17. Seventeen

Seventeen

T he soft tune of Pachelbel's Canon in D can be heard from the other side of the Summer Room's closed double doors. Sarah and I stand at the front of the procession, and nerves pop in my stomach at the prospect of walking down the aisle. And I'm not even the one getting married. To a man I don't love.

My mind is still whirling from my conversation with Lucy five minutes ago, and I glance over my shoulder at her and mouth, Are you okay?

She forces a smile and gives me a brisk nod, tapping her dad's arm.

The doors to the room open, and the soft classical music pours out. Twenty rows of heads turn to look in our direction as Sarah and I slowly walk down the aisle between the rows of chairs. I do my best to smile for the cameras and concentrate on trying not to trip over the hem of my dress. When I reach the top of the aisle, I breathe a sigh of relief and take my position to the left of the registrar.

Mark stands poker straight, looking dapper in a grey suit and gnawing his bottom lip. I'm unable to tell whether it's nerves or the fact that he's about to marry a woman he doesn't love. What a disaster.

Toby, his best man, is standing beside him. He's Mark's best mate from university. I've only had the displeasure of meeting him a couple of times because he's spent the last four years working in Hong Kong. He's a lech. The way his beady eyes are running up and down my body tell me he hasn't changed a bit.

"Oh my God," Sarah whispers in my ear. "Who the fuck is that guy?"

I follow her eyeline to where she's staring. Art sits on the end of the front row. He's pulled on a smart navy blazer over his shirt and looks effortlessly hot. I watch his mouth curl into a smile as our eyes lock, and I feel a fizz of pride in my belly.

"He," I whisper, "is mine."

The ceremony rolls into the photographs, which leads to the wedding meal in the Summer Room. Lucy and Mark outwardly appear to be the perfect couple, smiling and posing for the cameras, and I hope to God our earlier conversation was just evidence of a last-minute wobble on her part. Until I speak to her, I can't be sure.

As the wedding meal winds down, Mark's and Lucy's parents shuffle off into the bar with Mark and Toby closely behind, leaving just Lucy and me at the top table. As soon as the others leave, I see the sadness return to her eyes as she surveys the room, and her happy fa?ade slips. I need to talk to her. Everything is clearly not okay.

"Hi." Toby slips into the empty seat beside me, pint in hand, and I'm stuck.

Oh God, he's back.

The tip of his nose and cheeks are pink from too much lager and clash with his bright blond hair.

I force a polite smile. "Hi."

His eyes flicker over me with an unwelcome interest. "I can't remember the last time I saw you. I see you're still looking as lovely as ever." Toby takes a slug of lager and grins, as if I should be impressed at his mediocre attempt at flirting. "I was wondering whether you and I could go out for a drink sometime?"

He rests a hand on my shoulder, and I feel the sweat from his palm against my bare skin. I'm about to politely ask him to remove it, but I don't have a chance to ask. Art appears out of nowhere and lowers himself onto his haunches in front of me and Toby. I'm instantly on edge.

Where did he swoop in from?

"Hi, I'm Art Black." His voice is unnervingly calm, and he sticks out a hand for Toby to shake.

This is out of character and not how I'd expect him to react at all. Something's off.

Toby draws his head back slightly as he looks Art up and down. "Yeah, you're the owner of this place – and Go Fitness, if the rumours are true."

A smug smile appears on his face, and he seems incredibly pleased with himself for recalling this nugget of information. He shakes Art's hand. Within seconds, Art tightens his grip and yanks Toby forwards, nearly pulling him off the chair.

"Take your hand off her."

I glance nervously around the room, grateful that the other guests seem too preoccupied in chatting and drinking to pay any attention to what's happening.

Thank God.

Toby looks very surprised. "Okay, calm down, mate," he says, snatching his hand from my shoulder.

Art carries on eyeballing him. "I'm not your mate."

Toby pulls his other hand from Art's grasp and climbs to his feet, jerking his grey suit jacket straight before sloping off, defeated.

I fix Art with a firm look. "What are you doing?"

His eyes lock with mine as he rises and places his mouth beside my left ear. "No other guy touches you. Do you understand? You've blown my mind, looking like this. I've barely been able to keep away from you. Come up to my office in five."

The tips of our noses brush together, and as I gaze into his eyes, I see a familiar look of need. My whole body tingles.

Fuck.

I can't allow him to have this effect on me. I'm angry. He can't come charging in, nearly causing a scene, and start ordering me about. I glance in Lucy's direction to see her still sat alone, sipping wine.

"I can't. I need to speak to Lucy," I say coolly.

"Sophie, please." There's a warning in his tone, which stokes the fires of my defiance.

"Today's not about you; it's about her."

His jaw twitches. "Come up to my office in five minutes. Please."

Is he for real?

"No. She's upset, and I need to make sure she's okay."

"I need you."

"She needs me."

"If you're not in my office in five, I'll come and fetch you myself."

The look in his eyes tells me he's not joking.

He straightens, and without waiting for a reply, he turns and walks off.

Five minutes? We'll just see about that.