Chapter 9
IDA
We make it over to the reception meal a minute before everyone takes their seats to be served.
My hair is still a bit damp from the shower, so I’ve tucked it up in a loose bun, though I’m sure it’ll dry quickly in this heat. There’s a gentle breeze reaching us from the sea, which is keeping things cool enough to be bearable, but it’s still pretty steamy.
Speaking of which, my body is still humming from the sexually charged run-in with Raffa earlier and I’m hyper aware of every move he makes as he sits next to me at dinner, looking knockout gorgeous in a navy linen suit and a white open-necked shirt.
We’ve been put on a table adjacent to the bride and groom’s and I’m glad to find we’re sitting with Gio and Auntie Kay again, as well as some of Margot’s friends from Manchester.
They’re a lively bunch and keep the conversation flowing so we don’t need to do too much in the way of entertaining anyone near us.
The food is utterly delicious and, as I’m still a little spun from my afternoon nap and Raffa’s intoxicating presence next to me, I’m glad I get the chance to eat it without having to keep breaking off constantly to join in with the conversation.
Normally you can’t shut me up, but when I eat I like to concentrate on doing only that and really tasting my food, instead of just shovelling it into my mouth in between sentences.
Mindful eating, I guess you’d call it.
I glance at Raffa, who seems to be doing the same thing, concentrating on his plate of fillet steak whilst seemingly also listening to one of Margot’s friends sitting to the right of him.
She’s openly full-on flirting with him, talking about how impressive she finds it that he’s found such success so early in his life. With each hair flip she gets increasingly animated and I swear I can sense Raffa getting more and more tense.
‘Hey,’ I say, putting down my cutlery onto my now empty plate and turning to look past Raffa to his dinner nemesis.
‘I’m still catching up on who’s who. Tell me how you and Margot met.
I’m fascinated by how everyone here is interlinked,’ I say with a smile, attempting to divert her attention away from Raffa for a few minutes so he has time to eat and breathe.
‘Ooh, am I being interviewed by the great Ida Fury?’ she asks with a twinkle in her eye.
‘You sure are,’ I say, twinkling back at her.
The woman then happily launches into her whole backstory with Margot and Darian, and I sense Raffa relax a little beside me now that the focus is off him.
After a moment, I feel his foot push against mine, in what I take to be a show of thanks.
Warmth pools in my chest and I press my knee against his in return, feeling the heat of his leg bleed into my bare skin where the short skirt of my dress doesn’t quite reach.
Prickles of lust rush up my thighs and I pick up my water glass and take a long swallow of liquid to try to cool my heating cheeks.
I’m so buzzed I feel like my skin must be glowing like a beacon, but no one seems to be looking at me funny, thank goodness, so I guess it’s all in my mind.
Luckily, we’re interrupted as the wedding speeches are announced and the whole place quietens to listen to the father of the bride expound on the many virtues of his daughter.
He’s clearly incredibly proud of Margot and knows all about her life and friends, which makes me wonder what my dad would say about me if he ever did one of these speeches.
He’d be hard pushed to tell many stories about my upbringing, having been around for so little of it.
And he never got to know a single one of my friends, since he worked such long hours and never engaged with any of them on the rare occasions he saw them in the house.
Darian stands up next and has everyone in tears as he talks about what an amazing woman his wife is and what a positive impact she’s had on his life.
I turn to look at Raffa and see he’s staring down at the table, seemingly lost in thought.
It makes me wonder what he’s thinking right now.
Is he happy for his stepbrother? It’s hard to tell with his expression so neutral.
He must sense me looking at him because he turns to catch my eye and does a little head jiggle from side to side and widens his eyes as if to say, yeah, yeah, get on with it, how soppy are you?
I frown at him and he grins back and wrinkles his nose, as if he realises how mean that might have looked and is trying to pull it back to funny banter.
I roll my eyes, but do it with a smile, and turn back to watch as Darian leans down to kiss his new wife.
There’s a huge round of applause and it seems as if that’s the end of Darian’s speech, until he holds his hand up, asking for quiet.
The clapping immediately reduces to nothing.
‘Before I sit down, I just wanted to say a big thank you to Raffa, for being here, but also for saving this wedding at the eleventh hour by arranging for it to be held in this amazing place after our disaster the other month with the original wedding venue. We owe you big, brother.’
He holds up his glass of champagne and everyone in the room does the same, following Darian’s lead in chorusing, ‘To Raffa,’ before taking a drink, then putting down their flutes to give him a standing ovation.
I think I can actually feel him squirming in his seat and when I turn to look at him it’s clear from the tight expression on his face that he’s uncomfortable with the amount of attention being directed at him.
I’m guessing the last thing he wanted was to be singled out like this, but I imagine Darian and Margot didn’t feel they could just ignore him saving the day like he did.
Raffa must have expected some public thanks though. How could he not have?
Family politics!
But at least they all seem to care about each other, even if it is a fractious relationship.
My parents really couldn’t give a damn about what I’m doing now. I can’t remember the last time they called to check in with me. They’re both still hyper-focussed on their careers and leaving me to figure out my own adult way in the world now.
It’s good for me, apparently.
Good for them, too. Much less of a mental load if they’re not having to factor me into any of their plans.
As soon as everyone has sat down again, the focus turns to Darian’s best man, who stands up next to give a speech. Raffa leans closer to me, jiggles his phone and murmurs, ‘I need to skip out for a minute. I’ll be right back.’
All I can do is nod and watch, aghast, as he gets up from his chair and strides out of the room, everybody he passes turning to look as he makes his sharp exit.
I notice a few people looking over to me once he’s gone too, I guess to see whether we’ve had a row or something.
Forcing a fixed smile onto my face, I try to act as if nothing’s wrong.
I wonder what can be so important he’s happy to walk out of the speeches at his brother’s wedding dinner. It’s quite a statement.
He could at least have waited till the end of them before making his call.
But then it’s not my place to make judgements like that. I’m just here as his plus-one and a shield for this bad behaviour.
Which I’m becoming more uncomfortable with, the better I get to know the rest of the people here. They all seem so lovely and not at all the type of people you’d want to avoid hanging out with. At least, I wouldn’t.
Turning back to look at the best man, who’s gallantly pushing on with his speech, despite the Raffa-distraction making him fluff the first few lines, I give him a smile when he turns to look my way.
Unfortunately, this seems to throw him off his stride even more and he loses his place again and has to pause to take a big swig of his champagne and give himself a moment to figure out where he is in it.
Mercifully, he gets back on track quickly and it’s a friendly crowd, so there are whoops and calls of encouragement as he goes on.
Once the speech has finished, the newlyweds get up to perform their first dance, with lots of people quickly joining them after Margot signals for everyone else to dance too.
I stay where I am, chatting with one of Darian’s friends from the five-a-side football team he’s apparently played in for years, waiting for Raffa to return.
The moment we spot Raffa marching towards us, the guy excuses himself to go and dance with his partner, who’s been giving him meaningful looks from the dancefloor for the last few minutes.
Raffa sits down in the chair he’s just vacated and gives me a tense smile. ‘It looked like you were getting on well with that guy – what’s his name?’
‘Jacob. Yeah, he seems cool.’
‘Hmm.’
I lean my elbow on the table and look at him meaningfully. ‘Is it a problem for you?’
‘Is what a problem?’
‘Me getting on well with other people here.’
‘No. Of course not.’
I fold my arms. ‘Then what’s going on? Why are you in a bad mood?’
He double-blinks, like I’ve asked a ridiculous question. ‘I’m not in a bad mood.’
I raise my eyebrows in sarcastic admonishment, irritation prickling up my spine. ‘Sure you’re not.’
Raffa sighs and rubs his hand over his face. ‘Okay. Yeah. Fine. I’m a bit stressed. I’m tired. I’ve been working like crazy recently and I guess it’s catching up with me.’
I let a loaded pause sit in the air after that, letting him know I know there’s more to it than tiredness. ‘It’s a shame you can’t enjoy being here,’ I say finally.
He frowns, the line between his brows deepening. ‘I am enjoying it.’
‘Really?’ I shoot him a sceptical look. ‘Because you walked out to deal with some work business in the middle of the wedding speeches. That doesn’t point towards you having much fun.’
‘I couldn’t take any more of the family bollocks. I had to get out of there.’
‘Why?’
He folds his arms. ‘It’s complicated. With my family.’
My ire with him increases and I feel it, hot on my skin. ‘I get that, but the best man doesn’t have anything to do with that, right? The poor guy botched his lines when you walked out. I think he took it as a personal affront.’
He stares at me for a moment, as if he’s surprised by what I’ve just said and is processing it, before saying, ‘Shit. Really? I didn’t mean it to have that effect. I thought I was just sneaking out.’
I can’t help but laugh at that. ‘You do know you’re the star of the show here and everyone is aware of every move you make, right?’
He lets out a low groan. ‘Yeah, well, that’s the issue in a nutshell. I wanted to come here, but be incognito so as not to cause any more ripples.’
‘Dude. That was never going to happen.’
‘Yeah, I know.’ He rubs at the crease between his brows. ‘I should go and apologise.’
Before I can agree with this, he gets up from his chair and, after locating the best man, strides over to where he’s standing at the bar.
I watch as he holds out his hand in apology and obviously charms the guy with whatever he’s saying to him because he breaks into a wide smile and takes Raffa’s proffered hand and shakes it, saying something animatedly back to him.
Raffa returns a couple of minutes later, a satisfied expression on his face.
‘Fixed it. I apologised,’ he says. Clearly, I’m not getting any more information than that.
But that’s fine. I’m buzzed that he acted on my observation and was grown up enough to recognise that he’d made a mistake and had swallowed his pride and put it right.
I actually find that really hot.
There’s nothing quite like a man taking responsibility for his bad behaviour and doing something to make amends for it.
‘I bet he appreciated that,’ I say, picking up my drink and taking a sip.
Raffa does the same, then says, ‘And to answer your earlier question more honestly, yes, I’m a little envious of the other people spending time with you.’
I blink at him. ‘Wow. I wasn’t expecting you to admit to that.’
He leans in closer. ‘Well, I’m happy to surprise you.’
My heart begins to race. ‘Well, I appreciate your honesty. It’s really sweet.’
‘Sweet wasn’t what I was going for.’
His eyes seem to darken and I realise his pupils have blown out.
‘What were you going for?’ My voice is breathy with excitement.
He closes his eyes and frowns.
‘What, Raffa? Go on, say it.’
He shakes his head slowly, still not opening his eyes.
I let out an involuntary moan of frustration. ‘You are the most infuriating person I’ve ever met. Stop playing games with me and say what you need to say.’
Finally, he looks at me again. ‘I can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because it would mess with things. With us.’
‘Not if you’re straight with me. I can take whatever you’ve got to dish out. I’m here for you as a friend, remember?’
‘And that’s also the problem.’
‘What? You don’t think I’m being a good friend?’ I ask. But I know that’s not what he means.
‘Yes. I do. Of course I do.’
‘You’re talking in riddles and it’s driving me crazy.’ I’m desperate for him to make a move, but I’m still not sure he’s going to. He’s so controlled.
His laugh sounds frustrated. ‘It’s driving me crazy too.’
There’s a long, heavy pause where we stare at each other, our gazes locked and our expressions saying much more than our words have.
A low, insistent beat is pulsing through me, turning my nerves into crackling lines of need.
I try to swallow, but my throat is parched.
His breathing has picked up and I’m suddenly aware that mine has too. It’s like we’ve just both run a race – or maybe that should be rings around each other – and our bodies are responding accordingly.
His gaze drops to my mouth and I know then for sure that he’s thinking exactly the same thing I am.
Feeling the same way.
We want each other.
Badly.
My lips tingle as the idea of kissing him flits through my mind.
I want to so much.
Would it really be such a disaster? Surely we can handle it if we do succumb to this chemistry between us.
My heart is thumping hard in my chest, like it’s trying to get my attention.
I think I can hear it in my head, the rhythmic beat saying:
Do it.
Go on.
Do it.
Go on.
Do it.
Raffa’s gaze intensifies, his blown pupils making his bright eyes even more striking. There’s a small pinch between his brows again now, as if he’s battling with himself too.
I wonder wildly for a second whether he can read my thoughts in my expression.
It wouldn’t surprise me. We seem to be in tune with each other. We always have been, even when we were just sending each other DMs. We could conduct whole conversations in just a couple of sentences.
I probably should stop this here. Make an excuse about wanting another drink or to get some air or something. But I know he’ll know I’m lying and I definitely don’t want him to think I’d do that.
I want him to be able to trust me.
It’s essential for our friendship that he can.
So, getting even closer to him is my only real option.
Before I can check myself and let the sensible side of my brain intervene, I stand up and hold out my hand to him.
‘Come and dance with me.’