‘So, your bath’s almost ready, a French pastry breakfast with coffee will be here at twelve, and your taxi back to St Aidan is booked for one.’ With precision like that he could almost pass for Phoebe.
‘So what about you?’ I’m sure he mentioned breakfast for us both. As for imagining a lift back with him might be nicer than a taxi ride, that thought was never one of mine.
He’s looking at his watch. ‘I’m pretty much bang on schedule.’
‘I meant, what are you having for breakfast?’ With those sculpted forearms, I’m guessing it’ll be some kind of lean, carb-free, full English after porridge doused in chia seeds. Whatever, it’s going to take ages to eat.
He grins at me and nods at a trolley full of shiny silver domes by the sofa. ‘Catch up, Milla, I had mine hours ago, I’m heading off to the airport.’
‘To wave them off?’ I wouldn’t mind skipping breakfast for that.
He’s shaking his head. ‘No, I’m flying out too.
It comes out as a shriek. ‘Flying? Flyingwhere?’
‘The Med.’
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. ‘But you can’t go away! What about the wedding planning?’
‘This delivery job’s been booked in since last year. We worked Nigel’s wedding around it and that has to take priority.’ He’s rubbing his jaw. ‘In any case, we haven’t exactly been moving forward.’
I have no idea why my neck is prickling. ‘We can’t possibly make progress if you’re not even in the damned country.’
He’s almost pouting. ‘Cally organised her wedding from New York.’
‘Yes, and look how that went! She got everything she didn’t want!’
He’s staring at me. ‘They both had fun, love triumphed in the end. Isn’t that what’s important?’
However much I agree, I can’t let him think he’s right. ‘Fine, but love won’t come out on top if you don’t book a venue, Nic.’
He’s totally ignoring that. ‘The break will do us good. I promise I’ll put in the effort when I’m back.’ He’s so full of bullshit. And he’s also backing towards the door. ‘I’ll see you in a couple of weeks then.’
‘Two weeks?’
‘Maybe three if the weather’s good.’
If that’s his attitude, why am I bothering? Everyone knows everything that goes on round here. The shop can’t afford to ruin its reputation helping with a wedding that’s a disaster because the groom organising it gives no shits at all. The sooner I make that clear, the better.
‘If you want to carry on working with me, you’re going to have to seriously up your game, Nicolson Trendell.’
He’s almost in the corridor now. ‘I’d say that makes two of us, Milla Vanilla.’ He lets the words hang in the air for a second before he carries on. ‘And if you wouldn’t mind picking up my tux for me, it’ll be ready Friday and it’s already paid for.’
I’m picking my jaw up off the floor, dragging in enough breath to tell him where to get off. But the door closes, and he’s gone.
APRIL
Chapter 17
Thursday, two and a half weeks later.
In the attic flat at Brides by the Sea.
Overkill and rearview mirrors.
One of the disconcerting things about weddings is that the days themselves are so emotion-filled you feel as if you could burst. But once they’re over and the hangover finally clears you can end up feeling like a popped balloon.
Luckily for me, my ‘incident’ on the terrace doesn’t seem to have gone any further than Cally, Nige, me and Nic. And everyone here knows about my blunders after I explained why both dresses were at the cleaners. However badly I stuffed up, a bouquet of spring flowers, hand tied with a gold satin bow, arrives for me from Cally on Monday and there’s a ‘thank you’ postcard of the Eiffel Tower lit up at night that arrives in the post on Friday. On Saturday, I nip along to Iron Maiden’s and both clean dresses are sent express delivery to New York. I hang Nic’s suit on the back of the bedroom door, and that’s that. Job done.
