“That’s the spirit,” he remarked. “We have to deal with what will most likely be an antagonistic relationship between two women, all the while planning the wedding of the year on this, a shit field of dreams.” He gave another depressed shake of his head. “Who in the bloody hell gets married in the woods? I mean, haven’t these people ever heard of Lyme disease?”
“You tell me.” Ari shrugged. “I’m the artistic director, remember? You manage the clients.”
Sebastian took a long drag on his cigarette. “Miss Teen Rhode Island,” he muttered, and Ari stared at him.
“What? I don’t understand. Is that a cocktail or something?”
Sebastian laughed in a puff of smoke. “No, darling, it’s our tree-hugging bride-to-be. Sasha Saffin.”
“Sasha Saffin?” Ari furrowed her brow. “That’s got to be a drink name, right?”
“Sadly not.” Sebastian dangled the cigarette from his lips again, then pulled his phone out. He swiped across the screen several times, before tossing it in Ari’s direction.
Ari caught it deftly, glanced down and inhaled sharply. “The bride?”
Sebastian nodded lazily. “Photogenic, isn’t she?” After a final puff, he stubbed his cigarette onto the tree again.
Ari continued to stare at his phone. “That’s putting it lightly,” she exhaled, her voice rich with admiration.
Sasha Saffin was breathtaking — there was no other word, Ari decided, that could possibly do her justice. White-blonde of hair and violet of eye, she had the sort of glowing tanned skin that Ari — perpetually fair and pale — deeply envied in others. Sasha’s face, smiling in this photograph, was shaped beautifully, just sharp enough to catch all the right camera angles, while soft enough to look womanly and young. She was without a doubt the most striking bride Ari had ever worked with
After just one look at Sasha’s angelic beauty, an idea formed in Ari’s mind.
“She’saes sídhe,” Ari whispered, handing Sebastian back his phone.
He looked at her quizzically. “Now you’re talking cocktail names. Care to translate?”
Ari grinned. “Aes sídhe— it’s Gaelic.”
“Still not helpful.” Sebastian rolled his eyes, pulling out another cigarette and bringing it to his lips.
Ari sprang forward, yanking the cigarette from Sebastian’s mouth, and snapped it in half between her fingers.
“Fuck, Ari—”
“She’saes sídhe,” she said again. “One of the fair folk.”
Sebastian looked at her blankly.
“One of the others. A good neighbour. One of the blessed.”
“You mean like the Mormons?” Sebastian pulled out another cigarette. “This isn’t a religious ceremony, Ari, I did ask in the client questionnaire—?”
Ari groaned. “No, you muppet. Not the Mormons.A fairy.”
Sebastian stared at her for a moment, then rolled his eyes and lit up. “Darling, I think all this fresh forest air is getting to you. Here, have a cigarette. It’ll clear your head right up.”
“I don’t want a cigarette.”
“Well, you should, they’re fucking amazing.”
“Sebastian,” Ari spoke firmly. “Listen to me. Have you ever heard about Samhain?”
Sebastian scratched his head. “I think... Wait, is he that bloke I slept with in the early noughties? The boy band member?”
Ari took a deep breath. “No. It isn’t a person, it’s an ancient Celtic festival to mark the end of the harvest. Tradition says that fairies and spirits would come out of hiding to celebrate and— Wait, what boy band member? You never told me about him.”
Sebastian grinned at her. “I have a chequered romantic history. You don’t know the half of it.”
