And it bothers me. I know I shouldn’t let it, but it does. It’s not even that I want Gil in particular to like me, more that it gives me hives when I thinkanyonedoesn’t. The more I chew it over, the angrier I become. Why can’t he make an effort, this day of all days? Is that really too much to ask? And, by the way, it should have beenmeenjoying the party and standing next to Simon, sipping my drink, laughing at something funny someone just said, not him.
In one smooth motion, all the frustration, the tiredness, the anxiety and overwhelm I’ve been feeling all day – even the mild, unspoken and unacknowledged irritation I’m feeling at Simon for being late to the party – gathers into a searing beam of light which focuses on the best man.
If it was up to me, I’d tell him to take a hike. Preferably off a short pontoon and into the river. But I can’t do that to Simon, and I don’t want to make a scene, so I just stuff all those annoying emotions back down again and sit on them, like an over-packed suitcase bulging as you try to zip it up.
To distract myself, I turn to Anjali. ‘Do you have the bridal emergency kit for me?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Anjali says, nodding.
Well, this is promising. But it is Anjali we’re talking about, so I do a bit of extra digging. ‘Lipstick, tissues, spare tights?’
She nods. ‘All bought and assembled from the list you gave me. I even found this lovely little bag to put it all in. It’s just …’ She rummages in her handbag and then a look of horror passes over her face. ‘Ipromiseyou I have it! It must be up in my room. I’ll just go and—’ She jogs towards the lobby, as the rest of us watch her go.
‘What’s she forgotten now?’ Simon says, laughing amiably. ‘I hope it’s not her dress. We can’t have her walking down the aisle in her underwear!’
My gran would have said that Anjali would have forgotten her own head if it wasn’t screwed on, but I bristle slightly at Simon’s joke. I know she drives me crazy, but I’m fiercely protective of my best friend. And it’s not as if his choice of BFF is winning any prizes.
‘At least she gives a crap,’ I reply, smiling sweetly while casting a sidelong glance at Gil. ‘Which is more than I can say for some people.’
The best man turns his stony expression on me. ‘What are you trying to say, Erin? That I don’t?’
‘Doyou?Because Simon and I went to a lot of effort planning this pre-wedding gathering …’ Well, I did, but that’s not the point. ‘But you’re standing there looking as if you’re bored to tears.’
Simon claps his best friend on the shoulder. ‘Gil’s all right. He’s just feeling a bit jet-lagged, aren’t you, bro?’
Gil says nothing, which only makes me more irritated. I feel that zip on my overstuffed suitcase of emotions straining somewhat.
It’s most unlike me to be snarky, but I find I can’t help myself. ‘We can always find Anjali another dress,’ I say, giving Simon a disapproving look. ‘Let’s just hope your boy’s not so jet-lagged he loses the rings.’
Gil, who until that moment had all the expression of one of the statues in the hotel’s formal garden, looks taken aback. The dark rain cloud that lives permanently above his head melts into drizzly mist for a few seconds, but then his expression hardens again. Keeping his eyes trained on me, he slowly and deliberately pats his pockets.
Simon notices what he’s doing, and the smile slides from his face. ‘Youhavegot them, haven’t you? I thought I told you to keep them on you at all times.’
There isn’t even a flinch of shame from Gil as he blinks, looks at Simon and says, ‘Whoops. I’ll just check my room.’ And before Simon – or anyone else – can challenge him, he turns and strides away.
‘He’s going the wrong way,’ I say as he disappears through the large doors that lead onto the terrace. ‘He’s going the wrong way!’
I look at Simon and wait for him to do something,saysomething, but he just shrugs, so with an irritated sigh, I dive through the open doors, hot in Gil’s wake.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Present Day
At five-four, I’m not exactly petite, but Gil has a head start andreallylong legs. When I step outside onto the wide deck of the terrace overlooking the river, I think it’s empty, but then I see a flash of movement at the far end, where a yew arch leads into the hotel’s neatly manicured gardens. I speed up, even though I’m in heels.
Thankfully, the sky is clear and the moon is out, so after a few seconds, I’m able to spot a dark blur moving swiftly down one of the gravel paths to where a stone balustrade edges the garden, the river lapping at its base.
I could call out, but I don’t. I don’t want Gil Sampson to think I want anything from him. Even though the night is chilly and I’m only wearing a short-sleeved dress, I don’t notice the cold at all. My anger is enough to keep me toasty and warm.
For a moment, an ornamental conifer blocks my view of him, but then I round it and spot him a short distance away, leaning against the barrier. I’m about to ask him what the hell he’s playing at, why he isn’t scouring his hotel room for our wedding rings, when he pulls a small box from his pocket and flips it open.Two perfect circles of white gold glint in the moonlight, echoing the pale dancing slivers on the dark water beyond. I stop cold in my tracks.
What the …?
Therings?
He had them all along? Then why …?
The weariness I’ve been feeling all day drops from my shoulders like a heavy cloak falling to the floor. Without it weighing me down, all the tension, stress and irritation I’ve been doing my best to keep a lid on has no choice but to rise free. I take the tangled mess of it, collect it into a ball of searing energy, and hurl it towards the shadowy figure a couple of metres away. ‘You bastard!’
