18. Eighteen

Eighteen

T wo hours later, I'm in the Orangery, tidying up. I glance at my wristwatch for what feels like the hundredth time. Without a doubt, these have been the longest one hundred twenty minutes of my life. I mean, how long does it take to look at a car, really?

A variety of conflicting emotions and thoughts knot together in my head. All underpinned with a good dose of jealousy. Despite his assurances, her words from yesterday roll through my thoughts.

"When we were together, he was truly happy."

"… have you made him change for you? Clipped his wings and made him conform?"

I grab the shiny ribbon attached to one of the pink balloons, yank it down, and stab it with a butter knife. It explodes with a pop and drops onto the table.

"Hey, Soph."

I glance to see Lucy poking her head around the door .

"Art's asked if he can have all the senior staff team in his office for a quick staff meeting."

I frown. "How long has he been back?"

"About an hour. Sorry, I know you wanted to talk to him, but old Georgie beat you to it. He practically jumped Art as soon as he got back. They've both been up in his office ever since. Art's just called down and asked if everyone can go up there. Something's going on, I reckon."

I turn over the butter knife in my hand. Maybe he hasn't been gone three hours after all. I sigh and put the knife down. I need to temper my jealousy or at least do a better job of hiding it where Aisling's concerned. But he still deserves a piece of my mind about the wedding.

"Are you coming then?"

I nod.

We head through the bar into the reception.

Lucy gives me a sideways glance and smirks. "Oh, and if it's any help, Art didn't look like a man who'd just had mad, passionate sex when he came back."

I ignore her jibe. Trust Lucy.

Tina, the cleaning manager; Rob, the head chef; and Olly are already sitting on the chesterfield sofa when we arrive. George is positioned on a chair next to Art's desk, twisting his navy handkerchief in his hands and looking incredibly awkward.

"Can you close the door, please, Lucy?" Art asks from behind his desk.

I sit down on the chair beside the sofa and study him as he busily types away on his laptop. A frown is etched into his brow. He looks preoccupied.

"Thank you all for coming at such short notice," he says, getting up. He straightens his white shirt and walks around to the front of the desk, perching himself on the edge. "I appreciate that everyone's busy. This shouldn't take long." He crosses one foot over the other and pushes the sleeves of his shirt back to his elbows. "George and I both agreed it's the right thing to do. I've just received some rather sad news." He glances at George and smiles. "George, do you want to take over?"

Lucy nudges me with her elbow. "I told you something's going on," she mutters .

George stands up, still twisting the handkerchief in his hands. "Yes, thank you, Art. I asked to meet with you all, so I can tell you in person. We have, after all, worked together for many years. The thing is, I'm retiring. It's not been an easy decision because this place has been such an important part of my life for so long. It helped me through the saddest time when I lost my Pam." He pats the front of his jacket and gives a decisive nod. "But it's the right time. I've met a lovely lady who's retired. I want to spend my time enjoying life with her. I will miss this place, but I know it's the right thing to do."

George is part of the furniture. In some ways, he is the hotel. No matter what time of day or night, you can always count on him. I swallow down the ball of emotion in my throat. Things won't be the same without him.

"Good on you, mate," Rob enthuses. "You enjoy yourself. It's about time you kicked back."

"Yeah, but I'm sorry you're leaving us, George," Olly says.

Art stands. "I think we can all agree that we will be sad to see you go, George. You've been the beating heart of the hotel for a long time. I know how much you've dedicated to this place over the years and risen to the responsibilities placed on you, but you ploughed on regardless, despite your personal loss." He offers George his hand to shake. "On behalf of myself, the whole staff team, the hotel, and my family, we thank you."

There's a spontaneous round of applause from the gathered staff, and I press my lips together to stop myself from welling up.

George's cheeks turn crimson at the praise as he shakes his hand. "Thank you, Art. That means an awful lot to me." He clears his throat, and for a second, he looks hesitant. "I'll be honest. I wasn't sure whether you were the right person for the job when you took over the running of the place, but I'm pleased to see you've proven me wrong. You might not have done this before, but you've got your head switched on, and you know what you're doing. You're exactly what this place needs now. Young blood. Fresh ideas."

Art smiles. "Thank you, George. And hearing that from you means a lot to me. "

"What happens now?" Lucy asks, interrupting the moment. "When are you leaving us?"

"I've got to serve my notice, so I'll be here for a couple more months." George looks to Art.

Art drags a hand across his jaw and frowns. The preoccupied look is back. "We need to get that sorted ASAP. Your role is integral to the running of the business, but that's my problem, not yours."

For the first time since I've arrived, he looks at me.

He glances around the room. "Thanks, everyone. That's all for now."

As the others shuffle out, slapping George on the back and wishing him well, I hang back.

Art pushes his hands into the front pockets of his tan chinos and sits back on the edge of the desk. He tilts his head to the side and gives me a thoughtful look. "I think you should be the new assistant manager."

I roll my eyes. "Not this again. Firstly, you want me to take on the deputy assistant manager role. Now, you want me to have George's job?"

"Things have moved on. And I think you'd be perfect." He shrugs, as if it were no big deal.

"The deputy role is one thing; this is another." I narrow my eyes suspiciously. "Is this another one of your attempts to distract me?"

His brow creases in confusion. "Why would I want to try and distract you?"

I fold my arms. "Because I'm fucked off with you."

"How do you mean, distract you, and why are you fucked off with me?"

"Where do I start?"

"How about at the beginning?"

"Okay then, how about the small matter of you booking a date here for our wedding without speaking to me about it first?"

"Mmhmm. I was wondering when you'd notice that." Art thoughtfully strokes his fingers across his chin.

"Is that all you've got to say?" I cry, flailing my arms around like a crazy woman .

Art walks over to me. "Calm down."

His comment is a red rag to a bull.

"No, I won't bloody calm down. This is you all over. Bulldozing your way through. You mentioned getting married here without talking to me. The first I heard about it was when you decided to drop it in front of my parents at our engagement party."

"I merely suggested it." He rests his hands on my shoulders in an attempt to calm me.

I look away, shaking my head. He's not getting round me that easily.

"If you really don't want to get married here, that's fine. We won't. All I know is that time's ticking on, and we haven't even looked at venues yet. If we want to get married in December, we need to book something now, and I don't want us getting married somewhere we don't really like. I booked the date here, so we've got this place as an option. I'm conscious we're running out of time."

"We're only running out of time because you want to get married in December. If we push back the date, we won't be running out of time," I snap.

"I want us married by the end of the year," he says flatly, rubbing his thumbs over my shoulders in small circles.

My thoughts are thrown back to something Lucy said at the party about him not being able to wait to start a family. I feel uneasy. "You can't keep trying to take over things. You can't do that in a relationship. Everything can't be your way or the highway. Have you never heard of the word compromise?"

He juts out his chin and shakes his head with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "No, never."

I'm not in the mood. "I'm serious. You need to listen to what I want too."

"If you're really against getting married here, then we—"

"No, I'm not," I cry in frustration and take a step back, out of his grasp. "This is a lovely place to get married, but that's not the point. The point is, you're taking over again, trying to push things and get your own way, and I've had enough. "

Serious eyes hold mine. "I'm sorry. We'll talk about the venue and the date. I shouldn't have booked it without speaking to you first."

I hear his apology but carry on because he needs to know how I really feel. He can't control us. "I know you see getting married as a chance to start afresh, but you can't keep behaving like this. I know it's how you deal with things, but it's not the right way. It's about what I want too."

"Of course it is."

"Well then, start acting like it." I fold my arms. "It's like you push ahead without giving a second thought to how I'll feel."

He frowns. "That's all I think about."

I give him a hard stare. "It doesn't seem like that. In fact, if that's true, it suggests to me you don't know me very well at all. You've done it with the wedding. What's not to say you won't do it with us starting a family?"

"What?"

"How do I know you're not going to try and wear me down and get me to change my mind about having kids sooner?"

Irritation dances in his eyes. "Fucking hell, Sophie. I wouldn't do that."

The hurt tone to his voice makes me waver.

"Really?"

"Yes, really. I'm not going to pressurise you into having kids. I'll wait until you're ready. As long as it takes." He interlaces his fingers with mine. "I've fucked up, and I'm sorry."

My anger from earlier begins to wane. "Why did you choose the twenty-third of December as the date?"

He glances around the room and draws in a deep breath before looking at me. "I thought it would be romantic, getting married that close to Christmas, with the place all dressed up, and … it would have been Dad's seventieth birthday." He shakes his head. "It doesn't matter. I was wrong to do it."

The hotel does look magical when it's decorated for Christmas, but I'm not telling him that yet. I'm still annoyed with him .

He lifts his eyebrows, and a smile plays on his lips. "Is my bollocking over with?"

Not quite.

"How did you get on with Aisling?"

His smile fades. "Fine."

"I didn't know you were seeing her today."

"We talked about it yesterday."

I stare down at our hands, still interlinked, and try hard not to sound as though I'm giving him the third degree. "I knew you'd agreed to help her. I didn't realise it was today. You could have mentioned it."

"And miss this whole load of awkwardness, you mean? You're right; I can't imagine why I didn't tell you."

"That's not a reason to avoid telling me," I snap.

He loops his arms around my waist and pulls me to his chest. "Okay. I'm sorry. It was fine. I was gone an hour and a half. We talked about cars." He flashes a playful smile as he recounts his afternoon, anticipating my questions.

I straighten the white collar of his shirt, trying to act nonchalant. "And did she buy a car?"

"Yes, a Merc."

I raise my eyebrows. "She's doing all right out of the divorce then, is she?"

"Apparently, but her therapy practice has done well over the last few years." He tightens his grip on my waist, and that hesitant look is back in his eye. I know he's about to say something I won't like. "She's picking her new car up at the weekend and has asked if I can give her a lift to the garage."

I suppress the desire to roll my eyes. "Can't she drive herself to the garage?"

"She hasn't got a car. They all belonged to her husband."

I bite back the barbed comment on the edge of my lips. "And I suppose she's got no one else to ask, like you've already told me."

"She hasn't," he insists.

My patience is paper-thin where this woman is concerned. "What did you say to her? "

"About what?"

"You said you were going to speak to her about some of the stuff she said last night."

"I did."

"And?"

He looks at me, trying to gauge what reaction he's about to receive. "She said she didn't mean it like that and that you must have got the wrong end of the stick."

My simmering temper reaches boiling point. "You what? How could I possibly get the wrong end of the stick? It was pretty clear what she meant."

He fixes me a warning look. "I'm not arguing about this anymore, Sophie. I'm not having this cause problems between us. If you don't want me to see her again, I won't."

Even though I hate the idea of him spending time with her, I can't tell him he can't have any more contact with her. I spent two out of the four years I was with Theo being told who I could speak to. I'm not that person. "No, I don't want that. You can see and speak to whoever you like."

"Then, no more arguments about her. Because there's nothing to argue about. Okay?"

I heave a reluctant sigh. Because he's right. We can't keep arguing about her.

"Okay. But please at least tell me if you're going to see her. I don't want to find out by accident. And I don't want her to feel like she's a secret you're keeping."

"Of course. I'm sorry."

I slide my hands up his broad back and relax against him. He presses a kiss to my forehead, and I close my eyes, feeling the tension slip from my body. When he has me like this, I forget about bloody Aisling.

"And at least think about the job."

I wrinkle my nose, not convinced. "I'm not sure."

"Just think about it. I think we make a good team." He kisses me and gives me an easy smile. "And you still haven't answered me."

"About what? "

"When you mentioned about me distracting you earlier? What were you talking about?"

I run my hands across the firm muscles of his shoulders and up the back of his neck, entwining my fingers into his thick hair. "Well, it has been known that when I'm pissed off with you, you happen to have a knack for distracting me."

He flashes a wicked grin. "I don't know what you mean."

He holds my head in his hands, tangling his fingers through my hair and his tongue with mine. I pull away, breathless, smiling and seeing stars.

"Yeah, a bit like that."

He laughs. "But now that you're wise to me, you won't be falling for it again."

I can't guarantee that. Before I can admit it, his mobile beeps to signal he's got a text. He pulls it out of his pocket, and his brow furrows.

"What's the matter?"

He looks at me. "There's news on Theo."