The Worst Best Man

by M. J. O'Shea

  It was August, all right.

  August O’Leary. The love of Christopher’s life.

  Who probably—no definitely—hated him.

  “IS this some kind of a joke?” August nearly choked on his own gasped in-breath.

  The woman, Libby Pritts he assumed, froze in place. She’d been rising, with her hand out ready to greet him, but August could barely focus on her. How could he, when the last person he ever wanted to see was standing right in front of him? Christopher Burke. Christopher…. August felt a little dizzy all of a sudden. He gripped the side of one of Helena’s chairs and held on tight.

  What was Christopher doing there? He hated London, he never wanted to even visit, and he was there and gorgeous, and August didn’t know whether to hate him or kiss him or—

  Get it together. August knew he was spinning. He didn’t know how he was supposed to do anything else. What on earth was he doing there? It had to be a setup. Coincidences didn’t work that way.

  “Um, hi. Are you Will?” his client asked.

  She was demure, sandy-haired, and dainty, with an expensive winter jacket and a scarf from Mulberry. August was trained to notice details even under stress. Stress. That was a joke. Whatever word described what his body was going through was so much more than stress. He forced himself to make eye contact.

  “I’m Libby,” she added.

  Of course she was. Oh God. Of course it wasn’t a setup. It was just a horrible random coincidence. August felt sick to his stomach. He felt, well, he didn’t know how he felt. But he was a goddamn professional, so he did what he did best—slapped on a happy face in the middle of utter chaos and went to work.

  “I’m actually August, Will’s partner. I’ll be taking lead, but he’ll be helping us behind the scenes for your wedding. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Libby Pritts looked a bit suspicious, but she held out her hand again and let August shake it.

  Get it together….

  Repeating it didn’t make the advice any easier to follow.

  “And this is our closest friend, Christopher. Edward will make it to as many meetings as he can, but I believe I talked to Helena about Christopher filling in when possible. Edward is very busy.”

  “Oh, of course that’s perfectly fine,” August promised her.

  Not fine. The opposite of fine.

  August kept his death grip on the side of Helena’s flimsy, whimsical chair in the hopes that something would keep him from passing out. He’d never had such a visceral, immediate reaction to anything in his life. He’d wondered for years what it would feel like if he happened to run into Christopher somewhere. It probably would’ve been best to keep wondering. He didn’t like it at all. He wanted it to end.

  “Hi, August,” Christopher said.

  And there it was. That voice. The voice he’d heard for nearly three years of mornings, grumbly and soft against the back of his neck. The voice that he’d heard say “I love you” countless times. The voice that had told him, out of the blue, that he was done with August and the relationship that had been meant to last forever after the happiest years of August’s life. He bit down hard on his lip and nearly whimpered at the pain. He tasted blood.

  “Hi, Christopher,” he muttered. The full name felt odd coming out of his mouth. In school, he’d always been Chris. August pinched the flesh of his palm and tried to breathe. Libby looked back and forth between them with a confused frown. Get it together. Once again for the cheap seats in the back. “Shall we take this back to my office? I’d like to get some ideas for what you have in mind.” He thought his voice sounded decently smooth. At least he hoped.

  “Yes. Please.” Libby sounded as confused as she looked.

  August didn’t blame her.

  Chapter Two

  HE couldn’t stop staring. Christopher knew he was acting completely insane, and he was in for the bollocking of his life when they got out of there, but he just couldn’t stop. August had always been the most beautiful thing in his world or any other, at least as far as Christopher was concerned, but if anything, he was even more beautiful than he’d been at twenty-one. He was more formed somehow, like his edges had baked completely and burnished over the past eight years.

  And his lips—Christopher had never forgotten how they felt on his mouth, his skin, brushing across the tip of his ear. He had to clench his fists to hold back a shudder. He’d never wanted anyone as much as he’d wanted August. Ever. The rolling heat in his belly told him the attraction hadn’t died. The way he reacted to August’s voice, his scent, the fall of his hair made Christopher think he’d go mad if he didn’t get to touch him. He remembered their first time together. August had been so sweet and nervous and turned-on, and they’d—

  “Christopher, love? What do you think?”

  Shit. He was supposed to pay attention. How could he?

  “I’m sorry. Say that again?”

  Libby gave him another quizzical concerned look. August just peered at him silently. After those few moments of shock, where Christopher had been treated to a look of pure devastated wonder, he’d watched August’s face harden, watched the resolve set in. Now all he got was cool, frustrating politeness. August was clearly enough of a professional not to anger his expensive client, but he wasn’t giving Christopher anything. Not that Christopher blamed him.

  He’d never forget the last day they saw each other. When Christopher had made the mistake of a lifetime, when he’d thought he was doing the right thing.

  August wouldn’t have fit into his world, right? That’s what his mother and father had said. Christopher had been twenty-one and scared and in love and the worst pushover when his entire lifestyle and everything in it was being threatened. He’d believed them. August would never fit in.

  But look at him. Just… look.

  He looked nothing like the holey-jeaned kid from a working-class Boston neighborhood. Christopher wondered where that August had gone.

  “I was asking you about the venue. You know Edward’s mother wants to go with a stately home.”

  “Why don’t we just do it at Longwick?” Did that just come out of my mouth?

  “You… really?” Libby looked shocked.

  Christopher was just as shocked, to be honest. As much as he preferred the country, he didn’t spend a lot of time at the family estate anymore. Things had gotten distant between him and his parents after August. It was hard to feel the same about them after they’d pulled him from the boy he wanted to marry someday. Or maybe it was because he’d been stupid enough to let them and resented them for it somehow.

  Well, too late now.

  “Yes. I think it’ll be a perfect location. How many years did the three of us spend playing in the countryside around the house?” Might as well commit, seeing as he’d already opened his mouth and stuck his entire leg in it.

  August’s face turned a shade of white Christopher had only seen once before. And then he realized the full extent of what he’d done. He had never invited August to Longwick, not even after he’d put a promise ring on August’s finger, and he had just arranged it so August had to run an event there. As an employee.

  Christopher decided a complete do over for his entire day was in order. Maybe the past eight years, while he was at it.

  “If you say so. It’ll be beautiful.” Libby breathed lightly. She looked both surprised and awed. While her and Edward’s parents were very connected, neither of them had property as picturesque as Longwick. It was a dream setting.

  “I’ll call Mother when we get home tonight.”

  August flinched again, but he appeared to catch himself. “If that’s all settled, why don’t we reconvene as soon as the venue is locked down? I assume I won’t be needing to do any arranging on that front?”

  “Of course not.” Christopher reached across the coffee table and nearly cupped his hand over August’s knee familiarly. Christ. It had been such an instinct. He hadn’t been that intimate with anyone since August. Sex, sure. Intimacy? N
othing felt even remotely the same, and somehow Christopher was glad of it. August inched back in his wing chair. Libby probably hadn’t noticed, but Christopher certainly did.

  “Okay, then, Libby, you have my number. I’ll be away for the holidays visiting family, but I’ll be back the second week of January.”

  “Are you going back to the States?” she asked.

  August nodded. Christopher felt a moment of panic that August was slipping back out of his fingers. He had to remind himself it was temporary. He tried to think of a reason he’d need to get August’s number as well.

  “That’s wonderful. Where are you from?”

  “Boston,” August told her with a smile.

  “Oh, I love Boston. I stayed in Beacon Hill when I visited there on holiday.” Libby grinned, obviously happy to have something in common with their planner. She’d always been so quick to make friends, unlike the much quieter Christopher.

  August chuckled. “Sadly, my family doesn’t live in that neighborhood, but it is beautiful.”

  Libby smiled and stood to put on her coat. “I’ll be looking forward to seeing you after the holidays.”

  Christopher realized that he too was supposed to be standing and putting on his coat for the chilly trip back to his town house.

  “Me as well,” August told her with a smile. He nodded politely at Christopher, but that was all he got.

  “Happy Christmas,” Libby said.

  “You too.”

  Christopher rose and wrapped his scarf around his neck, shoved his arms into his coat, and then stood there feeling about as awkward as he’d ever felt in his life. He wanted to do so much, reach out and hug August, reel in shock, tell him he’d made the biggest mistake of his life, try to get August back. He didn’t do any of that—simply waited for Libby to exit the office so he could follow her. Silently.

  Fantastic.

  “WHAT the hell was that?” Libby said as soon as they were in the street with the shiny door to Helena Preston Events shut behind them. “I’ve never seen…. I don’t know what to say.”

  Christopher knew he was going to have to give her a very long explanation, but he hoped he could put it off at least a few minutes. “Is it going to be very strange having the wedding at Longwick? I thought it would be fitting.”

  Libby hit him with her heavy handbag. “You know that’s not what I mean.” She slid into the backseat of Christopher’s town car and waited for him to follow her. He told the driver to head to Libby’s house. It wasn’t far from his, but at least he’d have respite after he dropped her off.

  “I, um, I know August.”

  “You do?”

  Libby and Edward had gone to different universities, her in Edinburgh, Edward in London. They’d never been to Oxford to visit him, happy enough to see him at holidays. Neither of them knew about August. He’d managed to keep it that way.

  “I do. I….” I can’t explain this. How could he? How could he tell Libby, fresh into her wedding planning fervor, that he’d once put a ring on August’s finger and promised to love him forever? The ring hadn’t meant much in the end—just a piece of midpriced gold that had disappeared down a storm drain while August ran out of his life.

  “You can tell me.” Libby’s voice was gentle.

  Christopher sighed. “August is the reason I haven’t ever been serious with anyone else.”

  Libby and Edward knew there’d been someone at university, someone he wished things hadn’t ended with, but only in the vaguest way. He’d never spoken of it, and they definitely hadn’t gotten any details.

  “He’s… wait, he’s your one that got away. My wedding planner?”

  Christopher winced. “Yes. And I don’t know if you could tell, but he absolutely hates me.”

  “How could anyone hate you?”

  “Easily. I broke his heart.”

  Libby was silent for long moments before she tipped his chin so he had to look her right in the eye. Libby’s eyes had always gotten him—big and brown in her tiny face, surrounded by long curly lashes and so sincere. Christopher hadn’t been able to lie to her since they were in diapers. He felt a long, uncomfortable night coming on.

  “Christopher James Burke, I think you’d better explain.”

  “Do you want to come to mine for a bit? It’s not a short story.”

  Libby smiled at him gently. “Sure. I haven’t seen my baby for a while anyway. We should stop on the way home and get him a treat.”

  “You spoil him,” Christopher told her.

  “You’re just as bad.”

  They stopped at Waitrose for the treats that only Libby ever bought for Fergus—Christopher figured they should have something special for just them—and then they rode the rest of the way through glittery sifting snow back to Christopher’s Chelsea town house.

  CHRISTOPHER put it off for a really long time—made tea for him and Libby, gave treats to Fergus, who wriggled his fluffy orange bum at Libby like she was the only one who loved him. Traitor. Then finally, with tea and biscuits and a fire in his sitting room, it had gotten to the point where he couldn’t avoid the conversation any longer.

  He cleared his throat.

  “All right. I told Edward I’d leave here in an hour so we don’t get snowed in. No more faffing.”

  “I’m not faffing.”

  “Yes, Kit. Whatever you say, darling. Let’s get to it.”

  Libby hadn’t called him Kit since they were fifteen and they’d gotten drunk for the first time in the horse stables off a bottle of his mother’s special reserve Bollinger. That was the day Christopher had told her he was gay. She was obviously worried about him once again.

  “Okay, Libbs. No more stalling, I promise. August…. We met in the residence halls freshman year of uni. His room was right next to mine. He… he was just—well, you’ve seen him. Picture him at eighteen, all tall and gangly and beautiful in a pair of ratty jeans and a band T-shirt. I didn’t have the willpower to stay away.”

  “I’d imagine not. He is quite adorable.”

  “He’d just moved here for school—he’s from Boston, you know? And he was all alone, and I just fell. Hard.”

  “So how was it that he didn’t end up breaking your heart instead of the other way around?”

  “August fell just as hard as I did. We were inseparable the entire time we were in uni. I didn’t tell him much about Mum and Dad, and you know… the estate. He knew I was on the posh side, but I let him think it was a lot less than it is.”

  “Christopher.” Libby shot him a reproving look. She’d never been a big believer in keeping secrets. Pretty easy when she was marrying the boy from the next estate over. They’d known everything about each other since before they could even speak enough words to lie. It wasn’t exactly a problem for her.

  “I loved him, like only a kid can fall in love—completely and like my life would end if I lost him. August was so… normal. I was afraid he’d run away if he saw where I’d come from.” Christopher looked down.

  “Did he?”

  “He didn’t have a chance. August didn’t know much about Mum and Dad, but they found out about him.”

  Christopher still didn’t know which of his dickhead friends he could thank for that. Apparently word had gotten back home that he was dating some working-class American kid, and his parents wanted nothing to do with it. August didn’t see the passive-aggressive fight that lasted the entire three years of school. He definitely felt the brunt of it when Christopher’s parents finally wore him down.

  “They didn’t approve, did they?” Libby knew Christopher’s parents well enough to know what would’ve happened when they found out about August.

  “Obviously.”

  “And you listened to them?”

  He understood her surprise. Christopher rarely spoke to his parents any longer. It was hard to picture the day that they’d scared him into letting go of the only man he’d ever loved.

  “I was stupid. They said they’d cut me off, and I had no
idea how to be poor. I just….” He shook his head. “I’m not proud of what I did. He moved in with a friend the last few months of school, and other than a couple glimpses around campus, I hadn’t seen him since. Until tonight.”

  “Did you know he was in England, even?”

  “No.” Christopher wished he could say what he’d have done if he’d known August was so close all these years. “I don’t know what to do,” he said. “I don’t know how to breathe around him.”

  Libby gave him a long look. “Am I to assume you never really got over him?”

  “That would be a correct assumption.”

  “And he’s the reason you’ve never connected to anyone else?”

  “Also correct. I said that already.”

  “Then the answer is obvious, my love.”

  It was. It most assuredly was. Christopher just didn’t know if he could do it. He didn’t even know how to try.

  “I have to win him back.”

  “Yes. And I’m going to help you.”

  Christopher had horrifying visions of the climax of every American teen comedy, where one of the characters ends up humiliated on the dance floor while everyone stares.

  “I’m not going to do some planned thing. I won’t do anything that could possibly hurt him. Not again.”

  “Not a plan. We’re nearly thirty, not fifteen. It’s just good that I know. I can, you know, shuffle things along a bit. Get you two in the same place at the same time.” She reached out and pinched his cheek. “He won’t be able to resist you for long.”

  Christopher had a feeling Libby was very wrong about that fact. “I suppose we’ll see.”

  AUGUST sank into one of Helena’s spindly front room chairs as soon as his new client and her landmine of a best friend walked out the door. It felt like every single part of him was shaking—his hands, his belly, some jiggly part of him deep in his chest. He couldn’t even breathe without it rattling in his lungs. August didn’t know if he’d be able to stand up after that, let alone try to make it home and to Heathrow the next day.