“Payton?” I worked with Payton closely and knew she never got out of bed until she had to at the moment.
“Yep,” Owen said, taking off his glasses to clean them. “She was pacing, repacking, putting some shit green thing on her face.” He shook his head. “When we get married it’ll be on a beach.”
“When?” I raised my brows. This was the first I’d heard of it. “When?”
“Yeah,” Owen said. “We will at some point. I’m just waiting for her to decide we’re moving in together. Then I need her to get noticing wedding things. Then I need to remortgage at least two of my stores for the wedding she’ll probably want. And for therapy afterwards.”
I laughed and pulled out the whisky glasses that had been left as favours by Killian in our rooms to go with Grant’s whisky. They were engraved simply with the date and a rugby ball. No initials, no thanks, just a simple gesture. I liked it. “You sound like you have a plan.”
Owen nodded. “The first part of it is to survive this ourselves. The second is to make sure Killian survives it. The third, to get the girls here without tears or either of them breaking an ankle in those damn heels.”
“Seconded,” I said and passed him a glass.
We chinked them together and sipped at the amber liquid, knowing it was too good to knock back in one although the temptation was there.
The day had a weird feel to it. The girls were busy; Ava, like Payton, had been up early, making sure I had packed everything she needed for the overnight so she could go to Claire’s hotel suite to help her sister get ready. She’d been part of Vanessa and Jackson’s wedding as a bridesmaid, but this was different for her, as it was her sister and there was something particularly special about her marrying Killian. I hated to think of how many boxes of tissues they’d go through and I was relieved in some ways to not be one of Killian’s ushers. He had Nick as his best man and the Callaghan brothers as ushers, a bigger entourage than Claire, who had kept her sisters, Amelie and Eliza as bridesmaids.
“I believe you got Gran duty?” Owen said.
I nodded. My job was to pretend to escort Vanessa’s gran from the hotel to Dartmouth House and make sure she didn’t say anything too inappropriate. She really didn’t need escorting, being able to navigate herself around all of London after at least six double gin and tonics – although she did persuade a police officer to give her a lift from Sheffield to her village afterwards. I’d met her several times when she’d been up to visit Vanessa and had ‘happened’ by the offices, trying to cop a feel of as many sets of biceps and pecs as she could, as well as taking excessive amounts of selfies. The woman needed her own television show and I wasn’t sure how the small village in Derbyshire coped with her.
“Gran duty then Ava duty,” I said, smiling.
“How’s Ava doing? Payton finally got it out of her system the other night. After a bottle of prosecco and a Chinese takeout she spoke for an hour about what happened and how it shouldn’t have,” Owen said. He topped up both of our glasses.
“Ava’s doing really well,” I said. “She’s still hyper vigilant and wary of when she’s out, but she’s more like how she was before. She’s getting her confidence back.”
Owen nodded. “Good. He’s likely to be sent down, isn’t he?”
I nodded. “It’s looking that way. Possibly for a while as well. Want to head down to the bar and see if Killian’s lost his nerve?”
“Definitely.” This time we both downed the whisky, leaving the glasses on the table and headed out of the door.
Downstairs was a congregation of Callaghan men and other related parties. Gran was sitting next to Callum and her hand was on his forearm. The woman was clearly a letch, but she had both hands in view, so I wasn’t too concerned.
“How you feeling?” I said to Killian who was standing a little away from the bar, watching everyone as he often did.
“Honestly?” he said, a glass of what looked like water in his hand. “I’m shitting it.”
I frowned. I hadn’t expected that. Killian had served in the Royal Navy Marines for ten years, he acted as a bodyguard occasionally and was built like an MMA fighter. “Why?”
“She might change her mind. Or something goes wrong and this day she’s dreamed about doesn’t turn out the way she wants. Or Nick fucks up the rings and his speech. I just want to get in there and get it over with,” Killian said, staring at the glass of what was definitely water.
“She’s not going to change her fucking mind, so stop thinking that. Nothing’s going to go wrong. Marie is overseeing everything and if something does start to go wrong, you know as well as I do that Marie will stop it so you and Claire will never know. Nick is going to fuck up the rings on purpose and his speech is going to verbally assassinate you. Feel better?” I smacked him hard on the back. “Now get a proper drink down your neck because I think you’ve got about ten minutes before we head over there.”
A photographer was doing the rounds, taking photos of the Callaghans and guests who were staying at Claridge’s or had decided to meet there. The four Callaghan brothers put arms around shoulders and posed, all with wide grins. It would be a good picture, and one that was causing Gran to seemingly swoon.
“You four should be illegal,” she said, walking towards them and planting herself between Jackson and Callum. “If Milly Davies who owns the café in Severton could see you right now she’d have you all locked up in her shed. Let me get a picture to show her what she’s missed.”
The photographer was already there, as were a few others with their phones out, taking pictures like they were paparazzi. Then Jackson and Callum looked at each other, nodded and lifted Gran up high into the air, causing the little old lady to laugh big and loud.
“No wonder my granddaughter married you, given how strong you are,” she said to Jackson, when they put her down. “Bet you can do all sorts of things with that strength.”
Jackson shook his head. “How your husband coped with you, I don’t know,” he said. “But I do know it’s time we headed over to the church. Elijah, look after this hellion.”
Gran headed to me, securing her handbag over her shoulder and then straightening the hat that had almost come straight off. “Righty-oh,” she said. “We’ve probably got time for one last drink while Killian loses his breakfast in one of the bathrooms in that Dartmouth place.”
Killian was close enough to hear her. “That would happen if I’d managed to get any breakfast down me.” He sounded calm though.
