“Observant,” he says lightly. “Yes.”
I blink. “But your accent…”
“It’s all theatre,” he cuts in smoothly, taking another drag. A pause, then a faint, knowing smile. “And it’s a story for another time.”
He pushes off the balustrade, posture loose now, almost casual, and fixes us both with a level look.
“Anyway, back to your story. I do one of these weddings every month,” he says, the performance completely gone from his voice. “Same costumes, same speeches, same star-crossed weirdos acting out their repressed issues in doublet and hose. But you two…” His gaze softens just slightly. “You’vegot spark. Real tension. You’ll end the weekend in either a passionate make-out or mutually assured destruction. Either way…entertaining.”
Tyler blinks. “This is you being professional?”
Peacock smirks faintly, but it’s warmer now. “I’m off duty.”
He drains the last sip of wine and sets the glass on the balustrade with a decisive clink.
“Don’t waste it,” he adds, his voice dropping low enough that it feels almost private. “Whatever this is between you two… it’s not in the script.”
Then, with one last look, one that feels almost approving, he turns and strolls away, humming “Greensleeves” under his breath, disappearing into the night like a man who knows exactly how much chaos he’s just stirred.
I exhale, long and slow.
“American,” I mutter, mostly to myself.
Tyler glances sideways. “You okay?”
I nod once, still staring after Peacock. “I have no idea,” I admit. “But God help me… I think I really like him.”
The words hang in the air, heavier than they should, as I’m not entirely sure if I mean Peacock, stripped back, suddenly magnetic, unexpectedly human…
Or the man next to me.
The one who just kissed me like I was oxygen.
Chapter 17
Pulling the Pin
Tyler
We step back through the carved oak doors like we haven’t just been caught snogging behind a rose bush while Peacock vaped theatrically and scored us like a pair of over-eager understudies.
Her hand brushes mine once, quick, accidental, before she lets go. The space between us hums, live-wire tight, daring me to close it.
Instead, we stroll back into the room like nothing just happened, like we didn’t just commit botanical indecency behind the hydrangeas.
The room’s end of the night messy now. Fewer theatrics, more half-eaten desserts and slumped groomsmen. Someone’s snoring gently in the corner.
I grab a couple of glasses of wine because standing empty-handed feels wrong. The barrels have been swapped for bottles, classier, but less fun. It’s either hold glasses or haul Hayley up a staircase, and one of those is slightly more socially acceptable.
“Milady,” I say, offering her the glass with a little bow.
Her mouth twitches like she’s not sure whether to laugh or throw it at me. She takes it but doesn’t drink, just stares at the glass, knuckles pale, like she’s trying to work out if it’s wine or a wedding proposal.
“I’m gonna…” She waves the glass vaguely toward the crowd. “Check in with Lily. Before she demotes me to table scraps for crimes against matrimony.”
“Of course.” I nod, casual.
She takes two steps, heels clicking, and somehow manages to zigzag through the crowd like a drunk secret agent on a covert bridal mission. I can’t help but smile.
