“No, although she probably wanted to,” he muttered.
“Do I want to know what got her mad enough to throw her purse at her best friend’s wedding cake?” Alice raised her eyebrows expectantly.
“It wasn’t like that,” he said defensively. “It was an accident. She didn’t really throw it, it just … flew out of her hand.”
“Where is she?”
Nick’s stomach churned miserably. “She left. A few minutes ago. She was pretty upset.”
“When is she coming back? According to Heather’s run sheet she’s supposed to be giving a toast in—” Alice checked the time on the microwave “—three minutes ago.”
Nick stared at his feet, and at the chunks of cake and white icing all over the kitchen floor. “I don’t know.”
He could feel Alice staring at him in disbelief. No doubt she blamed him for Carly’s disappearance, and she wasn’t wrong.
“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” she said in a firm, quiet voice. “You’re going to clean this up. I’m going to go tell Heather and Marcus that there’s a problem with the cake and we’re working on it. And I’ll say that Carly’s not feeling well but that she told us all we should carry on without her and she’ll be back soon.”
Nick nodded, and once she left out the back door, he pulled a handful of paper towels off the roll and started picking chunks of cake off the floor and wiping icing off the cabinets. But as he watched from the window as Alice slipped into her seat and leant over to talk to Marcus and Heather, he knew that Carly—who would do just about anything for Heather, even if it meant teaming up with someone she hated and missing her chance at a promotion—wouldn’t be back to give her toast at her best friend’s wedding. And he knew it was all his fault.
Morning light streamed into his hotel room, warm and bright and hopeful. He felt none of those things. Alice and Davo’s cobbled-together pavlova-cake had turned out fine, and Heather and Marcus had seemed so happy to be toasting and eating cake with their loved ones that they’d laughed off the last minute cake swap.
“I guess it was BYO cake after all,” Heather had grinned.
As Marcus and Heather fed each other mouthfuls of store-bought pavlova, Nick had caught Alice’s eye across the table, and they’d both let out a sigh of relief. Alice had saved the day, but Carly never returned to the reception. He’d noticed that as the night went on, Heather looked more and more worried. Shit, he was worried, too, and part of him wanted to go find Carly and make sure she was all right. But he also knew that she wanted nothing to do with him. Still, with every big moment—Leanne’s moving toast about her son, Marcus and Heather’s first dance—he thought,she should be here.
“Text her in the morning,” Nick heard Alice say to Heather, as Heather glanced over her shoulder at the back door yet again. “I’m sure she’ll be fine by then.”
Nick sat up slowly in bed and felt his hamstrings object to the movement. He hadn’t danced much last night, but at one point Izzy had dragged him onto the dance floor and made him whirl her around, and this morning he could feel it in his legs and his lower back. He was definitely out of ballet shape if one dance to Wham! could leave him feeling like this the next day.
He checked his phone. No texts or calls from Carly. But there was an email from Victor Wilkinson waiting in his inbox. Contracts for him to sign, and a note asking him to propose the first three locations where he wanted to shoot, and the dancers he wanted to use as his models.
Anywhere, was his first thought.I’ll go anywhere, and the only dancer I want is Carly.
He was in the middle of typing out a response to Victor when his phone vibrated with a text from Alice, sent to him, Davo, and Carly.
Alice, 9:48AM: Clean up crew, assemble! Shouldn’t take more than a few hours if we all pitch in. Iz and I will bring coffee and some of Will’s cheesymite scrolls.
Nick, 9:49AM: Be there in 30.
Transpacific Airlines, 10:07AM: Thanks for flying with Transpacific! Your plane is at the gate and boarding will begin soon. We look forward to welcoming you on board.
There was a special place in hell reserved for the people who designed the lighting in airport bathrooms, Carly thought once again, as she stared at her own reflection in the mirror over the sink. But even if the lighting had been photo-shoot quality, she knew she looked like hell. Her eyes were pink and puffy, and her hair was still crunchy with the products Izzy had sprayed on it yesterday morning. She bent over and splashed her face with water, then patted it dry with a scratchy paper towel. It didn’t help.
As she walked to her gate, her phone vibrated in her pocket yet again, and she didn’t have to check to know who it was. She’d already tried to call three times this morning.
Heather, 10:09AM: Please call when you wake up, I’m worried about you.
Carly tucked herself behind a pillar and looked out at the tarmac. Bright, blinding sunshine was bouncing off the nose of her plane, and the blue sky was dotted with puffy, plump, pearly-white clouds. A perfect summer day. Yet another thing she could ruin for Heather.
She took a deep breath and put her headphones in. She didn’t need all of Sydney Airport to hear this conversation.
After half a ring, Heather’s face popped onto the screen. She was wearing a pair of ice-blue silk pajamas, and her hair was in big just-woke-up waves.
“Are you okay?” she asked immediately.
“I’m fine,” Carly nodded, even though nothing could have been further from the truth.
“What happened last night? Did you get food poisoning or some—Wait, where are you right now?”
