12. Twelve

Twelve

W hile Art becomes captured in a debate about entrepreneurialism with my cousin, I slip away and seek out Mum and Martin, sitting over on the terrace. Mum's wearing a floaty, floral M she's organised enough weddings there."

"Oh, yes, it is a lovely setting." Mum nods approvingly. "What a good idea. It would be perfect, such a beautiful building."

Art smiles, avoiding my gaze.

I take a sip of champagne to occupy my mouth from saying something I'll regret. I'm not stupid. Getting married at the hotel is the quickest and simplest way for him to get what he wants—us married by the end of the year. We haven't discussed this at all. He hasn't even bothered to ask me how I'd feel about getting married there. My grip on my glass tightens. He's just trying to railroad his way through our special day, too, like he does with everything else. I'm furious .

"Art, darling," Barbara calls from the kitchen. "Could you come and help me with something, please? Sue, Martin, Sophie, there's more food, if you'd like some."

"Duty calls." Art presses a kiss to my cheek, and I don't look at him.

"It would be rude not to." Mum puts her glass of wine down and gets out of her seat.

They all disappear off in the direction of the house with Mum's voice ringing in my ears as she warns Martin to be sensible with his food choices.