The Nearly-Weds (18 page)

‘So, what’s it like working with the Blue-eyed Boy?’ She smiles.

‘You’re the second person tonight who’s asked me that,’ I tell her.

She smirks. ‘People will be wondering which camp you fall into – the he’s-a-complete-bastard-and-has-no-redeeming-features camp or the he’s-a-complete-bastard-and-still-manages-to-be-totally-gorgeous camp.’

I try not to look shocked.

‘Oh, don’t worry, honey.’ Matilda laughs. ‘Personally, I think you must be a saint to
live
with him.’

‘Well, he’s not that bad,’ I say, unwilling to give the impression that I can’t stand up to him. ‘I mean, he has his moments but . . . his kids are great. It’s only them I really deal with.’

‘Uh-huh,’ she says. ‘Well, just so’s you know, I think Ryan likes you. I can tell from the way he was talking about you earlier.’

‘He was talking about me?’ I ask, alarmed.

‘Sure. But he doesn’t give much away. Anyway, just take a piece of advice from me.’

‘Oh?’

‘If you do get it together, keep your head screwed on. Ryan is a real ladies’ man, these days, but as far as he’s concerned, women are objects of pleasure to be used and discarded. It’s great while it lasts – but Ryan Miller is trouble with a capital T. Believe me.’

‘Oh, really, there’s nothing going on between us – and nothing ever
will
be going on between Ryan and me and – well, honestly, the very idea is just ridicu—’

‘Stop!’ Matilda grins. ‘The lady protests too much! All I’m saying is, watch yourself. And I’m only saying it because I’ve been there. Ryan and I were an item once.’

‘Right,’ I mutter. But I can’t stop myself asking the next question: ‘So, which camp do you fall into?’

‘Honey,’ she shrugs, ‘I change my mind every day.’

Chapter 38

Jack the Westmorland terrier lookalike is still hovering when I leave the ladies’. The second he sees me he pounces, as if I’m a walking tin of Pedigree Chum. ‘So, how about that dance? Come on, I can tell you can’t resist me.’ He’s trying to be clever in a cute, tongue-in-cheek kind of way.

It isn’t working. ‘Whatever gave you that idea?’

‘Call it animal magnetism.’ He winks, prompting another visual image of Auntie Carol’s dog. ‘Come on, that’s what you were thinking too, wasn’t it?’

‘Sort of,’ I mutter. ‘Anyway, must run.’

‘Not so fast.’ He grabs my elbow. I wriggle my arm in an attempt to shake him off, and at that moment Ryan appears.

‘What’s going on?’ he asks. He doesn’t seem impressed. ‘You okay, Zoe?’

‘I’m fine. Really,’ I insist, sounding as tough and post-feminist as I possibly can.

‘She’s fine,’ echoes Jack.

‘Good,’ says Ryan. ‘Although I’ll bet she’d be even more fine if you stayed away from her for the rest of the evening.’

‘What?’ exclaims Jack. ‘We were just talking, for Chrissake, Miller. What the fuck is wrong with that?’

There is barely a flicker on Ryan’s face as he steps forward. ‘When a lady makes her wishes clear,’ he whispers menacingly, ‘my advice to you is that you respect them.’

‘What the—’

‘Just stay away. That’s all.’

As Ryan ushers me back to our table, I glare at him. ‘Thank you for that. But, just for the record, I’m
not
some sort of wimp.’

‘I didn’t think you were.’

‘You could have fooled me.’

‘Oh, so you were happy having Jack Bishop salivating into your breasts, were you?’

My cheeks redden so rapidly I must look as if someone’s lit a bonfire inside my head. I pretend it isn’t happening. ‘Well, no, but that isn’t the point. In fact—’

‘So what’s wrong with me rescuing you?’ he interrupts.

‘I didn’t
need
rescuing,’ I point out.

‘You
could have fooled
me
.’

I sit down sulkily and try to look as if I’m not responding with a clever remark because I’m taking the moral high ground rather than because I can’t think of one.

‘Look, I’m sorry, okay?’ He sighs. ‘I didn’t mean to imply you couldn’t handle yourself. But he’s an asshole. Now . . . drink?’

He fills my glass with wine and I try to stop myself smiling.

‘What’s so funny?’ he asks.

‘You’re not an easy person to live with, Ryan,’ I tell him. ‘And you’ve done plenty of insensitive, annoying, irritating things since I got here. Believe me. That wasn’t the worst of them.’

‘So what are you saying?’ he asks, defensively.

‘I’m just saying,’ I continue, ‘that was the first time I’ve ever heard you say sorry.’

‘And?’

‘I like it.’ I smirk.

He puts down the wine bottle and is about to protest again when I flash him a glance.

‘Okay. I’ll shut up, shall I?’ he says.

Chapter 39

‘So, is this evening proving to be as bad as you thought?’ asks Ryan. He’s smiling but I get the impression that for once he cares how I respond.

‘I never said it was going to be bad,’ I reply.

‘You didn’t need to,’ he says. ‘Your reaction this afternoon was enough to give a guy a complex.’

‘I don’t think I’m in any danger of that,’ I can’t resist saying.

My libido has gone into overdrive as I sit with Ryan, alone at our table, watching people on the dance-floor. The lights have dimmed and the table is a scene of post-dinner dishevelment, the once pristine white tablecloth now covered with red-wine stains and bits of Brie that have fallen off the cheeseboard.

We’re sitting inches apart and Ryan has discarded his dinner jacket. His bow-tie is still on but he has loosened it, and he’s playing with the label on an empty Chablis bottle. As the lights from the dance-floor skip across his face they reveal features I’ve never noticed before. The shadow of a scar next to his left eye. A faint mole just above his jaw.

With one too many glasses of wine sloshing around in my bloodstream, my hormones seem to burst into action every time his arm so much as brushes against mine.

‘I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel like a fish out of water, though,’ I continue. ‘I mean, look at me. I’m not exactly experienced when it comes to events like this.’

‘For the record, I don’t think anyone would have guessed,’ he reassures me. ‘And, besides, what does it matter?’

‘It doesn’t, I suppose. I still feel an idiot sometimes, though.’

He shakes his head dismissively. ‘Listen. I remember one of the first dinners I attended when I started out in this business. I was wearing the most ridiculous tux you can imagine – I’d borrowed it from a friend’s dad. It was at least two sizes too small and the trouser legs were halfway up my ankles. I’m convinced Woody Allen would have struggled to fit into it, never mind me.’

I can’t help but laugh.

‘It could have been worse, though. I
almost
followed my buddy’s advice and wore a carnation in my button-hole.’

‘A carnation?’ I giggle.

He nods. ‘People would have thought I’d got lost from a wedding reception.’

‘So your buddy wasn’t an expert, then.’

‘He was a mechanic,’ he says, ‘so why I thought I should listen to him I don’t know. Still, we’ve all got to learn somehow. I didn’t grow up in a world of fancy parties and five-star hotels – it was new to me at the time.’

‘Oh,’ I say, surprised. ‘What sort of world did you grow up in?’

I don’t know why but I’d had Ryan down as someone who’d had a firmly middle-class upbringing. I’d assumed he was a rich kid who’d grown up in exactly the sort of neighbourhood he lives in now. Apparently not.

‘Well, I was born and raised in the country,’ he tells me. ‘My dad – when he was still around – was a farm worker and my mom worked in a grocery store.’

‘When he was still around?’ I ask.

‘They divorced when I was ten. But that was fine because I never got on with my dad – nobody did. He was a bully. And Mom was better off without him.’

‘You get on well with her, then?’

‘Got,’ he corrects me. ‘She’s no longer with us. But, yeah, in answer to your question, she was kind, loving, desperately hard-working. A great mom in every way.’

‘How long ago did she pass away?’ I ask tentatively.

He studies the Chablis label. ‘She died when I was twenty-one, of lung cancer.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I say, rather pathetically.

He shrugs. ‘I just wished she could have seen me graduate from college.’

It’s no wonder Ryan’s eyes always seem so sad. He’s had more heartbreak in his life than anyone should have to deal with.

He turns and catches me looking at him. I blush and reach for a bottle of mineral water. As I unscrew the top to pour it into my glass, I realize it’s empty. ‘So . . . how does the son of a farm worker end up going to college?’ I say. ‘From what I hear it’s ridiculously expensive over here.’

‘It is, compared with the UK,’ he concedes. ‘Am I right in saying you don’t have to pay over there?’

‘You do, these days,’ I tell him, ‘but it’s nothing like as expensive as it is here.’

‘Right. Well, I was one of the lucky ones and won a scholarship. I worked hard, got good grades and, hey, the formula’s simple. Here I am.’

‘I bet your mum would have been really proud of you,’ I tell him.

‘I hope so.’

‘Any brothers or sisters?’

‘No, I’m an only child.’

‘Me too,’ I say.

‘Really?’ he says, surprised. ‘I don’t know why but I imagined you having brothers and sisters all over the place.’

‘All over the place?’ I grin.

‘Oh, tons of ’em!’ he replies, smiling. Which starts my stomach fluttering, just as it always does when he smiles. I don’t know why this is – perhaps because his whole face comes to life; perhaps because it happens so rarely.

‘Maybe it’s because of what you do for a living,’ he continues. ‘I pictured you as the kind who’d always looked after other kids when you were growing up.’

‘Nope. I hate to shatter your illusions,’ I tell him. ‘Besides, it might have put me off.’

‘True,’ he concedes. ‘So, if you’re an only child, that means – like me – you’re pampered, socially dominant and spoiled.’

‘Intelligent and conscientious is what I read.’

‘Really?’ He laughs. ‘I must remember that one.’

As he pours me another glass of wine, it strikes me how much I’m enjoying talking to him. He’s so much more than a tight bod and a pair of sparkly eyes when he wants to be. He’s likeable. He’s funny. Good looks aside, he’s one of the most charismatic men I’ve ever met. I wonder why he can’t be like this all the time, and stop myself. It’s probably a good thing he isn’t. God knows how I’d handle myself if he was.

Then something else occurs to me. I haven’t thought about Jason all night.

Chapter 40

About an hour after my chat with Ryan, it occurs to me that, somewhere along the way, the evening has taken a significant turn for the better. My outfit, for a start, has begun to grow on me. In fact, what on earth was I worried about? I look positively – almost certainly –
gorgeous.

So what if I’m showing a bit more flesh than everyone else? They’re all gorgeous in their own way. I’m gorgeous in mine. Gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous! I can’t put my finger on why I’m feeling so positive, but I’m not complaining about it.

‘Now, where’s that bottle of wine gone?’ I wonder.

‘Would you like another top-up, young lady?’ asks Gerald.

‘Oops!’ I exclaim. ‘Did I say that out loud?’

‘You did.’ He smiles. ‘You’re sure you wouldn’t prefer some water?’

‘Ooooh,
nooooo
!’ I reply, throwing my head back to emphasize the point. The room goes so wobbly that I almost fall off my chair. ‘How boring would that be?’

Gerald smiles again. ‘Okay,’ he replies, topping up my glass, but only halfway. ‘You never did give me that dance you promised. Why don’t we go and do that now?’

It suddenly occurs to me that Gerald might think I’m a bit drunk. I mean, I can’t deny I’ve been enjoying the wine, but I’ve only had three glasses – oh, no, hang on, four . . . or was it five? No, five was what I’d had just after I’d come back from the loo. God, that means I must have had . . .

The point is, I’ve always prided myself on being able to hold my drink – even if everyone I try to focus on is swaying as if they’re on an Irish Sea ferry.

‘All right, Gerald,’ I reply, leaping up and holding out my hand. ‘You’re on.’

‘You sure you’re ready for me?’ Gerald grins.

‘Let’s knock ’em dead!’ I reply, feeling so confident that if Gerald had asked me to dance in front of a capacity crowd at Shea Stadium I’d reply: ‘Pass me my leotard.’

I sashay into the centre of the room, my shoulders shimmying like Jennifer Grey’s in
Dirty Dancing
, even if I have to use some serious imagination to make Gerald morph into Patrick Swayze. Nevertheless, with the band in full swing, before I have a chance to think about it, he’s whisking me round in a waltz so jaunty it causes two of my hair slides to fall out.

I don’t know whether it’s our brilliant dancing, or simply that he’s the boss of one of the biggest companies in Boston, but before long the eyes of everyone in the place are on us as we spin round the room.

I spot Ryan standing at the side with some of his colleagues and wave as I swirl past, hoping he’s as impressed as I feel sure everyone else is. Admittedly, Gerald is doing the leading, but nevertheless, I’m good. Bloody good. We must be because as I glance up I realize we couldn’t be receiving more attention if Gerald was perfecting an advanced break-dancing routine.

‘You’re a great dancer.’ Gerald grins.

‘Oh! Do you think so?’ I reply modestly, bouncing around like a spring lamb who has just discovered what her feet are for. Feeling on top of the world, I prepare to do a snappy little manoeuvre Ginger Rogers would have been proud of, which involves pinging away from my partner, then straight back into his arms.

However, something comes to my attention. Something that is immediately alarming. No, strike that. Potentially catastrophic.

One of the safety-pins keeping the side of my dress together has latched on to the lining of Gerald’s dinner jacket. I can’t work out how it’s happened. All I know is that I’m stuck.