I fling open the door. ‘It doesn’t take a prize navigator to work that out.’ There’s no need for me to lose it completely. If I keep cool, I can breeze my way through this. ‘It won’t be a problem, I’ll just reverse back out into the road.’
The last thing I need is to listen to another bloody urban legend. Or worse still, him crowing about me joining the ranks of disengaged brains. If I leap down onto the grass at least I’ll look like I’ve got this situation under control. But when I land on the grass it isn’t as firm as I was expecting. My boots sink straight in and before I know it there’s muddy water sluicing halfway up my calves. I shiver as the freezing liquid seeps through the seams and all the way to my toes. And as I’m standing there, I take in the van tyres, buried up to their axles in mud too.
And as if that wasn’t bad enough, when I look up, Nic’s sliding across the front seat of the van and he’s staring down at me from the driver’s door.
‘What I was going to say was,wait, Milla, it could be muddy.’
I scowl up at him. ‘How is it, always being right? Did you need a degree for that?’
He doesn’t actually answer that. ‘If your feet are stuck, it might help to grab hold of the van.’
I need to look like I’ve got this. ‘Stuck feet … who, me? I don’t think so.’ I wobble, throw out my arms to get my balance and try to move my leg sideways and you know what? He’s bloody right again. My best bet is to lunge forward and cling onto the door. It’s only when I’ve got both hands locked onto the interior door handle that I feel more stable.
Nic’s not hanging back with the instructions. ‘Okay, hold it there.’
‘Like I’ve got any choice.’
He’s frowning. ‘It’s so much windier down here. Let’s hope the next venue isn’t exposed to the prevailing westerlies.’
The weather’s not uppermost on my mind right now. ‘I thought sailors liked wind.’
He pulls a face. ‘It has to be the right sort, in the right place.’
Of course. I glance down at my dress, billowing out behind me, then up at the clouds tearing across the sky. ‘Well, it’s gale-force out here now and there’s no blow-away brides today, not that I can see.’
He cranes his neck and stares up through the windscreen at the sky. ‘Flukey too.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘That’s when the wind is prone to abrupt changes of direction.’
If he spouts any more irrelevant meteorological trivia, I might just scream. Except, right on cue, the wind turns. One minute it’s buffeting my face, the next it’s slapping me in the back. Then there’s one almighty flap, and instead of streaming out behind me, my skirt passes my ears and flies upwards over my head. If I had two hands free, I’d be able to control the thrashing fabric. As it is, with my hands clamped to the door holding me upright, I have no chance. I can hear Nic’s voice over the roar of air.
‘Are you okay down there?’ He’s practically hanging out of the van now and there’s a rumble in his throat that could almost be a laugh.
‘How is this funny?’
‘It isn’t. Obviously.’ He’s easing down from the seat now, and even though we’re standing in what feels like a hurricane, when he lands right next to me in my personal space the wind doesn’t blow his scent away anything like fast enough. ‘I just seem to be seeing more of your legs today than I am wedding venues.’
‘What?’
‘Like, now. And before in the van …’ He takes in my appalled gape. ‘Sorry, there’s a slit in your skirt and they were there, I couldn’t help noticing.’
‘You didn’t have tolook.’
He reaches up above my head, catches my skirt and yanks it down. ‘There, is that better?’
‘Marginally. But none of this is good.’ I mean, he’s a groom, he shouldn’t be looking like he’s about to grin. More to the point, my only hope of clawing back any credibility here is by keeping this serious. I clear my throat. ‘I think you should be more respectful, that’s all.’
‘Okay, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.’ As he looks away, I’m pretty certain I catch a smirk.
‘It’d better not.’ I’d find it easier if he wasn’t still hanging on to my skirt.
‘And, truly …’
I’m bracing myself for what’s coming. If it’s some derogatory comment about women drivers, I might just push him in the swamp too.
As he clears his throat, his grin fades. ‘I’m very sorry, this is all my fault for messing about. If I hadn’t been distracting you, we’d be at the manor now. I take full responsibility for this one, what must you think of me?’
