13. Thirteen

Thirteen

I grab a champagne flute from the tray of a passing waiter and take a hefty gulp, quietly seething. Why the hell does he think he can make that decision for us both without discussing it with me first? I'll take it up with him tonight. I can't have it out with him at our bloody engagement party. For now, I'll have to park it.

"You're looking sexy in black, Mrs Black-To-Be," Lucy says cheerily, appearing beside me.

I force a smile. "Thanks." My eyes slide to her. "How are things with you and Big Steve? Better than the last time we spoke, I take it?"

Her cheeks turn pink, and she takes a sip of rosé. "Is it that obvious?"

"That you've had sex? Yes."

She chews the corner of her mouth. "Well, in my defence, it had been a while. I took your advice and talked to him."

"And? "

"And it was like I'd thought. He didn't want to rush things or push me. I think he was relieved when I finally broached the subject. He admitted to me afterwards that he was … well, you know, struggling too."

Her blue eyes sparkle as she glances over to where Art and Big Steve are deep in conversation.

"You seem happier than I've seen you in a long while."

She sips her wine and nods. "I am. Things are settling down. Mum's finally come round to the idea of Mark and me divorcing. Our solicitors have started the paperwork. And Steve and I are … good."

"Have you told your parents about Big Steve?"

"God, no!" Lucy raises her eyebrows in alarm. "One thing at a time. That would definitely finish them right off at the mo."

I guess she's right. Big Steve and Mark are polar opposites in every single way imaginable.

She smirks and looks at my engagement ring. "And I don't need to ask if you're happy, do I?"

"Right now, I feel like killing him," I admit. "He's got it in his head that he wants to get married in December, and because he refuses to even consider another date so we've got more time to find a venue, he's suggested we get hitched at the hotel."

"Er, what's the matter with that?" Lucy says indignantly. "I got married there, remember?"

"Yes, but I work there."

"I work there."

"I actually plan weddings there."

Lucy shrugs. "So? You can't deny it's a beautiful venue. You of all people know that."

I sip my champagne. It is. But that's not the bloody point.

"He didn't discuss it with me. The first I heard about it was when he dropped it out in front of my parents about five minutes ago," I say crossly .

She pulls a face. "Yeah, I admit that's probably not his best move. But if you really don't want to get married there, tell him so." She laughs. "He clearly can't wait to make you his wifey. You'll be barefoot and pregnant in no time."

My chest tightens. I take a gulp of champagne to try and get rid of the feeling of panic. Lucy's joking, but I'm worried that she's closer to the truth than she realises. I want kids but not yet, and I've told him so. He's trying to bulldoze his way with the wedding to get his own way; what's to say he won't do the same about us starting a family?

"You're perfect together," Lucy assures me, catching the worried look on my face. "You make him happy; he makes you happy. You're a hot-looking couple. And if you like his dominating ways in some areas of your life … you might have to put up with them in other areas you're not so keen on." She gives me a cheeky smile, and I know instantly what she's getting at.

My cheeks grow warm, and I take a sip of champagne.

"Speech!" someone announces from behind us.

I turn round to see Art standing on the edge of the patio.

He grabs an empty champagne flute from a nearby table and chinks a fork against the glass. "I'd like to say a few words."

Lucy nudges me with her elbow and smiles. "Looks like you're up."

"Firstly, I'd like to thank you all for coming tonight."

He oozes confidence, and I'm mentally transported back to the first day we met at the hotel. I couldn't take my eyes off of him then either.

His dark eyes scan the guests and come to a stop on me. He breaks into a smile. "Sophie, would you join me, please?"

Nerves fizz in my stomach as I weave through the guests and up to the patio. I hate this sort of thing. All eyes on me. If I possessed half his confidence, I'd feel better. But I needn't have worried. The feel of his firm hand closing around mine as he helps me up the step wipes the nerves away as I take my place beside him.

Art lets go of my hand and slides an arm around my waist, drawing me close to him. "Six months ago, I didn't even know this wonderful woman existed. But as soon as I laid eyes on her, I knew she was the one. It's been a whirlwind, but it's right. I love her with all my heart. She completes me."

A chorus of "awws" from the guests ripples across the garden. A ball of emotion wedges in my throat. I was expecting him to say a few words of thanks. Not this.

"Martin, Sue, I promise to look after your daughter with all my heart and protect her with my life."

I bite down on my bottom lip to stop it from trembling, and I glance over to the far side of the patio to where Mum and Barbara are standing together, dabbing their eyes with tissues.

"I can't wait to make this beautiful woman mine, and we're looking forward to celebrating our special day with you all."

It's not until Art looks at me with a great big grin on his face that I realise I'm grinning too. He kisses me, and the guests break out into whoops of excitement and applause. The annoyance I felt ten minutes ago about the whole wedding-venue saga fades as he pulls away and gazes into my eyes. How does he do this?

We turn back to the guests, and for a few seconds, I think I'm hallucinating. I must be. Because what I saw … who I thought I saw weaving through the guests wouldn't be here today. There's no way she'd have been invited. But I'm wrong. My bubble of happiness bursts at the sight of auburn hair.

Aisling stands towards the back of the guests, clutching a glass of champagne. I've no idea how long she's been here, but her downturned mouth tells me she heard Art's little speech. I keep a smile plastered across my face. I don't know what to think or where to look …

What the fuck is she doing here?

If Art's noticed her, he doesn't show it, as he carries on effortlessly, but I barely hear him because I'm reeling.

"Mum, thank you for organising tonight, and thank you all for coming to celebrate with us. There's plenty of food and drink left, so eat, drink, and have a good time."

The music turns back up, and the guests begin to disperse .

"What the fuck is she doing here?" I snap, unable to stop myself.

Art frowns and shakes his head. "Who?"

"Aisling."

He glances around the garden, his eyes narrowing slightly as he hones in on her.

"What's she doing here?" I push.

"She's here with her mum," he says calmly, as if it were all perfectly normal.

I steal a glance across the garden to see her standing, talking to an older lady with short grey hair.

My eyes swing to Art as an unnerving thought hits me. "Tell me you didn't invite her."

His eyebrows draw into a frown. "Of course not. My mum and hers are school friends. I guess Mum invited them. Ash is here for the same reason as everyone else. To congratulate us."

I doubt that. Yet his tone suggests I'm overreacting.

I spot movement over his shoulder and watch in horror as Barbara introduces Aisling and her mum to my parents. "Oh great. She's being introduced to Mum and Martin now." I take a swig of champagne to try and extinguish the bitterness building inside me. "This just gets better and better, doesn't it?"

Art rakes his fingers through his hair and looks awkward. "Mum … doesn't know."

I narrow my eyes. "What? That her friend's therapist daughter fucked her son when she should have been supporting him? No, I bet she fucking doesn't."

Art glances around worriedly, checking the other guests are out of earshot, before fixing me with a firm look. "No, and I want to keep it that way."

He's asking me not to make a scene even though she's turned up at our engagement party. Knowing exactly what reaction she's going to get. Red-hot anger ignites in my blood. She's got a bloody nerve.

"Are you serious?"

"Sophie dear, there's someone I'd like you to meet," Barbara's voice cuts me off.

Art turns round to reveal Barbara, Aisling, and her mother behind us .

Barbara is smiling from ear to ear, totally oblivious to the shitstorm brewing. "This is Cecilia, one of my good friends."

Cecilia gives me a warm smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Sophie."

Being face-to-face with Barbara squashes some of my anger. She's pulled tonight together for us. I can't kick off and ruin things.

"You, too."

Cecilia looks at Art. "Long time no see, young man. I hear business is doing well."

"Yeah, it's been a while, hasn't it? Business is doing really well, thanks," Art says.

There's a pause, and then Cecilia says, "Sophie, this is my daughter, Aisling."

On cue, she takes a step forward, forcing me to look at her. Her figure-hugging, off-the-shoulder royal-blue dress leaves little to the imagination. Her thick hair lies in waves across her shoulders. French-manicured nails match the toenails that peek out from strappy gold sandals. There's no doubt she's dressed to impress.

She gives me a tight smile, as though it's paining her to be civil. "How lovely to properly meet you, Sophie. We didn't get a chance the other day."

I can't bring myself to say it's nice to meet her, too, because it would be an outright lie. But she's playing the game, and I'm not one to be beaten.

I force a polite smile.

Bored with the pleasantries of speaking to me, she shifts her gaze to Art. Jealousy knots in my stomach as her green eyes slide over him from head to toe.

She smiles sweetly. "It's nice to see you again, Art. You look great."

I bite the inside of my mouth and taste metal.

He smiles. "Thanks."

"Aisling's told us you put her in touch with some of your contacts to help her find a new place to live," Barbara interjects.

"It was nothing," Art insists.

Aisling swings her hair over her shoulder and gives a tinkly little laugh. "It wasn't nothing, silly. They were perfect." Her eyes glide over him again, in a way that suggests that's not the only thing she thinks is perfect. "I think I might have found the one, all thanks to you." She bats her eyelashes and flashes another sickly-sweet smile.

I hate this. The way she's playfully chastising him. It's familiar. Too familiar.

"Art was very helpful and obliging … as always." She raises her glass to her lips, hiding a smug smile.

I take a hefty drink of champagne to stop my mouth from running away with me. If we were alone, she'd be getting a piece of my mind. She's got the others fooled but not me. I'm not buying the butter wouldn't melt act. She seems hell-bent on pushing my buttons, and I'm determined not to rise to it, but if I'm not going to create a scene, then I need to move. Now.

"If you all will excuse me, I think my mum wants to speak to me. I'll be right back." I turn on my heel with my head held high and no intention of returning.

I mingle with the other guests, swapping proposal stories and discussing honeymoon destinations. But I'm distracted. Only half-listening. I'm shaken, inwardly reeling from what just happened. Trying to process the mishmash of thoughts going round in my head whilst outwardly trying to keep up appearances.

A polite, ready smile is etched on my face, and after a while, my cheeks begin to hurt. My mask is dangerously close to slipping as I watch Art and Aisling, still talking on the patio. Every now and then, she flicks her hair and touches his arm or shoulder, and I fight the urge to waltz over to them and break up their little tête-à-tête. But I hold myself back. That would be childish and immature. And I know she'd see that as a win. Proof that she bothers me. Evidence that she's getting under my skin. I'm not going to give her the satisfaction.