‘You look damn fine in your kilt, by the way.’ Amanda said under her breath. I swallowed down my laughter and nudged her.
The ceremony itself was peak Otterleigh.
Jean dabbed her eyes with a tissue that emerged from her sleeve. Jim passed over the rings with all the solemnity of a man with a very important job.
Isla loudly whispered, 'Told you he'd cry,'when Owen's voice wobbled.
Eilidh openly bawled into Scruff’s fur.
When Claire and Owen finally kissed, the room exploded with noise. The fiddler launched into an enthusiastic tune, the rest of the band joining him with gusto. Scruff howled in celebration and then howled again because someone tried to shush him.
Meowrse took that as his cue to bugger off.
Then the ceilidh kicked off in style.
And sparkling, tartan-swirling chaos took over. I spun Amanda around the dance floor until we both grew sweaty and tired.
People spilt across the floor in happy mayhem. Kids darted between dancers, risking life and limb to alleviate boredom as the night wore on. Isla’s husband spun too hard and careened into a table of tablets, sending sugary confectionery flying, much to the joy of the children.
Scruff zigzagged, collecting fallen napkins like they were and tearing them into tiny pieces below the tables.
And right in the middle of it Amanda let me pull her close. She fitted against me so perfectly as we danced, her cheek against my jaw as we spun beneath the lights. Her laughter erupted bright and addictive, and I basked in every second of it.
While we swayed and spun, reeled and bobbed, my mind raced to find a way to convince her to stay. Or to take me with her.
As the night wore on, Claire and Owen danced together, their love so open and easy that it made me ache. My joy for them only increased, having had a sliver of what they’d found.
I wanted it too.
twenty-nine
AMANDA
The morning feltheavy with the weight of what was to come.
The old manor creaked in the cold, but it was cosy in Henry’s bed, wrapped in the circle of his body. Such a sweet place to be, but one I definitely didn’t deserve.
Henry’s arm was draped over my waist, where he’d fallen asleep when we finally got home from the ceilidh. His chest rose and fell against my back, each breath brushing me in a way that made my skin goosebumpy. Little echoes of last night’s happiness.
The ceilidh.
The stolen kisses in dark corners as the clock struck midnight.
That look he gave me when I whispered ‘Happy New Year’.
Like I’d accidentally offered him a forever I had no business offering.
It terrified me how easy it would be to just never go home. To hole up inside Bayview Manor, getting adored all day and railedto within an inch of my life all night. I could see why so many women lose themselves for premium cock.
Henry groaned when I shifted, needing to pack up my things if I was going to make my train.
‘Don’t,’ he mumbled into my hair, voice thick with sleep. ‘I’m not ready for you to start escaping.’
‘I need to pack.’
He nosed gently at the back of my neck, and that small, domestic intimacy made my throat choke up. So many years of dreaming about having someone who wanted all of me just as I am. Only to find it in the worst place. Why couldn’t Henry live in Edinburgh? A city romance I could do. Maybe. Even then, Henry deserved someone better than me. Someone who would flourish in a village where everyone knows everyone. Someone sunny and bright and cheerful who could fill his house with cherubian babies.
’Stay,’ he murmured. ‘Just a bit longer.’
