‘Craig wasn’t at the pub,’ Bel pointed out.
‘Craig is a married man who didn’t have a choice,’ Emma corrected.
‘Dean was probably feeling sorry for his mate who has a terrifying wife who doesn’t let him go to the pub,’ Bel joked.
‘Craig can go to the pub whenever he likes, so long as he doesn’t expect sex any time afterwards. If I’m at home taking care of children all day, we both go out or we both stay home.’
‘Fair enough,’ Bel said easily. She didn’t disagree, and she knew Craig valued his time with his family when he came home. He was not one of those men who felt he needed to escape the wife and kids to drink with his mates. He genuinely missed them when he was away.
‘In all seriousness, Bel, I do think Dean was disappointed.’
‘Well, it wasn’t like I was there with him. I didn’t know he was going to be sitting with us.’
‘He said he thought you guys agreed to meet up when he dropped by your place yesterday.’
‘He asked if I was going and I said I was. It wasn’t a date.’
‘Maybe he figured it could be?’
‘Well, it wasn’t and I’m free to choose whoever the hell I want to choose to spend my time with.’
‘Okay, don’t shoot the messenger,’ Emma said, holding up a hand. ‘I’m just saying, he obviously thought he’d be seeing you.’
Great, so now she felt bad about a stupid miscommunication. ‘I don’t know how many times I have to tell you. I’m not interested in Dean Preston.’
Emma cocked her head to the side. ‘I don’t get it. He’s perfect for you.’
‘I have my list of perfect-for-me and it brought Tate here.’
‘Okay, fine. You do you. Maybe after Mr Perfect goes home, you’ll be able to think more clearly.’
Bel didn’t want to think about when this thing would be over between her and Tate. She didn’t want to lose the giddy, bubbly excitement that filled her whenever she thought about him.
‘So,’ Emma said, sitting her cup down. ‘I’m sorry I brought up all the other stuff and rained on your parade. I should have led with this: tell me everything. I want all the details.’
The earlier weirdness between them dissolved and they were back to normal, with Emma being her most outrageous, no-boundaries self, and Bel found herself giving a somewhat censored version of her night. They ended up giggling and chatting for the rest of the morning.
After Emma left, Bel couldn’t help thinking about her friend’s warning as she cleaned the house. What would happen when Tate left? Sure, it was easy enough to say she was happy with whatever this thing was. People had holiday flings and one-night stands all the time. But she never had. She had no idea how she was going to feel after this ended.
The thought dampened her earlier excitement.
Over the next few days, Bel successfully managed to block Emma’s warning from her mind. Things were even better than she’d ever imagined. She and Tate couldn’t keep their hands off each other. It was madness. They snuck away at any opportunity. While part of her felt extremely naughty, another part kept reminding her that this thing was only temporary and it was going to come to an end all too soon. That thought always sobered her, but not enough to stop. Tate was like a drug she couldn’t get enough of.
Not for the first time since the official countdown had begun, Bel was impressed by the military precision of the whole event. Everything had been meticulously marked off from what Bel could only imagine was a daunting-lookingspreadsheet. Gisele’s assistant had arrived, and if Bel had thought the wedding planner was already in action, it was nothing compared with the level of intensity of the final few days. Maya, the almost identical clone of Gisele, spent the day following her boss around with her eyes glued to a tablet and her ear attached to a phone.
The logistics of the whole thing were quite mind-blowing. Wessex had only the one motel and the pub for accommodation, and that had all been booked out by the groom’s family. The majority of the remaining guest list was being brought in from Toormanlee by a small fleet of buses. They were double-checking with the bus company responsible for delivering the two hundred-odd guests. Bel could only wonder at the additional cost that would be. It was practical, though, considering the distance, plus the road conditions were not exactly ideal for the luxury vehicles she imagined that crowd would be using. The local roadside assistance company would have a field day pulling Ferraris out of potholes left, right and centre.
The rather fancy-schmancy new brick-and-stone building with huge glass windows her aunt and uncle had commissioned for the reception, known as the Orangery, as Bel was primly corrected when she’d accidentally called it a conservatory, was the current hive of activity. There’d been myriad delays with the project, so much so that her uncle had often referred to the whole project as cursed. It hadn’t helped that Larkin had only informed him of the need to have the replicaseventeenth-century building built for her reception a mere four months out from the wedding, after she’d been inspired by multiple episodes ofEscape to the Chateau.
Builders had been working at warp-speed to have it finished and, despite Bel’s misgivings, they’d managed to do it, with just a few minor finishing touches to go inside. Which was lucky because the rain hadn’t really stopped and would have been a hindrance if they were still working on the outside.
The manicured lawn between the house and the Orangery was looking slightly waterlogged but her uncle had assured everyone only the evening before that the groundskeepers had designed the garden with ample drainage. It would be good as gold for the wedding day.
Bel could get used to being on holidays. No early starts, no long, boring days and plenty of free time to be with Tate. The continuing rain had messed with the wedding festivities, with planned outings like mini golf and tennis cancelled, which gave Bel and Tate more time alone. She’d even taken up her cousin’s offer of staying at Glentoberon, since it made it easier to see more of him.
Everything was working out perfectly.
