“The setting is stunning.”
“It is. My cousin got married in Devon last year.”
“Ah. How nice. Family weddings are fun.”
“Yeah. My mum’s Egyptian, so I don’t get to see a lot of her side that often. A lot of the family flew over for it.”
“Lovely.”
I take a sip of my wine. He takes another sip of his beer. God. This is so painfullystilted.Isabelle rescues the situation by suddenly appearing between us.
“Hello!” She beams. “How are you guys? You like the food?”
“It’s delicious!” I enthuse, as she gives me a kiss on the cheek. “You look so beautiful, Mrs. Warner! Your dress is stunning.”
She’s wearing a slinky, modern number with delicate spaghetti straps dotted with pearl beads, a dress which really shows off her gorgeous figure. Her nails are neon blue—her something blue, I take it—and she’s wearing her hair loosely up with minimal makeup, looking fresh-faced and sophisticated.
She’s already a little tipsy from the champagne, so I imagine some of the guests will be treated to some classic deep- and-meaningful Isabelle conversations this evening.
“Thanks so much, this is just the most amazing day,” she declares, before turning to Jamie. “Isn’t Freya the best? I thought I’d sit you two together because you have so much in common!”
“We do?” he mumbles, before repeating it in a more upbeat manner, having received a glare from me. “We do!”
“You’re both in the drinks business, you have a similar sense of humor, you know, you’re both quite sarcastic—” But before she can notice our confused expressions at that statement, she’s distracted by someone waving at her from another table. “Got to go, I should say hi. Enjoy the day!”
“Thanks!” I say after her, before thanking the waiter as my starter plate is taken away.
“I didn’t realize I was noticeably sarcastic,” Jamie mutters.
“Neither did I. Still, I suppose there are worse things to be.”
“True. I was once described as ‘frivolous.’ That was a bad one.”
“Ouch. Who called you that?”
“An ex.”
“Ah.” I nod, before deciding I might as well be honest, since he was with me. “My ex called me ‘pragmatic’ and ‘together.’ And not in a good way.”
“Whoa. Harsh.”
“I’m not sure which is worse. That, or being brushed off as a product of nineties mainstream pop.”
“Better than being labeled as a pretentious snob with a scruffy beard.”
“I notice it’s a little tidier today.”
“Thought I’d make the effort for a formal event,” he says, leaning back as our main course is placed in front of us. “What makes you so ‘together,’ then? The swish job at Suttworth?”
“I’ve no idea,” I admit with a shrug.
“Isn’t having your shit together a good thing? I thought that was what everyone is after in life,” Jamie comments, digging into his food.
“Yeah, well, now my shit is very much not together, so he wins.” I stab at a potato. “What makes you so ‘frivolous’?”
“She said it after I made a joke about something she did.”
“What did she do?”
