Chapter 1
IZZY
‘Just remember, when the minister says,you may now kiss the bride, it isn’t an invitation.’
‘Ha. Very funny, Mo.’Not. ‘But I think you have me confused with someone else. Someone say like... you, for instance?’ I narrow my eyes, which feel like they’ve been attacked by a vicious hairdryer as I strain to see out of the six inches of windscreen that isn’t misty. Not that I can actuallyseeanything from the rate the rain is lashing down. It’s also dark, and the road is unlit. It’s all very stressful.
‘Come on, it wasn’t that bad,’ he cajoles.
‘It was, and I’m never being your date to a wedding again. But really, what I don’t get was why the celebrant used that line, given the betrothed were both grooms and there wasn’t a bride in sight.’
In fact, women were definitely in the minority at the wedding I’d attended as Mo’s plus one earlier in the year. Or as he’d put it, his flame dame.Because you’re far too lovely to be called my fag hag, he’d said.
‘Darling, the man in the white suit and sequinned lashes was a bit of a giveaway.’
‘Apparently not to you,’ I reply snottily as I recall him planting a smacking great kiss on that very man.
‘Come on, Izzy,’ he wheedles, ‘you know my dick and not my head makes all the decisions when I’m drinking.’
‘Oh, so it was your dick that told you the celebrant was talking to you specifically, and not the other groom, when he got to the kissing line?’
‘Yes.’
‘So we’re to blame the same part of your anatomy for getting us thrown out of the hotel?’
‘Yes again. And the bottle of champagne we polished off before the service. And I might’ve had a tiny line of coke or two in the bathroom.’
‘Mo!’
‘See? Aren’t you glad I can’t accompany you to your friend’s wedding this weekend? Goodness knows what embarrassment I’d cause.’
‘I suppose you aren’t coming because the party favours don’t hold the same appeal.’ Mulish doesn’t even touch my tone as I lean forward and rub the condensation from the windscreen with my hand, which only makes the visibility worse.
‘That’s not fair. It is Christmas, darling. Season for forgiveness and all that.’
‘You’re Hindu, Mo,’ I retort. ‘You don’t even celebrate Christmas.’
‘Hush your mouth. My darling little Christmas tree might hear you.’
‘The only thing you rejoice in at this time of year is the availability of inebriated men.’ And that’s despite the pink-swathed monstrous Christmas tree sitting in his multi-million-pound Chelsea pad.
‘True. However, I hear they have men in Scotland, too. Rugged, kilted specimens. And there’s usually at least one bi-curious hottie at a wedding looking for a little man-on-man experimentation.’
‘So why aren’t you here sitting next to me in this damned car and battling the elements?’
‘You know I’d be there in a heartbeat, but I don’t have a visa for Scotland.’
‘Scotland is part of the UK,’ I grate out.
‘Yes, but it’s ever so far from London, darling. Over that great North-South divide. Do they even have brown people up there?’
‘Now you’re being ridiculous.’
‘And you’re being a bit of a bitch, sweets. I paid to upgrade your flight, remember?’ Typical Mo. One of his life’s mottos isthere’s nothing that can’t be fixed by throwing money at it.
‘You might’ve paid for the flights, but I paid for the idyllic cabin for us to stay in this week. Not that I think I’ll ever make it.’ Eyes still on the few yards of road I can see, I twiddle with the dials, trying to demist a little more of the windshield.Bloody rental. Bloody weather. Bloody unfamiliar roads.I roll my shoulders, trying to ease the tension.
‘I’m not sure a remote cottage in the depths of a Highland winter can be called an idyll. It’s not exactly the Seychelles. And let’s face it, you booked it as a romantic getaway where you expected not to leave the bedroom.’ This is all very true. I was supposed to be coming withhim.He who shall not be named after our not-so-acrimonious breakup, because how can a breakup be tough if you just refuse to set eyes on him again? ‘Believe me, Izzy, you don’t want to be stuck in a cottage with me if I’ve no outlet for my energy.’
