.
I watch my sister-in-law-to-imminently-be glide serenely to a halt in front of the gathering, the brilliant sunshine lighting up her golden hair.
‘She looks incredible,’ Ida whispers, leaning in towards me so her warm breath tickles my ear. My body gives a shiver of awareness as I turn to look into her lively, dark eyes.
I just flash her a grin, by way of an answer, as it’s suddenly become very quiet in anticipation of the ceremony beginning, and I turn back to watch as my stepbrother steps up to meet his future wife in front of the congregation.
The celebrant immediately launches into the ceremony and I relax back into my silk-bow-wrapped chairback and let the whole scene flow over me like a play.
Weddings have never been my performance of choice, but at least I have the view to gaze at to distract me.
Ida shifts in her seat next to me. Her alluring cinnamon scent hits my nose and causes heat to rush up my spine.
I’m suddenly hard again, which is embarrassing. I’m not sure what’s going on with my body at the moment, but it seems determined to react to her whenever she’s within any kind of distance of me.
But I can’t let her know that.
I don’t want to complicate this.
It’s already complicated enough.
It doesn’t help that we’re in such a beautiful, relaxing setting, with free-flowing alcohol and sunshine beating down on our skin, enticing us to wear as little as possible and touch as much as we can.
I’m hyper-aware of Ida’s bare arm resting so close to mine that I can feel the heat coming off her. I glance at her and see a gentle sheen of sweat on her skin, right at the hollow of her throat.
I want to lick it.
Jesus.
This is not good.
Luckily, the ceremony is mercifully short, with both the bride and groom reciting vows they’ve written themselves, and there’s a flurry of tissues reached for in tiny bags and swept over heavily made-up faces as the couple turn to kiss each other in front of the congregation.
I suppose it’s pretty touching.
At least it’s distracting me from my raging horny thoughts about Ida.
And I’m happy for them both anyway. If this is what they want. It must be great to think you’ve found the person you think you can rely on to be there for you for the rest of your life, no matter what.
Glancing round at Ida, I see her eyes are shining with pleasure at the sight of this display of devotion.
Seeming to sense me looking at her, she turns to gaze into my face and I get the distinct impression she’s trying to read my thoughts.
I guess after what I’ve told her about how I feel about Darian she must be intrigued to know how I’m taking this overt display of utter jubilation from him.
‘I’m happy for them,’ I tell her, before she has a chance to ask. I don’t want her thinking I’m some grumpy, self-involved arsehole. It’s important to me to keep her on my side and believing I’m the good guy I’m keen to project.
* * *
Ida
The wedding is so idyllic I could cry.
I don’t though. The last thing I want is for Raffa to feel like he has to prop me up emotionally in any way.
I glance around me to try and distract myself from the troubling onslaught of feelings.
The entire range of generations of Darian and Margot’s families have turned up to celebrate with the happy couple and the joyful atmosphere is giving me a lifting sensation in my chest, along with a dark pull of what I think must be envy.
There are a lot of people in their clans.
Unlike mine. My mum’s an only child and my dad is estranged from his brother, who doesn’t have any kids, so we’re a tiny nuclear pod.
I’ve definitely felt the loneliness of that at a number of points in my life.
This wedding seems to be one of them. It’s like I’ve walked into a full-on village of people who are related to each other.