9
“Hang on,” Emme is saying, a piece of toast halfway to her mouth, “You walked all the way from Piccadilly fucking Circus with this guy?”
I roll my eyes and pull my legs up onto the sofa next to her, “I didn’t mean to,” I say, “I didn’t even realise how far we had gotten until we hit Finsbury Park,”
Emme raises an eyebrow, munching on her toast as her hangover hair bun bounces around her head with the effort. “Did it ever occur to you that this guy could be a murderer? Didn’t you say he was a drug dealer?”
I snort, “He’s a florist, Emme,” I say, sipping my coffee and grinning. I suppose I’ll have to believe he’s a florist now. If only so my best friend doesn’t ban me from going to a wedding or two with him.
“Is that code?” she asks.
I snort so loudly it actually hurts.
“What?” she asks.
I shake my head, “Anyway, he asked me to fake it again for the actual wedding,” I say nonchalantly. I know Emme is about three seconds away from yelling at me, so I just sip on my coffee hoping not to get any on me when her head explodes.
Emme drops her toast onto her plate and turns to me, brows furrowed, “You’re not going to, are you?”
I shrug, “Drunk-Me thought Sober-Me would absolutely hate the idea, but turns out sober-me thinks it would be a laugh,”
Emme’s frown deepens, “But you don’t know him,” she says, the volume of her voice increasing ever so slightly, “He could be a murderer,” she adds, one decibel below a shout.
I sigh, “If I were a murderer, I probably wouldn’t introduce my victims to my family. And anyway, he would have murdered me last night as we wandered London in the dark all alone if he were going to. It’s just good opportunism,” I say, considering how truly fucked it was that I did that. I mean, Miles seems like a decent guy but what a dumb thing to do.
“So, what, you’re just going to pretend to be dating some guy you’ve met twice?” Emme asks, narrowing her eyes and keeping her voice at a nice, intimidating volume.
I look at her now, “I know it sounds really stupid,” I say, mostly because my head hurts and I don’t want her to actually shout.
Emme nods, “Stupid, or like the plot of a far-fetched book,” she says, taking me by surprise.
I snort, “I told you that The Wedding Date could happen,”
She laughs, “Is he also an escort?”
“I think he sticks with drug dealing,” I say, sipping my coffee again, “You know, a one-crime-at-a-time kind of guy,”
“Is being an escort illegal?” Emme asks, frowning.
“I don’t know,” I say, “They never make it very clear in that film,”
She snorts and goes back to her toast. She seems pretty calm right now, and it’s freaking me out. Though I guess I haven’t gotten to the part where I suggested he come to Tilda’s wedding yet. Is it mad? It definitely doesn’t feel mad. It feels like the most natural thing in the world.
I peek up at her and watch her take another bite of toast before speaking. If her mouth is full she’ll have to think about her response, right?
“I was actually thinking that he could maybe be my fake date to Tilda’s wedding,” I say really quickly.
I don’t know why I’m so nervous. So what if Emme thinks it’s mad? The thought of Miles being there makes me feel somehow less stressed than I’ve been since Tilda confirmed that Caleb goddamn Locke was going to be the best man a few months ago.
Emme puts her toast back on her plate slowly and looks at me like I’ve gone totally insane. “Delaney, I say this with your best interests at heart; I think you might need to get your head checked, ”
“Why? I ask, sounding like a petulant child.
“Well, for starters, I’m not entirely sure how your mother would react to you bringing home a drug dealer,” she says, “And even with all the safety issues aside, and ignoring the fact he’s a total stranger, how are you even going to swing it?”
“Swing what?” I ask, frowning at her.
“Well, bringing your boyfriend home that no one has even heard of for your friend’s wedding is like the hardest of hard reveals,” she says, “Will anyone even believe it?”
My frown deepens, “I hadn't even thought of that,” I say, “I mean, there is still a month to go, I could soft reveal him on Instagram or something,”
Emme snorts, “And somehow you’ve gone from one fake date to faking a whole relationship to get through one day,” she says, and then she sighs, “You know that I fucking hate Caleb for what he did to you, and I’d really love it if he got some really painful STD from his new girlfriend, but you don’t need to fake a date just to prove something to him,”
I sigh. I know that I don’t need to, I want to. I want to prove to him, and everyone else, that I’m not some silly little girl who got her heart broken. That he hasn’t replaced me with someone better. I want them to see that I was good enough for him.
“It’s not just Caleb,” I say, “You know, Miles’s cousin, Julian. He’s marrying Miles’s ex and you can see, like, I could see that Miles didn’t have any feelings towards her. He didn’t care, but everyone, and I mean everyone, was obsessed with the drama of it. They kept acting like he was distraught, as if Jas had thrown him over for someone better.
“It’s what I’m afraid of. That look of pity in everyone’s eyes. And it’ll be even worse for me because I did actually like Caleb. I was totally and completely in love with him and totally blindsided by what he did. I am pathetic in their eyes and having a date will make me just that little bit less pathetic.
“I don’t want to be compared to the new girl because I know that she’ll be better. And I’m not saying that in a derogatory way. I just mean that I wasn’t enough for Caleb and she is, and it’ll show,” I finish.
“I hate the fact you think that what he did is any way your fault,” she says, “You—the girl who rages against the patriarchy in her fucking sleep—but still can’t see that what Caleb did was all about him and his insecurities and had nothing to do with whether you were good enough or not. Which you were. In fact, you were too good for him,”
I roll my eyes, “You have to say that,”
“I actually don’t,” she says, “I get what you’re saying. If you think Miles being with you will help, then do it. I want you to get through this wedding without it breaking the semblance of confidence you have rebuilt since that absolute turd of a human broke you, ”
I chuckle, “You know, he was always a bit of a turd,”
She snorts, “I know,”