“Why? Worried it will ruin the wedding photos?”
“God no. Stella Snow is a fucking genius and could make Quasimodo look like Brad Pitt if she wanted to. But it is a bit of an inconvenience to be constantly pausing a wedding to apply cold compresses to stitches, or to mop up the occasional spurt of blood.”
Marnie raised an eyebrow. “That happen often in your weddings?”
“Ari and I planned this one wedding where the groom got shit-faced at his stag party and tried to climb Nelson’s Column at Trafalgar Square. As the police were pulling him off the poor bastard smacked his face onto one of the lion’s asses, cracking his cheekbone and losing two teeth.” Sebastian gave a satisfied grin. “It was hilarious. He had to spend the entirety of his wedding looking left.”
“Was that his good side?” Marnie asked wryly, and Sebastian laughed.
“Darling, when you’ve busted your cheekbone and lost two teeth, you don’t have agood side, trust me.”
Marnie considered him as she sucked down another lungful of nicotine. “You really enjoy what you do, don’t you?”
“Well, I like people,” Sebastian replied easily.
“More specifically?”
He shrugged. “Well, I like their money. I like that they pay me for my opinions. I like that women trust me when they’re at their most vulnerable.”
Marnie thought instantly of Sasha. She would never describe her particular breed of bride asvulnerable, not in a millionyears. Her face must have given her thoughts away, because she saw Sebastian looking at her with a knowing sort of interest.
“Sasha is—”
“My soon-to-be daughter-in-law,” Marnie cut in sharply, her voice a warning. “And I promised Tom I would be kind.”
“Well, yes,” Sebastian replied, before he leaned in closer to her. “But he’s nothere, darling. Bitch away, if you like. My ears are open, but my mouth is sealed.”
Marnie flicked the ash from her cigarette into the tray Sebastian had beside him, and then looked twice at the cut crystal glass.
“That,” she pointed, ignoring his comments about Sasha, “came from France, you know.”
“France,” Sebastian mused thoughtfully. “I love France.”
“Yes, I do too. My name’s actually Marine, you know. But at my first school they wrote my name down wrong, and Marnie has stuck ever since.”
“My name is Greek. So is Ari’s. She’s actually Ariadne, though we never call her that.”
“Greek?” Marnie asked.
“Yes. Our mother was an actress. Or at least, she wanted to be. Sebastian and Ariadne come fromThe Two Gentlemen of Verona.”
“My boys are Corentin and Thomas.” Marnie paused, then gave Sebastian a look. “You talk about your mother in the past tense. She’s dead?”
Sebastian shrugged. “To me and Ari she is.”
His tone of voice showed that he would say nothing more on that subject, and so Marnie sat back, enjoying the quiet for a moment as the nicotine began to sing in her bloodstream.
Without asking, Marnie reached for another cigarette, lighting one up and drawing on it slowly. She gave Sebastian along, level look, weighing up in her mind whether she liked this man or not.
“Why do you call everyone ‘darling’?” she asked him finally. “What is that?”
“An endearment.” Sebastian stubbed out his own cigarette before also lighting another. “Women appreciate it.”
“You think that’s what women want in life? Endearments?”
“My brides certainly do. Well, I suppose they might want something else too. But it’s nothing I’m equipped to give them.”
Marnie made a small noise of disgust. “If you’re talking about sex—”
