Roisin took my guitar from me. “I feel like a spare part with you two in the room.”
It was one of the most fucking astute things I’d heard her say.
“We’re going to grab a coffee. Why don’t you practice the song we went through on the piano?” I glared at her.
Roisin just smiled. “Sure. I’d love to sing the one you’ve just performed though.”
“That’s one for me.” No one was having that song.
Roisin looked puzzled; it was her usual expression. “I thought you weren’t performing again.”
“I’m not. Not in public.”
“Oh okay. Play it for Wes when he gets here.” She smiled, sitting at the piano.
I had a feeling she’d be able to play the melody for her song after only hearing it twice.
And shit. I’d forgotten about Wes. “What time was Wes getting here?”
“Two. He said something about chocolate eclairs.”
I looked at Sophie. “Shit.”
* * *
We were sitting in a café that thought it should’ve been in Paris instead of London, sipping coffee and looking at menus for our wedding breakfast.
“We pick three and then we can go to taste them and choose our favourite.” Sophie looked at me and bit her lips together, looking like she was trying to stop herself from laughing. “You look like this is worse than medieval torture.”
“I’ve just never pictured myself having this moment when I have to taste test food for my wedding. It’s a little fucked.” I was struggling to get my head round it.
She pushed her plate away, the macaroons demolished before I’d even tried to nick one.
“Tomorrow, if you’ve time, why don’t I show you round the venue? See if we can grab dinner there?”
I wasn’t sure what the correct response was.
“Or we could fuck the whole thing off and get married on a beach with just the cocktail waiter and cleaner as our witnesses.” Her grin was not of a person that was bullshitting.
“You’d do that?”
“Hell yeah.” She reached out a hand and grabbed part of my chocolate éclair that I hadn’t eaten yet. “No hassle, no guests. Just sun and a beach.”
“And a flight.” She’d told me about her fear of flying.
“That’s what champagne’s for. I’m going to have to get over it if I’m flying over to Iceland and back every couple of weeks.”
I wiped a bit of cream off her nose.
And then I bit the bullet.
“We’re getting married and we haven’t even had a proper date.”
She reached for the cafetiere of coffee and poured herself another cup full. “Want a top up?”
“Soph, I need a response to that.”
“I’m deciding what it should be.”
