Hilariously Ever After

by Penny Reid

  She’d get over it. Probably.

  “How do you feel about the situation?” Dr. Browne asked. His eyes were cool and piercing, grey as the good old English sky. He stared at her with an impressive imitation of care.

  “I feel guilty,” she said.

  He nodded and murmured, “That’s completely natural.”

  Then he said some other shit, shit that was meant to alleviate the guilt. But Aria didn’t listen, because she didn’t want to hear it.

  She didn’t want to alleviate the guilt.

  She didn’t ever want to forget.

  Chapter 1

  Three Months Later

  La Christou needed a better photographer, or better marketing or something.From the wedding packages the hotel had sent over, Aria had believed it to be a jewel of a find: a luxurious but intimate venue on the western coast of Greece, famed for its ravishing gardens. But now that she was here, she knew what it truly was: a fantasy come to life.

  Good. Good. Jennifer deserved nothing less.

  The ceremony was held in the ballroom. Aria had spent countless hours over the past few months on video calls with La Christou’s events manager, and they had decided the vast, cool room of marble and aged gold would be best. They had been right.

  The ballroom seemed smaller now, filled with friends and family, elegant floral arrangements spilling from every available fixture. Orchestral music filled the air as

  Aria and Keynes, the best man, walked down aisle arm in arm. Keynes gave her a wink as he moved to stand beside the groom, Theo. Aria tried not to grin back. He was impossible.

  She took up her position, breathed out, breathed in, breathed out—and on cue, the music changed. Swelled into something achingly romantic, a touch dramatic, the violins easing out a gentle, courtly welcome.

  The double doors at the far end of the room swung open for the last time, the only time that counted. And Jennifer appeared.

  She stood for a moment, framed by the doorway and the golden light spilling through it, her dark skin gleaming, her smile radiant. A bouquet of peach roses and pure white lilies was clasped in her hands, trailing like a waterfall, but even that couldn’t draw attention away from how utterly stunning Jen looked.

  Aria tore her gaze from her best friend, just for a moment, to take a peek at the groom. Theo was watching his bride with rapt attention, his eyes wide, his lips caught half-way to a smile as if joy and disbelief warred inside him. When the handsome, older man raised a hand to swipe hurriedly at one cheek, Aria realised that Theo—powerful, wealthy, always-in-control Theo—was crying.

  She rolled her lips in to hide a smile. Damn right he better cry. He was about to marry Jennifer Johnson. There wasn’t a luckier man on the planet.

  Jen reached the altar and flashed Aria a smile, her own eyes as teary as her husband-to-be’s. Aria grinned back, too ecstatic to bother with a demure expression, and never mind that the ceremony was being filmed. Her shamelessly cheesy smile would have to remain immortalised, because this might be the happiest she’d ever been.

  Until Jen turned to face Theo and the scars on the side of her face caught the light. Just a few small, dark, teardrop-shaped marks scattered erratically over her skin. No attempt had been made to cover to cover them. Jen was proud of them.

  Aria wasn’t. Those scars had come, after all, from her ex-boyfriend’s backfiring gun.

  The priest began the ceremony and Aria watched the glowing couple, pinning a smile onto her face. She wouldn’t ruin Jenny’s wedding video by allowing even a hint of her disquiet to show. No-one could ever know.

  Aria took a breath and heard Theo say, “I, Jyu Theodore Chamberlain, take you, Jennifer Abigail Johnson…”

  She took another breath and let the words calm her. Felt the strength of Theo’s love, his incandescent happiness, and let it fill her heart with gladness. There. That was better.

  Crisis averted. For now.

  “Aren’t you a vision,” Keynes drawled. “Skulking in the shadows, admiring your handiwork.”

  Aria narrowed her eyes as the best man drew closer. His suit jacket was nowhere to be seen. His bow-tie hung loose around his neck and his shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing caramel skin dusted with tawny hair.

  “Fuck off,” she said.

  He came to lean against the cool, marble pillar beside her. “You first. Got a light?”

  “Nope.”

  “Doesn’t matter; I have. Got a fag?” The word sounded preposterous, uttered in his private-schoolboy accent, but she’d gotten used to Keynes over the months since they’d first met. In fact, if this were primary school, he’d be her second-best friend by now.

  Still, she glowered at him. “You’re interrupting my brooding.”

  “That’s the idea, love. Got a fag, or not?”

  “You know I have.”

  “Yep.” He produced a lighter from his pocket—a sickeningly slick little thing, silver and gold. No common-or-garden plastic Bic for Mr. Olusegun-Keynes.

  With a sigh, Aria hiked up the gauzy skirt of her sunshine-yellow gown.

  Keynes averted his eyes with all the drama of a stage dame. “Behave yourself, madam. You know I’m immune to your wiles.”

  “More’s the pity,” she muttered, snatching a cigarette from her garter. “I’ve only got one. We’ll have to share.”

  “One, because?”

  “Because your sister scared me into almost-quitting, and I’m trying to be good.”

  “Don’t listen to her.” Keynes lit the cigarette as Aria held it to her lips. “She’s all talk. Once she’s had a few drinks—”

  “Stop enabling. I should quit, and so should you.”

  Keynes plucked the cigarette from her fingers and took a drag. Then he said, smoke trailing from his full lips like dragon’s breath, “I have quit, love. But enough about me. What are you doing over here?”

  Good fucking question. Aria was usually the life and soul of any party—and this wasn’t just a party. It was her best friend’s wedding. One she’d organised, with Keynes’s dedicated assistance.

  But it was all over now, and the prospect of long, uneventful months without a reason to force herself into Jen and Theo’s happy life was… unappealing, to say the least. Not that she’d ever admit that. No-one needed to know how pathetic she’d become.

  So instead, she offered a secondary truth. “Scouting for boys.”

  “Me too. But the pickings are slim.”

  “They are not,” Aria snorted. She nodded toward a table of young men at the edge of the terrace, where marble floor turned into La Christou’s glorious patio. They were clearly appreciating the atmosphere, lounging around with casual grace, drinks in hand. Part of Theo’s family; cousins, she thought. They shared his razor-sharp bone structure, and some of them were almost as handsome as he was. “They’re gorgeous,” she said. “Tell me they’re not.”

  Keynes scoffed. “I’ve known those boys for too many years to take one to bed. I vaguely remember sharing a bath with the eldest.”

  Right; because Keynes and Theo’s families were tight like that. Although it might be more accurate to say that Theo’s family offered Keynes and his sister a respite from their nightmarish home life.

  Tomato, tomato.

  “But,” Keynes said, “any of them might do well for you. Don’t you think?”

  No. She didn’t think. Which was one of her many, many problems. “No-one here is doing it for me.”

  “Rubbish,” he said. “You’re just thinking too hard. You’re not even drunk, are you?”

  Stone cold sober. “Whatever,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “You know, since I’m the maid of honour, I should be sleeping with the best man.”

  Keynes grinned, full lips parting to display American-white teeth. Honestly, the man had no right to look the way he did. If they were actors in a teen movie, he’d be the bad guy. He was too beautiful to be anything else. “Oh, love,” he said. “If I were so inclined…”

  “Blah, blah
, blah. Stop trying to charm me. I’m not even close to your type.” Gender aside, Aria knew for a fact that Keynes preferred his partners… clean-cut.

  Aria was as far from clean-cut as a country singer’s mullet.

  “Listen,” he said. “You’re moping, and we both know it. But look at all this.” He swept a hand through the air, indicating the beauty around them—and the figures of Jenny and Theo, intertwined on the dance floor, swaying to every song as if it were a waltz. “Frankly, that slapped-arse expression is bringing down the mood. Want to take a break?”

  The tip of Aria’s tongue worried the silver ring bisecting her lower lip. “A break?”

  “Yeah. Let’s wander off. Go on an adventure. It’ll be very Enid Blyton.”

  “Only Greek,” she added, pushing off of the wall.

  “Only Greek,” he agreed, already leading the way.

  “You know where you’re going?”

  “I know that you’re following.”

  Well, she thought. Fair enough.

  Chapter 2

  Nikolas Christou had a problem.

  He wasn’t really used to problems—which might be why he was handling this one so poorly. In fact, it definitely was. That was the downside to a charmed life, he reflected, as he jogged through his family’s flagship hotel: a chronic inability to deal with one’s own bullshit.

  Eventually, he’d have to learn. Maturity yawned out ahead of him, tapping its metaphorical foot, reminding him that his glory days were officially over. He’d have to grow up, now, wouldn’t he?

  But Christ, not tonight.

  Nik had just retired—prematurely, to some, but not to his bank account—from pro football. The beautiful game had done something to his left knee that was, unfortunately, rather ugly. He’d come home to annoy his mother, harass his little sister, and decide what to do with the rest of his life, since he had no useful skills. He had not expected to bump into Melissa fucking Bright while licking his wounds.

  Although, bump into seemed too generous a phrase. It was more accurate to say that she’d hunted him down like a gazelle.

  He could hear her voice now, echoing off the marble walls behind him. “Nik! Where are you? Did you see him, Perrie?” There was a pause, and then she practically shrieked, “NIK!”

  His name on her lips had sounded so much better in bed. Strange, really.

  He took a sharp right and hurried along the corridor. He certainly wasn’t going to run—he did have some pride—but he couldn’t be fucking bothered with this woman. Honestly, of all the questionable people he’d ever made the mistake of sleeping with, she was the absolute worst. Bloody exhausting, bless her. Though really, a part of him admired her tenacity.

  But dealing with that tenacity usually gave him a migraine and made her, after she was done screaming, burst into tears. Nik hated to make a lady cry, even if that lady was a grasping, manipulative dingbat who couldn’t take no for an answer. Just the thought of making someone feel unwanted made him imagine his tutting mother and scowling sister saying God, Nik, you’re so insensitive! Now look what you’ve done!

  He took a left, then a right, then another right, until he was tied up in knots. It was horrifying to realise how little he remembered of the hotel he’d grown up visiting; clearly, he’d been living and playing in England for too long. Melissa’s voice chased him no matter which way he turned, growing closer and closer until she might as well be on top of him.

  By the time he came across the deep, shadowed alcove bracketed by classical statuary, he was practically frantic. And by the time he noticed the two people standing in that alcove, staring at him as if he were a headless chicken, he was literally desperate.

  He almost fell over in shock when he realised that one of the people was Keynes. Or rather, Olumide Olusegun-Keynes, man of the world, mystery, and excellent practical jokes.

  Keynes’s lips twitched as he took in Nik’s panicked expression. “You alright, mate?”

  “No,” Nik said. He never had been one to prevaricate. “I am being ruthlessly corralled by a trio of lionesses.”

  Keynes gave in and allowed himself a full-blown smirk. At any other time, Nik might pause to admire the lips involved in that smirk. The man as a whole was worthy of admiration, actually; he looked like a model. But that didn’t matter, because Nik was putting his days of carefree sluttery behind him.

  Tragic.

  “That’s rough,” Keynes said. He looked over at his companion, so of course, Nik did too. Which is when his jaw almost, very nearly, dropped. Because the woman standing in the shadowed alcove was unlike anyone he’d ever seen.

  He’d heard of people being called striking, and he certainly felt like he’d been struck. Her dress, long and buttercup-yellow, was pretty, but it was the rest of her that affected him most. Everything about her commanded attention, from the contrast between her platinum blonde hair and dark skin, to the tattoos that covered every visible inch of her. A silver ring glinted down the centre of her glossy lower lip, accompanied by little studs on either side of her nose and what looked like a thousand tiny gemstones decorating the curves of her ears.

  She watched him with eyes rimmed in pitch-black makeup and glinting with amusement. There was a sardonic tilt to her lush mouth that made him think she was laughing at him, rather than with him. Then he heard Melissa’s strident tones from just down the hall, and the woman’s slight smile turned into a full-blown, wicked grin.

  That grin was giving him ideas. But, worse than that, something about her was giving him fucking heart palpitations. He couldn’t even describe the feeling that overtook him at the sight of her. It was like… like running onto a pitch and sprinting through icy drizzle, eyes narrowed, feet fast, the earth soft beneath his studs, knowing absolutely nothing could stop him.

  Weird.

  “In trouble?” she asked. And Jesus Christ, her low, teasing voice alone did more for Nik than porn ever had.

  “You could say that,” he managed, his eyes flitting from the smirk on her lips to the arch of her brow. She was tall, but the way she stood made her seem taller—or maybe it was the energy that surrounded her, strong enough to suffocate the weak.

  Nik wasn’t weak. But he wouldn’t mind giving up his oxygen for her.

  Which was possibly the strangest fucking thought he’d ever had.

  “If you’re a friend of Keynes’s,” she said, “then whatever’s happening here must be your fault. He only likes disreputable people.”

  Nik heard, as if through a tunnel, the sound of Keynes snorting out a sarcastic response. He barely registered the words. He didn’t register a damned thing except her, bright like sunshine, burning him alive in the most beautiful way. “If you’re his friend, too,” Nik said, “doesn’t that make you disreputable?”

  “Of course,” she smiled. It was a real smile, so brilliant it set him off balance. Her brows arched as she grinned, one slightly higher than the other, and her eyes tilted up at the corners.

  Nik didn’t know if he’d just felt the earth shake or if he was tragically losing his mind. Phantom or real, something jarred his bones and his brain all at once, until everything felt… different. He blinked slowly, readjusting to this slight shift in his world. The first thing his gaze focused on was her. An unfamiliar need hummed through his bloodstream, growing stronger with every beat of his heart. Something inside him unfurled; it was the monster that took over him on the pitch, its demands a low growl. This time, though, it wasn’t telling him to win.

  Her. Take her.

  Wait, what?

  Before he could grapple with that alarming thought, he heard the sharp click of footsteps, too fast and too close. Melissa. His panicked caveman brain set in again. Actually, maybe it wasn’t caveman brain, because a caveman’s solution to this problem would be fight or flight, right?

  As opposed to Nik’s solution, which was to lock eyes with the tattooed woman and say, “Can I kiss you?”

  Her brows shot up. “Me?”

  “Y
es.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes.” When she didn’t answer, he turned to Keynes. “Or you. If you’re into that.” He knew very well that Keynes was into that, but the woman beside him might not.

  Keynes gave him a slow, catlike smile. “I certainly am.” He stepped forward, hooked an arm around Nik’s shoulders, and kissed him.

  It was an excellent kiss, all things considered. But it didn’t have the desired effect. Melissa didn’t find Nik kissing someone else and finally take the fucking hint.

  Instead, she saw him kissing someone else and hollered, “Nik! There you are!”

  Aria had tried a lot of things, but she’d never bothered with voyeurism. It just didn’t ring her bell.

  She also knew that she wasn’t the slightest bit attracted to Keynes. She had been, at one point, because he was drop-dead fucking gorgeous, but friendship had dealt with that lust rather swiftly.

  Yet, as she watched Keynes kiss Mr. Tall, Tan and Terrified, she felt a hot, tight stirring in her belly that had been conspicuously absent for some time. And if it wasn’t related to voyeurism, and it wasn’t there because of Keynes, she supposed that only left one other source.

  His friend. The stranger.

  Which made sense, considering the way her eyes were currently devouring him. Her gaze danced feverishly from the swell of his biceps as he grabbed Keynes’s arms, to the firm grip of those big, long-fingered hands, to the ferocious frown on his dark brow. A few seconds ago, his features had seemed sweet and friendly, despite his obvious panic. Now his profile was sharp, intense, hungry. She noticed abruptly that he was taller and more muscular than he’d seemed. She wouldn’t have said, thirty seconds ago, that this guy was bigger than Keynes—but now she could see quite clearly that he was, because the two men were plastered together from mouth to hip.

  You’d think that situation would put off the blonde woman who appeared a few feet away, with a pair of friends lagging just behind. But it didn’t. Instead she stood for a moment, transfixed, her pink mouth forming a perfect O. Rather like a prim little version of Aria’s own, she imagined.