“I don’t want to talk about Tom Miller right now.” Ari straightened, pulling her hand out of her pocket. She tidied her hair and shifted her backpack once more. “Now, can we get back to Sasha Saffin and...” She paused. “Groom’s name?”
“Thomas Somerset.” Sebastian looked at her wearily. “Goes by Tom.”
Ari paused. “Tom?”
“Another Tom,” Sebastian repeated.
Ari swallowed down the lump in her throat.
“Ari—”
“I’m fine,” she told him. “It’s just a name. Right, okay, Tom Somerset. Let’s get back to the Sasha Saffin and Tom Somerset wedding.” She cleared her throat, pulled a notepad from her bag and started to jot down some notes. “I’m thinking of pitching a Samhain wedding, which, given that it’s the end of September now, gives us thirteen months until the wedding day itself. Ample time to plan. I’m thinking of bonfires and harvest fare and fireflies and an outdoorsy, Instagram worthy fair folk themed event. I’m thinking of Sasha in white-gold silk. I’m thinking of a candlelit walkway to this clearing in the wood. I’m thinking of a string quartet. I’m thinking...” Ari trailed off, seeing Sebastian’s eyes resting on her oddly. “I’m thinking I have something on my face. Why are you staring at me? What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking you’re a fucking genius, darling,” Sebastian replied. “I’m thinking of all the money I’m going to spend once you’ve pitched this idea and won us this wedding. I’m thinking that people always say you can’t polish a turd, and yet, here we are in shit-central, and you’ve got the place shining bright, Ari.”
She gave him a proud smile. “I’m good at my job. Hopefully good enough to win us this wedding.”
“With this idea, it’s practically in the bag.” Sebastian seemed cheerier, and it pleased Ari to think that she’d helped ease his worries. Well, it was either her or the copious amounts of nicotine.
“I hope so,” Ari said. “What do you know about Sasha, our bride? Anything I should be prepared for?”
Sebastian shrugged. “She’s in social media, whatever that means. Was runner-up in a Miss Teen Rhode Island contest once upon a time.”
“Runner-up? You mean she didn’t win?” Ari was genuinely shocked. “How?If this girl,” she pointed to the picture on Sebastian’s phone, “didn’t win, what the fuck did the actual winner look like?”
“So, I wondered that too,” Sebastian replied. “I did a little research, and it turns out our bride Sasha didn’t do so well on the interview round. A little more googling and some internet stalking, and I have the distinct impression she’s more of a style-over-substance kind of woman, our bride.”
“Right, well, that should work in our favour.” Ari suddenly felt positive. “Style we can offer in spades. So long as the mother of the groom isn’t an issue, we’ll be planning this wedding in no time.”
Sebastian nodded. “I have a feeling Sasha will lap up the old routine. Me, the English gentleman, ready with the compliments, while you produce a stunning visual of what her big day will entail. She should eat it up... just like you, with everything in my refrigerator.”
“Hey,” Ari huffed, but she smiled all the same. “Right, well, let’s get back to the house. We have a bride to win over.”
Sebastian nodded, before he frowned momentarily. “Don’t you want to know anything about the groom?”
Ari looked at him in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Well, rather interestingly, when I sent the client questionnaire over, Sasha filled in her half... but Tom Somerset, groom-to-be, left his section completely blank.”
“So?” Ari asked, picking her way through the mud, finding her way back to the path of the ornate house where they were meeting the bride and mother of the groom for lunch.
“So,” Sebastian fell into step beside her, “don’t you think that’s odd? Most of the time, the groom at least shows some minor interest in his wedding. But this one... it’s like he’s happy to leave everything to his fiancée and mother.”
“All the better for us.” Ari shrugged.
“I just find that a little odd, is all. I’d hate to think that our North American expansion plan could be scuppered by an unruly groom, and—”
“Sebastian,” Ari came to a stop and put a hand on his shoulder, “don’t worry about it.”
“I can’t help but worry about it.” Sebastian shoved his hands into his pockets.
“Worry about winning over Sasha and her mother-in-law, okay? Worry about winning this pitch. Besides, in the six years we’ve been running Queen and Country Weddings, the groom has never been a problem.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “And there’s absolutely no reason for this Tom Somerset to be any different. No reason at all.”
Chapter 2: Ides Weather
When Tom Somerset awoke that morning, it was with his father’s face on his mind.
He wasn’t sure why exactly. His father had been dead for six years now, and Tom tried not to dwell on that, or on him, too often. Douglas Somerset had been relegated to the occasional anecdotal story in Tom’s world, just an odd fleeting reference, or oft-told family legend, repeated with a soft smile and a warm voice. If his father ever did unexpectedly cross his mind, Tom pushed him away quickly. It wasn’t that he hadn’t loved Doug — he’d idolised him, in fact — it was simply that when he thought of his father a gaping hole seemed to open within him, a wave of sorrow that threatened to pull him under, and he’d decided it was best not to drown in the tide. He clung to the safety of a shore free from Doug’s memory and lingering presence, his eyes kept firmly landward, ignoring the ocean of grief behind him.
