‘Excuse me?’ Even if I did have a problem, I can’t think of anyone worse than Nic to talk to; he’s judgemental, he looks down on me, and, apart from the day the van got stuck, he’s one of the least sympathetic people I know.
‘If you’re hurting, talking might help.’ His tone is so deep and sympathetic my stomach is starting to melt.
‘It totally won’t. Thanks all the same.’
He coughs. ‘Our wedding manager will be a lot more useful to us if she’s on the ball rather than tipsy.’
It hits me like a bucket of cold water – that’s his only concern. I take a swift glance under the duvet and push myself up on my pillows to try to salvage a tiny bit of self-respect. ‘Message received loud and clear, Nic. I’m exceedingly sorry for last night’s mistakes, I can assure you I won’t be repeating them.’ If I end up talking like Phoebe to claw myself back to a more respectable place, it has to be done. As far as I can see in the gloom under the covers, I’m still wearing my slip which is a relief, but the cogs in my brain are starting to click. Sure, I blundered all over the place last night, but he’s the one opening my curtains and that has to be wrong. ‘What are you doing here, anyway?’
A shadow that could be guilt flickers across his face, then he laughs. ‘I know I was banging on about dancing being my final task. But everyone knows the best man’s last job of all is to spend the night with a bridesmaid.’
‘What?!’
His smile fades. ‘You were falling off your heels, I was the first in line to help you to your room, that’s all.’ He sends me a look. ‘If they hadn’t been so high I’m sure you’d have managed.’
At least he’s not saying how off my face I was. Not remembering any of it isn’t a great sign. ‘You didn’t have to … carry me?’ I’m so appalled at that thought it comes out as a squeak.
He’s pulling a face. ‘Sorry if that was too Tarzan for you, but it seemed the easiest way to get you up here fast.’ This is getting so much worse. ‘And once we were here you weren’t in any state to be left on your own. So I took the sofa for the night, I hope that’s okay too?’
‘You didwhat?’ None of this is okay.
His face is suddenly serious. ‘You could have hurt yourself, I was hardly going to run off back to the party.’ He rubs a thumb along his jaw. ‘It’s fine, I was happy to stay awake and check you were okay.’
My eyes snap open. ‘So you haven’t slept?’
He shrugs. ‘It’s not a big deal.’
It totally is. The poor guy must be knackered. ‘Thank you so much. I’m so sorry.’ I’m blinking my way through this step by step, then I hit the wall and my heart plummets. ‘And what’s Elfinor going to say about this?’
He gives a rueful smile. ‘I’m sure Pix will understand.’ He pulls a face. ‘So long as it doesn’t happen at her wedding …’
‘Hell yes … no … I mean …’ I can’t believe how easily he’s dismissing it. It must be incredible for them to be so sure of each other that it wouldn’t even figure. And this time I’m truly grateful for her Pixie-halo, and for her being such an effing amazing human being. And to Nic too.
I ease up the vest strap that’s dropped off my shoulder, and move on to the next chasm I’ve got to hurl myself across with Nic.
‘So, what happened to the dress?’ Let’s face it, questions don’t come much more awkward … to ask or to answer.
Nic’s eyes snap back into focus. ‘Right – so, your dress and my tux were whisked off to Iron Maiden’s cleaners in St Aidan first thing by courier.’ There’s another shrug. ‘One of the perks of a five-star country club.’
My inner groan is so loud it bursts free. ‘That bad?’ That’s not the news I was hoping for. Sick on the gravel outside is bad enough, but on clothes takes it to another – totally unacceptable – level. And I’m really more interested in how the hell I got undressed than the choice of cleaners.
He sniffs. ‘Your hem took the brunt, my legs got the rest.’ He smiles for a second then it falls away again. ‘In case you’re worried, I did help you take it off, but the most I saw was the writing on your leg, and only as far as the speeches.’ He’s still going. ‘It was way less than you saw of me in the morning. In fact, I’d say we’re pretty much even again.’
‘Marvellous.’ As I catch sight of my phone on the bedside table and squeeze it on I gasp. ‘It can’t be eleven thirty already. I need to say goodbye to Cally before they leave for Paris!’
Nic’s shrugging again. ‘Sorry to disappoint you, but Nige and Cally are long gone.’ He’s biting his lip. ‘We did ask the airline if they’d postpone the flight until you woke up, but air traffic control wouldn’t agree.’
I give him an eye roll for that. ‘So that’s that then.’ There are so many reasons to kick myself – for stuffing last night up so spectacularly, for not waking up to wave them off, and now I’ve got the hangover from hell.
His face softens. ‘Cally said to tell you she’ll be in touch. And how grateful they both are for all your help.’
So at least my customer was happy. ‘What’s that noise?’ I know I’ve been listening to the distant crash of waves on the beach in my sleep, but this particular water rush is closer and more constant.
‘I’m running you a bath.’ Nic’s looking particularly pleased with himself as he darts towards to the en suite. ‘That reminds me, which bath oil would you like? Pomegranate and ginseng, bergamot and hibiscus, or gin fizz and rose.’
‘Anything but the gin.’ I’m not sure anyone has ever run me a bath before. Is there no limit to this guy and his hidden talents?
A couple of minutes later he’s back again, his shirt sleeves rolled up. As he drops a waffle robe on the bed and dries his hands on a super-fluffy towel I’m definitely not noticing how amazing his wrists are. Or wishing the bath was for both of us.
