Chapter 10

Chapter

Ten

S tan

We climb out of the taxi, and I hear the sound of a jet going overhead. "Alright?" Raff says.

I nod, extending my stick with a click.

"God, I love that sound," he says rather wistfully. "I always wanted a cane that became a sword."

"I seem to remember Rollo buying you one for Christmas."

"It would have been an epic present if I hadn't been six."

I snort. "My mum was horrified. She took it off you straight away before we could play with it."

"I remember. Rowena has lighter fingers than the Artful Dodger. I equally remember her pathetic excuse that she was getting it sharpened. It's led me to a lifetime suspicion of knife sharpeners because I thought they took twenty years to do one job."

"Well, I'm not giving you my cane," I say lightly, glad to hear the ease in his voice. He'd been quiet in the taxi—worryingly quiet. Usually, he's the source of all the noise, so it was alarming.

"Life is very unfair sometimes." He taps my hand so I can grab his arm with my left hand while my right hand holds the cane. I always travel with my cane on trips abroad because it helps to clear a way through the busy airport and accounts for any clumsiness. Actually, airports remind me of a certain clumsy incident, but it wasn't me who caused it.

"Shut the fuck up," he says, pinching my arm. "I know exactly what you're thinking."

"Ouch, you are vicious. I can't help it if the memory of you taking a table of drinks out with one arm is still fresh. The irony of it happening to the sighted one of us is blissful."

Raff has always been an arm waver when he tells a story, and he'd been enthusiastically relating a work incident to me while we sat waiting for a flight to Spain. There'd been a sudden clatter, crash, and tinkle of glass followed by a moment of silence and then an explosion of shouting.

I laugh at the memory.

He huffs. "It was very embarrassing."

"But it couldn't have happened to a nicer set of arsehole businessmen. I still enjoy the fact that the man using such loud gay slurs ended up with a lapful of pi?a colada."

"True."

I shift position. "Got the luggage?"

"It's on the trolley. Yours can be seen from Mars as usual. Several people near us are now wearing sunglasses."

My luggage is always very brightly coloured. It helps if I'm travelling alone and have someone assisting me. Telling them my suitcase is black or blue would leave us in the airport until the end of days. Being able to say it's bright orange with a pink strap and a sticker from my shop certainly helps to narrow the field.

"What about the wedding suits?" I ask worriedly.

"On my trolley, Stanley. I have done this before, you know."

"Do you think Hump is okay?" He'd had an appointment at the vet for his annual flea and worming treatments that I didn't want to cancel, so we'd left him with my mum and dad. They'll bring him with them when they fly out for the wedding tomorrow.

"He's fine, babe." He stops talking abruptly, and I wait. "I mean Stan . Not babe. He's fine."

What's wrong with babe? I think.

"The last I saw of him," Raff continues, "he was heading out to the garden for a spot of mayhem."

"I'll buy him a present," I decide.

Raff snorts. "Maybe you'll find something in duty-free. I'm sure he likes a good brandy."

"Shut up."

He chuckles. "Let's go. If we get through customs quickly, we can have a drink ourselves."

"Perhaps we shouldn't stop at just one drink."

Travelling makes me so tense, and I'm not the sunniest of travel companions, but I'm savouring being with Raff today. Not only is he my favourite person in the whole world, but it also means that I don't have to think of everything and plan ahead. When I fly on my own, I'm usually kept awake for a few nights before I leave, planning and going over the fine details.

I fall into step beside him, sending my stick sweeping out in front of me. Warm air and a wall of noise hits us when we enter the airport, and I tighten my grip on his arm.

He keeps up his usual stream of chatter, telling me of obstacles and making low-voiced observations about the people around us while intermittently charming the staff we encounter. It makes me smile because he's courteous and warm without fail, and the reward is the way their voices change when they're talking to him. I don't think Raff hears it, but I do. They have a smile in their tone like a little bit of sunshine seeped in.

I stand beside him while we're at the check-in desk. We get priority boarding because of my blindness, and consequently, there are details to manage. It feels nice not to take care of everything on my own today. Raff is laser-focused on the travel forms, as he's dealt with them for me many times.

As I wait, my mind wanders to where it's been stopping since that debacle of an engagement announcement. And specifically, to what and how much I should explain to Raff. I never keep secrets from him, so this one is burning my tongue. It feels all shades of wrong that he, of all people, doesn't know. It had been bad enough dealing with my family pretending to be happy last night when they can't stand Bennett.

I have to keep up this pretence for Bennett for only a few more days. I'd given my word to Bennett, even though I have regrets about doing so. My word means a lot to me. People might not trust me with physical arrangements or clothing advice, but I like that they always know I'll do what I say.

I reassure myself that Raff is my oldest, closest friend. And while this means he'll be disappointed I've kept the truth from him, I know he'll understand and forgive me when I explain everything once the wedding is over.

"Stan?"

I jerk, realising he's talking to me. "Yeah?"

"We're ready to go through."

"Oh good," I say quickly.

"You, okay?" His voice is concerned, and I shrug my worries away. It will be just us for a whole day and night, and I'm going to enjoy it.

"Absolutely fine," I say.

Rafferty

I peer through the window at the scenery flashing past the taxi. We're driving along a windy road that offers the view of an eye-wateringly steep drop down to the sea. Stubby trees cling to the hillside, and the sky is a perfect cornflower blue. "Leo and Richard couldn't have picked a better place to get married."

"Apparently, Greece is special for them. I've never got the details, though." He cocks his head. "What can you see?"

There isn't a trace of self-pity in his voice that he can't see the view himself, and I want so badly to stretch out and take his hand. Usually, I'd do this without a second thought, but he's not mine now. The pain that accompanies that thought is enough to make my heart stop, and once again, I curse the fact that I didn't appreciate what I had until I lost it through my own stupidity. I can still remember when I realised I was in love with him…

"I don't know why you enjoy bowling," Bennett huffs. "It's so noisy, and the shoes are disgusting."

"But those are the fun parts," Stan says.

I smile at him. His grin is wide, his hair messy, and enjoyment is written all over him. The smile fades as I register the length of his muscular legs in his faded jeans and the way his old denim shirt clings to those broad shoulders. I remember holding on to them while he fucked me hard, and I want to scream.

Why can't I turn this fucking awful awareness off? He's made it perfectly clear that he's moving on from our arrangement. With any of my other men, I'd have smiled and waved them off. But not Stan. I only have to stand near him and smell his cologne, and I get hard. I only have to be near him to want to touch him. And I can't. Not anymore.

"We like it, don't we, Raff?" Stan's voice interrupts my thoughts.

"You just like it because you get the bumpers up," I point out, putting a smile in my voice. "And an unfair advantage."

"That's completely out of order, Rafferty," Bennett snaps in the headmaster's tone of voice that makes me want to expel him. "He's blind. As if Stan would cheat."

I glare at him. How dare he interfere with our jokes. They've been around a lot longer than him. And where the fuck does he get off dismissing Stan's abilities? If he wanted to cheat, no one could stop him.

"What a tool," Kem mutters next to me, and I nod and wait for Stan to rear up at Bennett.

But Stan just pats his hand. "Raff could never offend me." He sends a naughty look in my direction. "That's just his sour grapes talking."

"I think you'll find there's enough sour grapes to fill a winery," I point out hoarsely. "You beat me every time. I need to point out that people don't like sports if there isn't even the tiniest chance of ever winning anything."

"Ha. Get used to it."

After grabbing a bright yellow patterned ball, he taps his way down to the lane, and I watch as he slides his stick along it, gauging the width and where the bumpers are. He lifts the ball, and I groan. "Fucking hell."

Kem starts to laugh. "It's the zigzag."

"What's the zigzag?" Bennett asks, looking up from where he's cleaning the score table with hand sanitiser.

Kem shakes his head, the beads in his dreads making a lovely soft clinking noise. "Watch and weep."

We both catcall as Stan bowls the ball so that it bounces off each side of the barriers before flying at the pins.

"How many?" he calls, his head cocked to one side and the bright lights sparkling on his dark sunglasses.

"If I said none, would you believe me?" I call back.

He snorts. "Nope."

"Oh well then. All of the fuckers. I might as well go home."

He punches the air. "Have it."

Kem shakes his head. "Is that unsporting? I'm never quite sure on the etiquette of bowling."

Stan laughs, but as he comes towards us, his foot slips, and he lurches to the side, banging his hip on the score table and sending the drinks over. Liquid flies everywhere, and the idiots next to us cheer and holler. Stan's cheeks flush pink with embarrassment, and I leap up to grab him but then stand like an idiot as Bennett gets there before me.

"Step to your right," he orders. "Or you'll slip in it."

"Sorry," Stan mumbles, and Kem pats him on the back as I glare at the twats on the next aisle who are still laughing.

"Why? Those wankers next to us couldn't even aim well enough to hit the table with a ball," I say in a loud voice.

"Oi," one of them says indignantly, but Kem and I glare until they turn back to their game.

Kem walks past me. "I'll just ask for a mop and order more drinks, Raff."

I nod, unable to take my eyes off Bennett standing over Stan. He's fussing over him, dabbing at his wet sleeve, and I wait for Stan to snap at him and order him off because he hates this sort of behaviour.

But Stan only gives Bennett a smile. "Sorry," he says again. "Clumsy, eh?"

Bennett pats his hand. "Maybe you shouldn't play games like this. There are far too many ways to hurt yourself at places like this, and I don't think they've done their due diligence in making the place accessible."

"Don't be silly," I snap, approaching them.

He's acting as if Stan is made of the finest porcelain and should be on a shelf. I'd sympathise if it was anyone other than Bennett who was preaching caution to Stan. It never ends well. Only the other week, Kem and I had joined forces to suggest he didn't rock climb when he had a head cold, which didn't go swimmingly, but suggest is the operative word, because it's Stan's life.

"Stan loves it here," I explain.

Bennett glares at me. He hasn't liked me since the first moment he met me, and the feeling is entirely mutual. He's a colossal tool.

"Well, I'd expect you to say that."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you don't think as I do."

"Like a senior citizen with a bad hip?" I enquire, but he's talking over me, telling Stan that he's booked a nice restaurant for afterwards. I tune in to hear him say, "I'm sure Kem and Rafferty will be going clubbing."

"What?" I say blankly.

Stan smiles in my direction. It's almost sad, but it's gone before I can examine it.

"I'm sure they will," he says.

I stare at them as Bennett brushes Stan's hair back. The gesture is tender, and his expression is possessive as he looks down at Stan. Stan smiles in his direction, and my stomach turns over.

How can he smile at Bennett so nicely? When is he going to realise that he's?—?

I stop dead, the thought slamming into me like a truck. Mine .

When is Stan going to realise that he's mine? I inhale a shaky breath and fall into a chair.

I love him. The realisation is as smooth as taking my next breath, but unfortunately, it's not as easy. One second, I didn't know, and the next, everything has changed—my whole world has altered on its axis.

How can I not love him? He's the most extraordinary man I've ever met. He's funny, clever, brave, determined, and a complete smart-arse whose smile cheers me up when nothing else works. And where before I'd have listed these attributes as belonging to my friend, now I see them with the eyes of a lover who also knows what it feels like to strain together under the sheets, fighting to get closer, panting and groaning.

"Is that okay, Raff?" Stan asks. His dark hair is spilling over his forehead, and I can see the freckles dotting his high cheekbones and the slight bump in his nose where he broke it as a teenager. And I want to grab him and kiss him and then cry because he's not mine. I saw to that when I told him to date the fuckwit currently holding his hand like he's going to escape at any second. "Raff?"

"Raff?" Stan's voice interrupts my revelation. "Can you see the sea?"

His face is so close and clear in the bright light that it makes my eyes hot. "Yes." I clear my throat. "It's so blue, babe. And the sunlight is catching on it so that it glitters."

He sits back in his seat, smiling. "I like that for the two of them."

He's taken off his denim jacket and is wearing his old khaki chinos and a white T-shirt that shows off his tight biceps. The breeze from the open window ruffles his curls, and his olive skin glows in the sunlight. He looks rumpled and so dear to me that I swallow hard.

The taxi slows, interrupting my moment, and I peer out. "We're here."

"Have you been here before?"

"Once for a wedding a few years ago. The owners are a gay couple, and the hotel specialises in LGBT ceremonies. You remember Margot from Confetti Hitched?"

"I do."

"Well, she comes more often. It's a lovely place. Very special."

The car crunches along gravel and pulls to a stop. I climb out, aware of Stan doing the same. For a moment, I simply stand and feel the sun warm on my face. The sense of peace this setting inspired the last time I was here steals over me again. All I can hear is the breeze whispering through the plane trees and the distant roar of the surf.

Stan walks over to me, his stick tapping. "What's it like?" he asks.

"It's a long white building with purple shutters and window baskets full of bright flowers. There's a terrace that runs the width of the building at the back where you can sit and watch the sun come down over the bay. The grounds run down to a private beach where they'll hold the commitment ceremony."

"It sounds nice."

"It is. And the hotel is very accessible and renowned for making things easier for people with restricted sight."

"And will they forego our bill?"

I snort. "Unfortunately, not, but they have painted more yellow lines on things than Hackney Council Highways Department." He laughs. "No, everything is geared up for you. One of the owners' sons is blind, so they know what they're doing. All the outings have been designed with that in mind. That's why Leo picked the place."

He smiles, lifting his face to the sun. "He's a good friend."

The driver sets the last of the luggage on the gravel, and I smile at the porter, who comes bustling out with a baggage cart and starts loading our suitcase and bags onto it. "Well, everything seems as organised as ever." I tap Stan's arm, resisting the impulse to stroke his warm skin. "Let's go and get checked in and see if any problems crop up."

"And then a walk?"

"I'm sure it's not attractive to be so energetic." He snorts. "Don't you want to just sit at the bar with a big drink, a plate of food, and an elastic waistband on your trousers?" I ask hopefully.

"Nope, and neither do you, even though you paint such a beautiful picture."

I huff. "I suppose I will go along with you, thereby conforming to our friendship rules of the last twenty years."

"Can I help it if you just want to please me?"

I pinch his arm, and we make our way up the stone steps. They're in the shade, and the smell of lavender from the big terracotta pots on each step is heady. I see Stan take an appreciative sniff, and his shoulders relax a little.

The foyer is cool and quiet. A couple of guests are browsing a wall of bookcases full of brightly coloured books, and a receptionist stands talking quietly on the phone. We stop at the entrance.

"Okay, reception is directly in front of us."

He nods and sweeps his cane along the floor as we walk towards the huge marble desk that serves as a welcome point.

The receptionist puts down the phone and greets us with a welcoming smile.

"Hi, I'm Rafferty Kendrick, and this is Stan Mortimer. I gather you're expecting us?"

Her smile widens. "We are indeed. You're the wedding planner for the Cooper-Salisbury ceremony?" I nod, and she turns to Stan. "And you're the best man, Mister Mortimer?"

He smiles. "Please call me Stan."

"Lovely. Leo rang yesterday and informed us that you were coming earlier than expected."

"I hope we haven't put you to any trouble," Stan says, his face troubled.

"No, not at all." She turns to me. "I understand you have things to discuss with Mister Doukas, the hotel manager."

I reach into my messenger bag and pull out my diary. "Yes, I need to go over the final details, check the room allocations, and then, if it's convenient, we need to see the walking tour you've prepared for the wedding guests."

"That's not a problem. I believe they booked the coastal walk. We should be able to slot you onto that. The only problem is that the last hike before the wedding goes out this afternoon. Would you be okay with doing that after travelling so far?"

"I'm looking forward to it," Stan predictably says. "I can't wait to stretch my legs."

"What's the terrain like?" I ask.

Her brow furrows as she looks at Stan.

I shake my head. "Oh, not for him. He'd be happy walking on the edge of an active volcano. No, it's me. I do have the beauty of my calves to consider. I don't want them misshapen and overly muscled like his."

Stan laughs out loud.

The receptionist's face clears. "I think you'll like it. It's a gentle walk in the hills by the sea. It's not too steep, and you'll go out late afternoon when the sun isn't so strong. It's a magical light at that time. The walk was planned out so that it's accessible to everyone. Your guide is lovely. He's a local man."

I actually already know this because I checked everything out in great detail when Leo and Richard suggested this hotel. As if I'm going to leave Stan's well-being to the grace of strangers. I'd checked so many reviews I could work for Trip Adviser. It's good to hear her spiel, though. It gives me an indication of how she'll be with the rest of the party.

I make a note in my diary. "Fantastic. Is it possible to sit down with Mister Doukas before the walk?"

"Of course. He's available when you've checked in. If you come back down after you settle into your room, I'll show you to his office."

I nod, smiling, and then her words sink in. "What? Room? Didn't you mean to say rooms?"

Stan cocks his head, listening, his brow furrowed.

She looks between us, her eyes suddenly worried. "No, it's a room, sir. The room Leo booked for you is a double. Leo said it would be fine if we put Mister Mortimer with you." She glances at me for approval, and when I don't say anything, she quickly adds, "It is a big room, so you'll have plenty of space."

"How many beds does it have?" Stan asks.

"One." She frowns. "Is that okay? Leo made no mention of booking two rooms."

"I just bet he didn't," I say grimly. I pat Stan's arm. He must be worried about what Bennett would think. "It'll be fine," I say, directing my calmest smile at her. "We'll just get another room."

She's shaking her head before I can finish my sentence. "Oh no. I'm so sorry, but there isn't one available. We're fully booked."

"Oh my god," I breathe.

Stan squeezes my arm in mute appeal, and I know what he's going to say before he even opens his mouth—that kind fool. "It'll be fine," he says soothingly. "Won't it, Raff?"

I think that's highly debatable, given our situation. He's newly engaged, and I haven't yet been able to switch off my combustible feelings for him.

"I'm sure the room is beautiful," Stan continues doggedly. "We're lucky to have it, aren't we, Raff?"

I give a high-pitched laugh. "That's us. Lucky."

The receptionist immediately relaxes. "I'll get your keys sorted for you." She walks into an office behind the desk.

"I just can't wait to thank Leo for this beautiful gift," I say silkily. "I'm going to thank him up close and very personally."

Stan

Raff leads me to the lift, explaining the layout of the lobby as we go.

"Well," I say as we wait for the lift. "That's a turn-up for the books."

"It's a bigger turn-up than anything on the bottom of your Uncle Pat's jeans."

I laugh, but his sighing response is weary and definitely lacking his usual spark. "You, okay?" I ask, putting my hand out for his. He immediately gives mine a firm squeeze and then lets go. "You seem bothered about the one-bed situation?" I ask cautiously.

"I'm fine. More importantly, how are you with it?"

I turn in his direction, wishing I could see his expression. His tone is hard to judge. "It's fine. It's not the first time we've shared, Raff. We'll be okay."

"Well, what about Bennett?"

"Who?"

"The lift's here." We step into the lift and I put out my hand to find the rail. "Bennett, your fiancé, Stan. He's not going to be happy at this turn of events, and he gets very vocal for a lengthy period of time when he's not happy."

I wave my hand dismissively. "He'll be fine." The lift judders into motion, and I immediately grab the rail to keep my balance.

"There's that word again."

"What word?"

" Fine ." His voice is tight. "I think I'd like a little more for you than that state of being, but I suppose that's in the hands of your fiancé now."

I open my mouth to blurt out the whole sorry story, but luckily, the lift stops, and I don't break my word. I hear the doors slide open, and I smell lavender and furniture polish.

"This way," Raff says, and I set my hand on his arm to follow him out. His muscles are tense as if he's clenched his fist, and I tap his wrist.

"Let's get in, unpack, shower, and change. You'll feel better then."

He sighs. "If you say so. Okay, are you ready? Our room number is fifty."

I nod, and feel him at my side as I move slowly along with my cane tapping, pausing to touch the room plaques on the doors that have braille on them. I finally come to a stop. "Lucky number fifty," I say, trying for levity and he obligingly chuckles.

"The room-card machine is to the right of the door. Wave the fob, and it'll let you in."

I do as he says and there's an electronic beep, and the door clicks. He tugs me through the door, and the breeze hits me with the sound of the sea. It's loud.

"Wow," Raff says. "It's fucking lovely, Stan."

"Tell me."

His voice sounds normal when he speaks next, full of his usual undercurrent of vivacity. "It's full of light because of the bi-folding doors, and the décor is very simple—white with blue accents to echo the sea. We've got a terrace with a hammock on it, which should please you."

"Only if I could see when you fall out of it."

"It was just the once. Has anyone ever told you that you are very hard-hearted?"

"Yes, many times. Go on."

"The terrace is to your left." His voice fades slightly as he walks away. "There's a sofa in here on your right and a coffee machine that will put a smile on your face. The bathroom is lush. There's a big rolltop bath in front of a huge window that looks out on the sea and a shower big enough for two. Or even ten. They could hold the ceremony in there."

I swallow hard at the thought of being naked and wet with him and say quickly, "I can hear the sea. I love that sound."

"Me too. We can leave the terrace doors open tonight."

And just like that, the awkwardness is back. My cock stirs at the thought of being so close to that lithe body of his. He'd been like fire in my arms, full of heat. I burst into speech. "Okay. Where's the bed?"

"It's straight ahead of you."

"Okay." I count the steps across the marble floor until my feet hit the bed. I stretch out my hand and press the mattress. The sheets are cool under my hot fingers. "Good firm springs," I say.

He snorts. "You're so full of positivity, Stanley. You'd have commented that the seawater would keep the wine cool on the Titanic when it sank."

I grin, happy to hear humour in his voice. "There's nothing wrong with a little bit of positivity."

"Well, I eagerly await your sunny take on your fiancé coming after me with a shotgun."

"He's not good at sport. Anyway, it's highly unlikely that he'll even be bothered."

"Why? I'd be fucking furious if you shared a bed with another man."

My mouth drops open. "You would?"

"Yes, I bloody would."

I swallow at the note of possessiveness in his voice. It's fierce and hot, and I have to count backwards to avoid an inconvenient hard-on.

I hear him come close and feel his sweet breath on my face. I inhale the scent of his cologne and a light trace of sweat. I sway into him, and his hands land on my arms.

"Yes," he says softly. "I couldn't bear it, Stan." There's a pause, and when he speaks next, his voice sounds flat. "But then, it's not me in this scenario, right ?"

I open my mouth, but he moves away before I can beg him to kiss me.

"I'm going for a shower," he says briskly. "You take the right side of the bed as usual." I swallow at the knowledge that we have our own sides. "The bathroom is directly on your left."

There's a pause as he waits for me to respond. "Okay," I finally say and swallow as I feel his fingers run through my hair. They twine in the curls, tugging one affectionately.

"It should be annoying that you're so endearing, Stanley."

I swallow hard. "Should it?"

He taps my nose. "Yes."

He moves away, and I hear the sound of a zip and the soft thwomp as fabric hits the floor. The knowledge that he's taking off his clothes nearby sends heat through me.

"Raff?" I say, the hoarseness in my voice obvious in the room's hush.

I think his footsteps come closer to me and I can almost feel the warmth of his skin. Then he says softly, "Let's not play those games. I won't be long." He steps away, and his voice is brisk when he speaks again. "The luggage has been delivered. It's at the bottom of the bed. Leave the cases. I'll unpack before I go down."

There's the sound of a door shutting, and the shower starts. I stay still for a long second, willing my heart to ease. If I'd reached out, I could have touched him, and I know where I'd have started—on his full mouth. I'd have traced the sweet bow with my finger, and then I'd have slicked it with my tongue before kissing him.

I sigh. And we both know where that would have ended—on the mattress, burning up the sheets again. I curl my fingers into a fist because I've never wanted to do that more, and Raff stopped it.

And there's the rub, because nothing is really different between us. I've been falling more deeply and seriously in love with him, while he's always remained his usual casual self. The only thing that's changed is that now I'm fake engaged. And if he seems upset about it, it's because he's always disliked Bennett.

I tap my way towards the balcony and the sound of the sea. Casting my hand out, I find a chair and settle gingerly into the cushioned depths. I gaze into the murky land of shadows and half-light that's all I can see and try to work out what to do.