‘Peter,’ I said politely if not warmly.
‘Dad, Mum is going to a party for work. Doesn’t she look amazing?’
‘Geez, bit old to be showing so much leg, Abbey. And a bit much for work, isn’t it? You hate those dos.’
Peter completely failed to notice the death stares he received from both Iris and Kate. But I was having a fucking epiphany. How many times over the years had he done that? Planted the seeds of doubt in my head? I had just looked in a mirror and I knew I looked good. I felt confident, and yet with one sentence, he had tried to alter that and encourage me not to go. How many times had I just given in, in an attempt to please him, instead of doing what I wanted? Instead of living my life?
‘Peter, you can just call Ella’s phone and wait out the front from now on. There’s no need for you to come into my house.’ I gave Ella a quick apologetic look, but she just nodded, approving of my suddenly firm spine. I turned to my sister. ‘Kate, any chance you could help me with my makeup?’
A proud smile appeared on her beautiful face.
‘Peter, what the devil is wrong with your hair? Good lord, you look like one of those middle-aged men trying to look younger.’ My love for my grandmother grew exponentially. ‘It’s borderline ridiculous. You will take me back to the nursing home and we shall leave the girls to get ready. Ella darling, grab your bag. Yourfatherneeds to get going … to a barber, preferably.’
I covered my snort with a cough and walked over to Iris to kiss her goodbye.
‘Love you, Gran.’
‘You look like an absolute knockout, child. Nothing feeble about that outfit.’ She dropped her voice for just my ear. ‘Dance, drink champagne and have sex with a stranger tonight. It’ll do you good.’
Jesus Christ.
***
Two hours later I was in the back of an Uber, looking out the window. The rain from the week before had cleared, leaving beautifully warm autumn days and chilly evenings, and Kate had lent me her black faux-fur bolero to ward off the chill. Gold and black earrings sparkled, dangling against my neck. Kate had swept my waves to one side and had insisted I wear a red lip colour, making me feel slightly unlike myself.
There was a nervous energy inside my stomach, which I did not want to acknowledge but could not deny. I wanted to see him. I wanted to see him in a tux. I wanted him to see me looking like this. We were both doing a pretty good job of avoiding our holiday romance selves, but how long could that hold out for?
After everything that had happened, I was as drawn to him as I had been on that island. And there were times at work when I would look up and find his eyes resting on me and the only reason I knew was because I was looking for them.
Whenever he entered a room, my body knew it before I did. We were two individuals, connected gravitationally, an inexplicable magnetic force between us. And though we had drawn a huge line in that white sand to mark the end of our affair, it felt as if he might have flirted with the edge by buying me this dress. And the question was, now that the barrier had been crossed, would it hold? The thought that it wouldn’t … well, I could not deny … it thrilled me.
The real question was, could I keep my feelings separate if he offered me more? I honestly did not know the answer to that.
My Uber passed through the familiar, almost abandoned-looking, suburb of Tempe into Sydenham, the two suburbs marked only by how low the planes passed over, an Ikea the size of a suburb and a train station that could take you anywhere. Through St Peters and onto King Street, Newtown – still clinging on to its bohemian soul despite the multi-million-dollar housing market – and into the city.
Sydney glittered. It always seemed to me like the little sister of other major cities in the world, unsure of who she was, until you got to the harbour where it all just made sense and her genuine beauty shone.
I got out of the Uber down the street from the hotel, as the no-standing zone in front of the Delacqua had left a row of cars dropping people off that stretched down the road. I walked the short distance to the hotel lobby. Even if I hadn’t just spent the day here overseeing preparations, I had been in the company so long and visited often enough to be a well-known figure. Larry Bertram, the legendary doorman and porter, kissed my cheek when he saw me and then raised his eyebrows, shaking his head, whispering that I looked ‘pretty as a picture’, which filled me with renewed confidence.
I took my place in the back corner of the lift and fidgeted nervously, my hand rising to the spot where my pendant should be, mourning its loss. When the lift opened, the occupants poured out into the glowing foyer. The room itself was lit gently by candlelight, chandeliers and a soft turquoise colour I had picked from the lighting team.
The Northbys stood at the entrance, welcoming guests and making small talk, briefly, before moving on to the next person. They were both flawless and for the first time, looking at them from a distance, I could see a resemblance, which I realised had to do with their mannerisms.
Oliver was perfectly turned out, cream jacket gleaming against the lights. There was something modern and red carpet-esque about the look. I could see women in front of me murmuring appreciatively and adjusting their dresses.
The way Nick sensed me brought to mind a teen werewolf flick; I could have sworn he sniffed the air. I was still five or six people deep in a queue, but his eyes found me, and I saw genuine surprise. I had done the unthinkable and caught Nick Northby off guard. His face broke into a lupine smile.
As I moved closer, person by person disappearing between us, my heart pounded. I had taken off my jacket in the lobby of the hotel and checked it into the cloakroom, but the goosebumps that graced my arms had absolutely nothing to do with the temperature.
‘Abigail Parker.’ Oliver gave a low whistle. ‘You are a triumph, and if I weren’t your boss’ – he gave Nick a quick side eye – ‘I would say something wildly inappropriate.’
He took my right hand, spinning me and then kissed me on the cheek, making me laugh. Why did it feel as if he wasmybrother?
Ollie released me and I moved towards Nick, who had shoved his hands in his pockets and looked like … well, heaven, or perhaps more divertingly somewhere darker, lit only by flames. His eyes were sharp, and they roamed over my body, and I swear to you I could almost feel them, as if his hands were travelling over me.
‘You found a dress,’ he said, holding tightly to keep the grin from spreading across his face.
‘Oh, what, this old thing? Just something I found at home,’ I said, sounding bored.
