‘We’re all very much looking forward to seeing Priscilla and Evan tie the knot tomorrow, where Maggie looks forward to taking her role as a bridesmaid very seriously. She knows it’s a huge responsibility, and I’m sure you’ll all agree we’re very proud of her.’ I say.
A smattering of applause follows a moment of confusion.
I step closer to Maggie and take her face in my hands. Is it to maintain my part in her ruse, or to claim her in front of everyone, including that dickhead Eddie?
Either way, I tip her chin upward and kiss her as though my life depends on it.
Maybe it does.
Or maybe I’ve just signed my death warrant.
It’s not a polite peck. It’s a kiss that I hope tells her to stop talking before she throws herself in the deep end with an anvil around her neck. A kiss that has a drunken table hollering while a camera flashes.
Fuck.
Let’s hope that doesn’t end up in front of anyone who knows who I am. It’s then that I feel Eddie’s gaze slice over me like a blade. Eddie knows.
Maggie kisses me back until she pulls back with a startled stare.
‘Just breathe and ride it out.’ I keep my voice to a whisper.
We sit down, both of us scarlet-faced as people stare.Her hand finds mine under the table and grips it so tight it aches.
Eddie’s expression promises pain.
I lean in close to Maggie’s ear. ‘Don’t make massive life decisions just because of a suspicion. It doesn’t change who you are. Or what you want.’
‘Thank you, I just feel so guilty. We need to find out what’s in that cabinet.’ Then softer, she adds,’ I can’t believe you kissed me in front of everyone.’
‘Why wouldn’t I? I like kissing you.’
She doesn’t look like she fully believes that. ‘Because thisisn’t real. And you’re a ten, and I’m—’ she gestures vaguely at herself, as if the concept of Maggie speaks for itself ‘—at best a four. On a good hair day.’
I turn fully toward her, ignoring the fact that half the table is still watching us like we’re the entertainment.
‘Only an idiot would think you’re anything less than perfect.’
She blinks at me, thrown. ‘I’m not perfect.’
‘Weirdly perfect,’ I grin. ‘Which is the best kind.’
Maggie assesses me like she’s waiting for the punchline. ‘I don’t think you’d know weird if it slapped you in the face.’
‘I’m game if that’s what you’re into, you little oddball.’
It takes her a couple of seconds to process what I said before she play-shoves my shoulder. ‘Maybe you’re even weirder than me.’
‘Probably.’
Around us, the dinner continues. People return to their desserts while Eliza launches into another story, and James tries to outdo her with his.
And Eddie, well, he doesn’t look away from me once.
TWENTY-FIVE
MAGGIE
Wedding mornings are meantto befun.
