18. Eighteen

Eighteen

T he lull between the day and evening reception spares Lucy and me some time to sneak upstairs for a much-needed talk.

I close the door to the bridal suite firmly behind us as she flops backwards on the four-poster bed and pulls her tiara off, flinging it onto the pillows behind her.

"How'd you feel now?" I ask, hoping her answer will prove my suspicions wrong.

"Like shit." She pushes herself up onto her elbows. "It was over before it began."

Maybe not. I stare out of the large bay window overlooking the grounds and watch some of the guests taking a stroll around the gardens in the afternoon sunshine. They're oblivious to the fact that the entire day has been a charade.

"I'm sorry, Luce."

She pushes herself up off the bed and comes to stand next to me. "When we were in the gardens, having our photos taken, there was just me, Mark, and the photographer. He turned to me and said, "This was a mistake, wasn't it?"

"And what did you say?"

"I agreed."

What a mess.

"Look at them." Lucy nods towards the cars heading up the drive, filled with guests arriving for the evening reception. "They're all here to celebrate our happy day with us. What a bloody lie."

I wrap my arms around her and give her a hug. "If you both agree you've made a mistake, what are you going to do about it?"

"I suppose that's a conversation for tomorrow. Besides, Mark's already gone off to the bar with Toby to drown his sorrows." She gives a despondent sigh. "I just want to be wanted and desired. I want a guy who adores me, like Art adores you."

"We haven't got a perfect relationship," I insist, thinking back to our argument ten minutes earlier. "He can be controlling and dominant, and a jealous and possessive arse."

Her lips curl into a smile. "Yeah, I saw him swoop in when Toby tried his luck just now."

I roll my eyes. "Exactly. How Neanderthal."

"At least he gives a shit." She shoots me a sideways look. "I'm fairly sure I could be shagging Toby on the top table, and Mark wouldn't look twice." She pauses. "Thanks for listening, Soph."

I'm still not quite sure how stable-and-steady Lucy and Mark have ended up here.

"I can't help but feel as though this is partly my fault," I admit.

Lucy pulls a face. "Why?"

"If I'd been a better friend and, I dunno … given you more time, sat down, and spoke to you, maybe it wouldn't have gotten this far."

"Don't be silly. It's not your fault. This is all down to me and Mark. We should have been the ones talking; instead, we buried our heads in the sand, and now, look at us."

I sigh. "If you need any help sorting things out, just ask." I give her arm a rub. "You know I'll always have your back."

"Thanks, mate." She glances out of the window at the guests arriving and takes a deep breath, as if psyching herself up. "Come on. Let's go and play happy families. It's nearly over."

The layout of the Summer Room has been rearranged for the evening reception. Circular tables filled with guests are arranged around the black-and-white checked dance floor in the centre of the room. The DJ has taken up residence behind the decks, and an '80s party tune is already blaring from the speakers, getting the party atmosphere started. Ironic, given that the only people enjoying themselves at this wedding will be the guests.

"My darling wife," Mark slurs as we make an appearance at the bar.

His eyes have taken on a glassy look, which tells me he's already well on his way to being drunk. Toby slurps his pint of lager beside him and gives me the once-over but remains mute, clearly thinking better of trying it on with me a second time.

Lucy throws Mark a look of disgust. "Are you going to lay off the beer for a while, or are you planning on staggering round the dance floor for our first dance?"

He gives an exaggerated shrug. "Do you even care?"

Her hands ball into fists, and I can see she's going to fly at him, so I place a hand on her shoulder to calm her. I don't want to have to break up a fight between the bride and the groom on their wedding day.

"I'll go and greet our guests on my own then," she snaps. "The first dance is in ten minutes, if you can stop drinking long enough to make it to the dance floor."

I spend the next ten minutes by Lucy's side at the doors to the Summer Room, greeting guests arriving for the evening reception. I can't leave her to do this by herself after the day she's had. At this rate, the marriage will be over before the end of the night.

"Ladies and gentlemen, would you like to gather round the dance floor for the bride and groom's first dance?" the DJ announces over the microphone.

I stand on the perimeter of the dance floor as "The Way You Look Tonight" strikes up, and Lucy and Mark take to the centre of the floor.

This is going to be bloody awkward .

"How long do you think it'll last?" a male voice asks from beside me.

I glance to my right to find Toby standing there, nursing a fresh pint. His grey silk tie is hanging open around his neck, and his hair is dishevelled. His afternoon of boozing is starting to catch up with him.

If he thinks I'm going to discuss Lucy and Mark's relationship troubles with him, then he's sorely mistaken.

"Not sure. Why do you ask?"

"He doesn't look like a bloke who just got married." He turns to me. His bloodshot eyes narrow slightly as he leers at me. "Where's that boyfriend of yours then?"

I'm not going to stand here and be subjected to another woeful attempt at flirting.

I shoot him a wary look and walk up to the bar, where Olly is clearing up empties from off the countertop. I hope he isn't going to blank me again because I really need a stiff drink. Today has been a disaster.

"Two shots of sambuca and a glass of rosé, please."

Olly flashes me a smile and starts to pour the drinks. "Listen, I'm sorry about being weird with you."

"It's okay."

He slides the shot glasses towards me. "I was just a bit surprised when I heard that you and Art …"

Olly's had a soft spot for me forever, and within five minutes of Art showing up, I've moved in with him.

"It's fine. I understand." I knock back the first shot glass in one, wincing as the aniseed kick hits the back of my throat. I pick up the other one and down it.

Olly raises an eyebrow as he places a glass of rosé on the bar and removes the empties. "I didn't realise they were all for you. Are you trying to get drunk?"

I cast a glance over my shoulder towards the "happy couple," who are putting on a very convincing display on the dance floor for the benefit of their guests. "It's been a full-on day."

"Then, they're on the house."

"Olly …" I begin, but he waves a hand in protest.

"No, I insist. It's my way of saying sorry for acting like a dickhead. Are we all right now then?"

"Yes, we're okay." I smile gratefully and take a sip of wine. "Thanks."

"Do you want another drink?" Toby appears to my left.

Why won't he get the message?

"No, thanks. I'm good," I reply stiffly.

"Oh, come on. Let me buy you one." Toby slings an arm around my waist and squeezes my hip bone hard with his fingers. "That Rottweiler boyfriend of yours has fucked off, so you and I can have some fun."

Uneasiness claws at me, and I wriggle out of his grasp. "Why don't you piss off?"

For a split second, I see Olly staring at me with wide eyes, and when I look back to my left, Toby has vanished.

Maybe he got the message after all.

I pick up my glass of wine, and I'm about to take a sip when I'm distracted by a scuffling noise coming from behind me. I twist round to see Art with Toby in a choke hold, dragging him kicking outside.

Shit!

"Art!"

I slam my glass down on the bar and rush after them, but by the time I get outside, Toby is already sprawled on his backside, cupping his nose with both hands.

"I told you to keep your fucking hands off her," Art shouts, prowling across the gravel between me and Toby like a predatory tiger. "You're barred."

Toby manages to climb to his feet and straightens his crumpled jacket. "You're a bloody lunatic. You can't bar me."

I say a silent prayer that the guests are still preoccupied with the first dance and are missing this unpleasant scene.

"I own the place. You're barred."

Toby frowns and staggers slightly, and then he jabs a finger in his direction. "I could have you done for assault."

There's a dangerous glint in Art's dark eyes as he narrows his gaze. "Then, you'd better find yourself a good solicitor. Now, call yourself a taxi and get the fuck off my premises."

Toby looks as though he's about to argue, but then he seems to think better of it and staggers off in the direction of the drive, clutching his nose and swearing under his breath.

Art spins round and launches towards me. Before I can try and reason with him, he scoops me up and tosses me over his shoulder, stalking back into the hotel.

"Put me down," I cry, banging my fists against his back, but he doesn't show any signs of stopping.

He strides up the stairs two at a time, his shoulders stiff and tense.

I know he's pissed off with me. I'm just not sure why.