I take a gulp of my champagne and see a sign for the ladies, where I quickly head, letting Diane and David go off ahead. I don’t think I could stomach listening to any more of their nonsense. I should also probably not stab them with the knife that’s strapped to my leg.
Everyone’s an expert.
Everyone has an opinion.
By the time I’m back in the hallway, Diane, and her arrogant twat of a partner, husband, brother, whoever the bloody hell he was, are nowhere to be seen.
Thank God.
In fact, the hive of activity has reduced, except for the group that has just passed me.
Falling in behind them, I enter the grand hall. The room, just like the hotel, it’s set to the highest of standards. An extravagant chandelier hangs centre stage, with other smaller chandeliers across the rest of the ceiling.
The décor is beautiful; white chairs with gold accents, tables covered in white cloth with mirrored tops, tall centre pieces, mirrored vases that have roses perfectly placed to create a circle, with orchids running out and draping down on to the table. The lighting is dim, but high enough that you can make out who is where, the white glow giving the room a romantic and warm atmosphere.
Well, this isn’t too shabby.
To the right stands a table plan, along with some attendants who stand with clipboards to help guests find their tables.
Andrews sent me full information about the event along with plans of the hotel, which I’ve managed to memorise along with a number of different exit routes if the proverbial shit hits the fan.
I smile at the attendant with a clipboard.
“Lucy Cook.”
She scans her clipboard and locates my name. “Miss Cook, you’re at table 8. Just towards the right over there, first row around the dance floor.”
“Thank you.” I head with my champagne glass towards my table as a round of applause starts. All the guests heads are looking towards the entrance behind me.
I halt in my tracks and turn slowly, placing my glass down and bag on the nearest table. My hands raise on their own, following suit to clap—not that I have any bloody idea why.
Walking through the crowd of faces is a couple, radiating grace. The lady’s dress is a sequinned number that clings to her thin frame. The light from the room captures the little beads, making them sparkle and flicker as she walks through the room with her partner tucked up against her. They are in their mid-fifties but walk through the crowd as if they own it.
Which maybe they do.
They shake hands and smile at key people. But something—no, not something,someone—pulls my attention to their right. A gentleman stands behind them, talking with a couple off to the side.
His tuxedo is tailored and fits his physique perfectly, his broad shoulders and long legs covered by the dark material.
He looks just the same, but so different all at once.
His dark hair is the same. Longer, but a similar style to how he used to wear it as a teenager; after he got through his weird obsession with curtains. I smile, remembering the time I got chewing gum in it. He was furious.
His jawline is stronger, peppered with a light dusting of dark facial hair, like he hasn’t shaved for a few days. His face looks more defined and fuller, but he’s just as beautiful.
So different, but so innately similar.
It’s him.
My body thrums as heat flushes through me, building from my heart, flushing over my chest, making my heartbeat faster.
Fuck me.
Adrenaline, like I want to immediately bolt, catches me completely off guard.
He must sense my eyes on him, as he glances up and looks straight to where I stand. Our eyes lock, and in that moment, everything disappears. Like a willow of smoke being blown on a wind.
I am rendered frozen, speechless, as images from our childhood filled with the good, bad, and damn right ugly threaten to overwhelm me.
