First hauling round industrial quantities of biscuits, now tipping champers on the pot plants. ‘Whatever it takes, I’ll sort it.’
As I reach to unzip the dress cover, I’m bracing myself for the worst. If I end up looking glitzier than a chandelier, at least it’s only for a day.
Chapter 12
Saturday, two days later.
The attic at Brides by the Sea.
Another unhappy landing.
I was kidding myself about the daybreak starts. However much I’m used to them, waking early enough to be ready and down on the street for seven-thirty means getting up in the middle of the night and is every bit as agonising as it sounds. Just saying. In case anyone thought this was easy money. Three large mugs of coffee, four croissants and a shower later, I’m just beginning to wake up.
As for the bridesmaid’s dress, I’m reminded of my mum’s favourite saying – there’s always a bright side, the trick is to find it. Except I didn’t have to look hard to find it this time. Far from being the bridesmaid’s outfit from hell, the dress nestling in Cally’s bag was pretty enough for a princess. Better still, there’s something about the lightness of the lace and the folds of the satin slip that makes me look as if I’m barely there – so that’s not just any old princess, it’s a princess three sizes smaller than me!
The gold high-heeled sandals and fake fur stole are also lovely, but with so much fab stuff there’s bound to be a downside. The first catch is that the dipping neckline at the back of the dress means my knee-to-boob control pants are definitely out, and I end up in a more minor pair, doubled over so they end on my hip bone. Catch two is that the dress would be perfect for someone without boobs, but on me it’s a lot more ‘chesty’ than I’d choose for myself.
But let’s keep this real. The guests are Nigel’s parents’ friends – I won’t know anyone so me venturing out minus Spanks, with enough cleavage on show to make people’s eyes water, matters less.
Right now I’m bare-faced, clean-scrubbed, and heading for the stairs with my overnight case, Cally’s Gucci bag over one shoulder, holding the dress bag so high in the air I’ve already got arm ache. The plan is I’ll have my hair and make-up done and get ready with Cally at the hotel. I’ve added a few key items to the pudding-filled essentials bag – mint hot chocolate, iced gems, and Tangfastics. At seven-fifteen sharp I make it all the way to the bottom of the four flights of stairs without breaking my neck and head out into the salty morning air. There’s no sign of the taxi in the mews, so I go as far as the corner of the road that winds up from the harbour and do a final check to be sure I’ve got everything.
‘Taxi for Ms Fenton?’
I look up from where I’m burrowing deep in the Gucci bag. ‘Thanks, that’s me.’
‘Everything okay there?’ The driver’s out of the sleek black car and standing next to my bag pile.
‘Fine, except I can’t find …’ What’s missing is my box of emergency nappy bags which must still be sitting on the kitchen table in the attic. I’m agonising because I lost count of the times a well-placed plastic bag saved us when Phoebe was throwing up. Four floors is a long way to run, but on the other hand I could be kicking myself later if I don’t have them with me. ‘Sorry, I’ve left something important behind, that’s all.’
‘We can’t have that. If you’re off to the Waterside you need every bit of your finery.’ The driver smiles as he takes the dress from me. ‘Take your time, I’ll load this lot onto the back seat while you fetch what you’ve forgotten.’
‘I’ll be two minutes.’
As I hare back towards the shop, my feet are slithering on the Mews cobbles. Then inside the door I kick off my heels and sprint for the stairs. By the time I reach the top floor I’ve got a stitch and my throat is burning. There’s a fleeting second where I take in that the smell is less Poppy’s baking, more of something I can only put down to the taxi driver’s good taste in body spray. When I dive into the kitchen I put my hand straight on the bags and turn straight around. I’m hurtling blindly back across the landing when I collide with something large and warm and solid.
As I come to my senses the chest my cheek is rammed against is bare, and I’m looking down on one very muscular, very naked thigh. And a very skimpy striped towel.
‘Milla, what are you doing here?’
I can’t decide if it’s better or worse that it’s Nic. At least this time I have the advantage of wearing a slim leather skirt, a loose shirt, and a teddy coat more than he is.
‘It might come as surprise, but this is where I live.’ I let out a snort. ‘So what’s your story this time? In my flat without clothes again – it’s never a great look.’
As I stagger backwards, I’m already trying to wipe out how it felt to bury my fingertips in his biceps. The implant of his body crushed against mine. The heat of his skin. How goddam good he smells.
His shrug isn’t anywhere near guilty enough. ‘Jess brought me up through the basement a few minutes ago. I bumped into her down at the harbour and I’d just found out that the boat owner showers were out of action. She took pity and offered me this one.’
‘Great.’
‘That is okay? I mean, I wasn’t expecting …’ As he leans one shoulder on the wall, he’s obviously completely unbothered by everything that’s on show. ‘Jess implied you were away for the weekend.’
‘I was … I will be … I am.’ My eyes have snagged on the flat planes of his stomach. The low-slung towel. The bulge I just collided with. Then as I drag in a full lungful of his scent it hits me – I’m in a hurry here.
He’s still standing in front of me, blinking. ‘That’s what’s different – you’re so small today. And pale but extra pretty.’ He pauses to push his hair back off his forehead. ‘And where are your shoes?’
For someone standing there in the buff he’s way too relaxed. Maybe it’s all those years hanging out on deck on tropical oceans. Or maybe this is what guys are like when they’re fully committed. When they’re well and truly spoken-for. If he were mine, I’m not sure I’d be comfortable with him colliding bare-chested into random women on upstairs landings, but that’s the thing – he’s a million miles away from mine. I need to stop thinking like that.
Which is all the more reason I can’t stand around listening to his random ranting. ‘Actually, I need to go.’
