I shrug at her as if to say decision made. Miriam is scowling at me; I can feel it even if I’m not looking at her. There’s a knock at the door and I’m relieved to hear the hairdresser call for Sarah while the father of the bride, Norman, announces that he is taking his wife back to their room to change. I can feel my smile getting bigger and bigger as the room empties, leaving me alone.
Having already checked on the reception room several times since I woke at six, I decide to give it one more look, just in case, then remember that I need to sort out the cake. Wearing a pair of cut off denim shorts and a bright orange vest I slip on some flip flops and make a dash down to the largest function room the hotel has. I have just exited the lift when I feel Mase’s presence, Mase who I haven’t seen for two pathetically hard days. Since my flat was broken into, a random act is how the police described it, I have taken up residence in Mason’s home, his only concession being his trips to my flat to collect the things I needed. I suddenly realise that most of my personal belongings are now in situ at his home. The knowledge that I have all but moved in with him hits me like a sledgehammer.
“Shit.” I’m unsure whether I am happy or distressed by that and settle somewhere between the two emotions as I enter the function room.
Warm breath hits my bare neck as arms wrap around my waist signalling Mason joining me behind closed doors.
“Hey baby,” he whispers. His lips begin to caress my skin. “You are looking seriously sexy in your shorts and curlers.” He laughs, making me blush and laugh too as I remember I still have curlers in my hair.
“I forgot they were even in.” I must look many things, but none of them sexy. “What must the other hotel guests think?”
Mase’s lips reach my neck, just where it joins my body. “The other guests will think that you have the sexiest legs, arse and tits in the world and if they’ve got any sense their glance won’t have got as far as your curlers. I have really, really missed you.” He nips at my flesh.
“Don’t you dare mark me,” I threaten as I think of Miriam’s face if I were to walk down the aisle behind her daughter with anything resembling a love bite on my exposed body.
“Do you have any idea how tempting it is to mark you all over?” He skims a hand up my body until he is cupping one of my breasts, teasing me through my clothes until I am panting like a dog on heat. “You missed me too then.” He laughs against my skin.
“You wish,” I retort with the inference that I haven’t. A blatant lie that makes him laugh again as I turn to face him. “You can mark me later if you really want to,” I offer with thoughts of where and how he could and probably will do that.
“You will be marked before you leave this room if you keep talking like that, baby. You do look fucking fantastic and so does this room.” He’s suddenly taking in our surroundings.
The room is huge with a private bar in one corner and a kitchen off to the side that serves this room alone. I have arranged the tables so that a long table for immediate family and attendants runs along the length of the room and all the other tables are round and symmetrically arranged so that everyone has a view of the head table. There is an allocated space for the wedding cake in another corner while the area we are occupying has a large dance floor and an elevated section for a band or disco. Sarah and Jed have opted for both as some friends of Sarah’s sister, Niamh, play in an orchestra so they will provide sedate and sophisticated music for the afternoon reception and meal while a disco has been organised for the evening, the party. Each guest table has a simple black and white arrangement of white flowers; roses, hydrangeas, anemones and black foliage in a tall, slim vase surrounded by lightly scented tea lights in black glass holders. The table settings are white apart from black glasses and a black and white napkin folded into a rosette. Mase is standing behind one of the chairs that has been dressed in white with a large black ribbon around the back and tied into a bow.
“This is beautiful,” Mason tells me making me smile proudly. “Christian should be kicking himself for not hanging onto you, or maybe I should keep kicking him.”
“Thank you.” I ignore the comments relating to my former boss as I check the place settings all of which are on stiff, expensive white card with names in a bold black calligraphy.
“I can’t say I’m sorry to see the back of these place settings, ink and calligraphy nibs around the flat.”
“I offered to go home—” I begin but he is silencing me with a sweet, gentle kiss.
“You were home,” he whispers against my lips, taking another piece of my heart with his words.
“We’ll talk about it.”
“Nothing to talk about, Olivia.” He moves towards the top table that is decorated in the same style as the others except the floral arrangements are built around a ring of oasis. The white flowers, more roses and anemones are surrounded by black foliage and curled ribbon. The centrepiece feature is completed with a candle in a gravel lined hurricane. “Sarah is very talented, too.” He reaches forward to check the flowers are real.
“I did them,” I tell him making him stare at me wildly.
“Are there no ends to your talents?” He’s wearing a huge, proud smile that gets me every time he looks at me that way because I don’t think anyone has ever been proud of me like Mase is, except maybe Sarah which makes me as sad as Mason’s pride makes me happy.
“I missed you, babe,” I tell him for no reason at all. “You know, when I was flower arranging last night.”
“How long before bridezilla summons you?” He sounds horny rather than proud now.
“She doesn’t know where I am.”
The arch of his brow confirms his horniness.
Before either of us can speak, some waiting staff appear behind us.
“Sorry, we have the cake ready to bring in.”
I’m reminded that the cake was my main reason for coming down here and with a smile I nod.
The cake is a large three tiered affair with each layer set immediately on top of the previous one, iced smooth with white royal icing and the theme of black flowers is continued with a small arrangement of black flowers in a corsage style that partially fits around the curve of each tier, offering some colour to break up the expanse of white.
“Is this the correct topper?” one of the servers asks, grimacing at the item in the box he’s carrying.
