Thirteen Weddings (22 page)

The band launch into The Temptations’ ‘My Girl’. The band are good, but, ‘Not as good as you,’ I say in Lachie’s ear. He takes a swig of his beer and smiles
at me around the mouth of his beer bottle. All of a sudden, I feel light-headed. I drag my eyes away from his and force myself to watch Pete and Sylvie’s fun, choreographed routine. I notice
Sylvie’s bridesmaids standing in a group off to one side of the dance floor. Their dresses are the colour and style of peonies, too, layers of pretty pink ruffles coming to just below their
knees. They’re giggling and talking to each other and staring our way. My stomach tightens. I look up at Lachie, but he hasn’t noticed the attention. Or maybe he has. Maybe he’s
ignoring it.

The first dance comes to an end and the band launch into Nina Simone’s ‘My Baby Just Cares For Me’. A few other people take to the dance floor.

‘Still not drunk enough,’ I hear a familiar voice say and I spin around to come face to face with Alex.

I giggle. ‘I’m wasted.’

‘Are you?’ He looks past me to Lachie.

‘Where’s Zara?’ I ask.

‘Bathroom,’ he replies. ‘She’s not feeling that great. I don’t think we’ll be staying for long.’

I try to appear compassionate. ‘Oh no. I’m sorry.’

‘You’re staying at the same B&B, right?’ he asks.

‘Yeah.’

‘So we’ll see you at breakfast?’

‘For sure.’

I hear a girl say, ‘Fancy a dance?’ and look behind me to see that one of the pretty pink peony bridesmaids has accosted Lachie. He glances at me.

‘Go
for it,’ I encourage him.

The gleeful girl drags him onto the dance floor. I watch with amusement as he starts to spin her. So he can dance as well as sing.

‘So he can dance as well as sing,’ Alex says my thoughts out loud. ‘You don’t mind him doing that?’ he asks me.

‘Doing what? Dancing with other girls?’

He nods, his eyes narrowing as he tries to read my mind.

‘No.’ I shrug. ‘He’s his own person, he can do what he likes.’

‘So you and he are not...’ His sentence trails off.

‘Together? No,’ I confirm. ‘We’re
still
not,’ I add with a pointed look. We weren’t together the last time he asked me, either.

I cast my eyes over at Lachie who seems to be having a pretty good time.

Zara appears at Alex’s side. ‘Can we go?’ she asks him.

‘Already?’ His brow furrows.

‘I’m tired,’ she replies, squeezing his waist. She glances at me. ‘It’s been a long week.’

‘I bet.’ I nod sympathetically, but really, I have no idea what her life is like or why she feels like she’s had a long week.

‘Okay,’ Alex agrees. ‘See you in the morning,’ he says to me. ‘Say bye to Lachie for us.’

‘I will.’

We smile at each other and he lightly touches his fingers to my hand before following Zara out. I watch them go with a sinking heart, then I neck the rest of my beer.

‘Have they gone already?’ Lachie asks with a frown as he joins me again.

‘Yeah, Zara’s tired,’ I reply sardonically.

‘What a lightweight,’ he jokes. ‘She doesn’t have much go about her, that one.’

‘I know!’ I say eagerly, keen to gossip. ‘She’s a bit weird, I thought.’

‘Very uptight,’ he agrees with me. ‘Stuck up her own arse. And skinny.’

‘Far too skinny. And cold, I thought.’

‘She
was
cold, wasn’t she?’ he concurs.

‘Like death warmed up!’

He chuckles at me and I like him more with every sentence that comes out of his gorgeous lips. His lips
are
gorgeous, actually. I find myself staring at them.

‘So what was the deal with you in the church?’ he asks.

My heart jumps.

‘You seemed a little freaked out,’ he continues.

‘I don’t like churches,’ I find myself admitting.

‘Why?’

I shrug. ‘I have a fear of them. It’s called ecclesiophobia. Look it up.’

He gives me a weird look. ‘Are you serious? You have a fear of churches?’

‘Yes.’

‘Yet you take photos at weddings.’ He says this slowly, like he can’t actually believe the words that are coming out of his mouth.

‘Call it therapy,’ I reply, but I don’t feel as flippant as I sound.

‘Are you having me on?’ he asks with a frown.

‘No.’ I can’t help smirking. ‘I do have a genuine fear of churches.’

‘But...
Why?’
he asks, perplexed.

I shrug. ‘I don’t know.’

‘But something must have happened—’

‘Is your beard itchy?’ I interrupt him, reaching up to stroke his jaw.

He catches my fingers and I breathe in sharply. His eyes are staring steadily back at me and my pulse quickens.

‘No,’ he says, letting my hand go. ‘I’m used to it now.’

‘So,’ I say, turning away from him and trying to sound normal. ‘How was your bridesmaid?’

He chuckles. ‘My bridesmaid? Which one?’

I glare at him. ‘The one you were dancing with.’

He laughs. ‘She was good. A good dancer,’ he elaborates.

‘How many bridesmaids have you had, then?’ I ask the question that has so often been on the tip of my tongue.

He laughs again, but his demeanour has turned cheeky. ‘Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies.’

‘Why would you want to lie to me? I don’t care,’ I say with a shrug.

That seems to take him aback. ‘You really don’t care?’ he asks with a frown.

‘Nope.’

‘Not even a little bit?’ He raises one eyebrow.

‘Not at all.’

‘Wait.’ He puts his bottle down firmly on a table behind him. ‘You’re telling me that you don’t even care a tiny, weeny little bit how many bridesmaids I’ve
had sex with?’

His words make my head prickle a touch, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction. ‘You can shag whoever you want,’ I say flippantly as my stomach clenches. I don’t really want
him to shag whoever he wants. Why am I encouraging him to? I’m starting to think I have sadomasochistic tendencies.

He stares at me, no trace of a smile on his gorgeous lips. ‘So you wouldn’t care if I went over there right now and kissed her.’ He points at the bridesmaid he danced with
earlier. ‘And took her home with me,’ he adds, leaning down to look me right in the eye.

I waver.

‘Shall I?’ he asks purposefully. I can barely hear his voice over the live band, but I can read his lips.

I look back up at his eyes and I swear the hot and cold flush that ensues is almost on a par with some of the ones I’ve had in various churches over the last few months. His blue eyes
stare back at me, challenging me, his face inches from mine.

I’ve had too much to drink. I’m finding him obscenely attractive and his defiant attitude is turning me on.

‘Shall I?’ he asks again.

I ever-so-slightly shake my head.

‘No?’ He pulls back marginally to question me, but instead of waiting for my answer, he grabs my head and pulls my mouth onto his. I kiss him back, deepening our kiss instantly. Oh
God, he is divine. He puts his hands to the small of my back and I become aware of us moving. Goosebumps spread across my skin as we emerge from the marquee into the cool night air. He wrenches
himself away from me and gives me a look that is so damn sexual I go weak at the knees. He grabs my hand and stalks determinedly across the flat, smooth lawn. We reach a greenhouse and he goes
inside, tugging me behind him. The smell of damp earth and tomatoes fills my senses and then he’s kissing me again. I push my fingers through his hair and hold his face steady as he hoiks my
legs up around his waist and bumps me against the door.

‘Careful,’ I murmur into his open mouth, imagining us both crashing through the glass. His fingers find the zip on the back of my dress and then he’s sliding the straps off my
shoulders and tugging down the front of my bra. As his lips seek out my nipple I throw my head back and gasp.

My head is so hazy. I feel delirious with desire and more than a little bit drunk. As his lips find mine again he lowers my feet to the ground and slides his hands up the inside of my skirt. His
fingertips are just skimming the waistline of my knickers when it occurs to me to wonder just what the fuck it is that I am doing.

‘Lachie, no wait, stop,’ I say, trying to find his wrists so I can still his wandering fingers. He kisses my mouth again as though he doesn’t hear me. I turn my face away and
grab his arms. ‘Stop,’ I say again, more firmly.

He breaks away from me, his breath coming in short, sharp gusts. ‘What the— What’s wrong?’

‘I can’t. Stop.’

He lets me go instantly and I quickly smooth my skirt down and hook my straps back over my shoulders.

‘You can’t stop?’ he asks. ‘Or you can’t. Stop.? I think you should work out exactly what message it is you’re sending, because those words can be taken two
ways.’

He knows exactly what I mean, judging by the angry look on his face. He’s just being difficult.

Maybe angry is the wrong word. But he doesn’t look at all happy.

‘I’m sorry.’ I shake my head and wobble on my heels slightly as I try to zip up my dress. It isn’t easy. ‘My head’s all over the place and I know you know I
have feelings for someone.’ I don’t want or need to say Alex’s name out loud. ‘I just can’t. I’ve had too much to drink. I’m confused.’ And I
don’t want to have a fling with Lachie if I’m only going to end up getting hurt again. He’s too young, too flirty, too playful. I can’t imagine him in a serious
relationship. Not that I want a serious relationship, but I don’t need to be having a one-night stand with him, either.

He scratches his head. ‘Shall we call it a night?’

I nod. ‘I think that might be a good idea.’

Forty minutes later after a tense taxi journey, we find ourselves standing in a room that is barely bigger than the double bed it’s accommodating. There’s certainly
not room for a sofa.

‘I don’t know about you,’ he says, ‘but I’m sure as hell not sleeping on the floor.’

I give him a withering look.

‘I’m not,’ he says nonchalantly.

‘In that case, I will,’ I say.

‘Don’t be so pig-headed, Bronte,’ he snaps. ‘Jesus, I’m not going to fucking touch you if you don’t want me to.’

‘I don’t want you to,’ I say bluntly.

He glares at me and starts to unbutton his shirt. I catch a glimpse of his tanned, toned chest before I avert my gaze. ‘I’m going to get ready for bed,’ I say, heading into the
bathroom with my overnight bag.

I’m too weary to even be angry at the girl I see staring back at me from the mirror. I change out of my clothes into my PJs and brush my teeth, not even bothering to take off my make-up.
When I go back into the room, Lachie is lying on his side facing the wall. I slip between the sheets and switch off the light.

I won’t switch it on. I daren’t make a sound. My fingers lightly trace the keys, darting left and right as the tune plays inside my head. I thought he’d be
here, but he’s not. It’s quiet, so quiet. But I’m not scared. I’m never scared here.

Dad will be cross if he finds out I’ve come alone. But Mum is crying again and I’m so sick of seeing her cry. I needed to get out of the house. I needed to come here.

I hear a noise and my fingers freeze in position. I’m all ears as I listen for the noise again. It comes a second later, but I don’t know what it means. It’s a human sound.
It sounds like someone is in pain. Fear clutching my stomach, I slowly rise to my feet. Half of my brain tells me to stay hidden, but the other half is overridden with curiosity. I peek slowly
around the corner in the direction of the altar. A dark sickness overcomes me. I don’t know what I’m seeing, but I know what I’m seeing is wrong.

‘No!’ I jolt awake, gasping for air as a cold sweat rushes over me. I’m sitting up in bed and I can’t get enough oxygen into my lungs. There’s
movement beside me in the darkness and out of the blue I remember where I am: in bed with Lachie.

‘Are you okay?’ he asks in a deep voice that is croaky from lack of sleep. It must be the middle of the night because it’s still pitch black outside from what I can tell.

‘Just a bad dream. It’s fine.’ I slump back onto my pillows and try to calm my breathing.

It was just a dream. Just a dream, I repeat inside my head.

Only some dreams are born out of reality.

There’s movement beside me and I think he’s rolling over onto his side again. It all comes back to me. Our kiss, well, kiss
es
, and quite a lot else that went on between us,
too. I’m such a screw-up. I’ve probably lost Lachie as a friend, and all because I couldn’t keep my stupid hands to myself.

I close my eyes and sigh heavily.

‘What was it about?’

His voice makes me jump. I thought he’d turned away from me, but he turned towards me instead.

‘Nothing,’ I murmur.

‘You shouted, “No”.’

‘Did I?’ He heard me?

‘Come here,’ he says and to my surprise he slides his arm underneath my shoulders and pulls me against him. His chest is bare and I tense up, but then I realise I haven’t lost
him as a friend and that makes me relax. I rest my head in the crook of his arm and lay my right arm across his chest while he holds me snugly in place. He strokes my hair with his left hand and
after a while my breathing begins to regulate.

I fall back asleep like that, in his arms.

We must have broken apart in the night, because when I come to, I’m lying alone on my side of the bed. I glance across at him. He’s breathing slowly and steadily
and is still in the depths of deep sleep. I turn away and stare morosely up at the ceiling.

I haven’t had that dream for a very long time. It must’ve been the organ. I shouldn’t have played the organ.

I climb out of bed and walk disconsolately into the bathroom. I can’t bear to look at myself as I pull a navy-blue and white maxi dress over my head and slip on some sandals. I need to get
out of here. I need to clear my head.

Pausing at the door, I look at the sleeping figure of Lachie lying in the bed. The sheets have slipped away from him and I can clearly see the muscle definition on his broad back. He held me in
the night when I needed comfort. I have a strange urge to return to the bed and slide my hand across his ribcage. I really need some fresh air.