by Clare Lydon
It earned a slap from Abby. “Mother! What did I tell you earlier? Stop showing me up. Plus, less of the desire to chew up French men. If you’re not careful, I’m going to record you and send it to Dad.”
Gloria whooped at that. “Martin would be fine. You youngsters are so uptight! Loosen up, live a little! I snogged four men on my hen do and nobody died. It’s a rite of passage.” She tapped her index finger on Abby’s shoulder. “You haven’t even snogged one yet.” Gloria raised an eyebrow as Jordan got in, sliding the van’s door shut. “What do you think, Jordan?”
Jordan turned in her seat so she could see Gloria. “About what?”
“Abby snogging some men tonight. Is it on your agenda?”
Jordan smiled, eyeing Delta, then Abby. “It’s not on the spreadsheet, but then, life can’t always be run by spreadsheets, can it?”
Cheers all around.
Gloria nudged her daughter with her elbow. “Shall we say one ginger, one blond, and one dark-haired man in Club Oraaaaaaange?” She sounded out the orange in a very French way, making Jordan smile.
More cheers, as Abby gave a rueful smile.
“Do I have a choice in this?”
“Noooooo!” came the reply.
“Although, do they even have ginger men in France?” That was Martha. “I’ve never seen one.”
“Of course they do. Although they call them roux.”
“I love it!” Gloria said. “Ready team?”
“Ready!” came the rousing reply.
Club Orange was a favourite destination of the Cannes elite. Belgian royalty partied here, as did French high society. And now, Abby Porter and her hen party. The lights were low, they had a private booth, and a bottle of Grey Goose had just arrived, sat atop a satin cushion with sparklers.
“Is this what clubbing is now? It’s a bit different to the Blackpool Ritzy, isn’t it? That’s where I went on my hen do. Not a ‘Kiss-Me-Quick’ hat in sight.” Gloria’s eyes were almost popping out of her head at such a display of decadence. Waiters buzzed around, pouring drinks for the group, and when everyone had one, Delta proposed a toast as the music boomed in their ears.
“To a successful night two,” she shouted, as the beat kicked in and the dancefloor pulsed beside them. “And of course, to Princess Abby marrying her Prince Charming, but also to getting a frenchie from a Frenchie along the way!”
Abby burst out laughing, before taking a swig of her drink, then fixing the group with a narrowed stare. “Shall we dance?”
Delta turned out to be a dancer who needed plenty of floorspace, her flailing arms clearing a path all around them. Nikita and Erin had taken it upon themselves to scope the dancefloor for possible snogging targets, which left the rest of the group spinning in Delta’s orbit, occasionally ducking to avoid being hit by her arm or her leg. Jordan stayed put in their booth, checking her phone, making sure their posh breakfast was on schedule for the morning. Sunday was the staff’s day off, so Jordan had ordered a service that delivered breakfast on silver trays to arrive at 10am.
Her eyes moved to the dancefloor, as Delta produced another power move.
Taran ducked just in time.
Delta hit Gloria on her cheek, which led Gloria to cuff Delta around the head.
Jordan suppressed a laugh. Everybody needed a Gloria on their hen weekend.
A man with blond hair was being ushered at speed towards Abby by Nikita and Erin. When he stopped in front of Abby, they shook hands, and the man leaned in and said something to Abby.
Jordan’s stomach tightened.
This was a hen weekend ritual. And yet, it felt different. She didn’t want to watch, but she knew she would.
Jordan ground her teeth together as Abby nodded, then flicked her gaze towards Jordan.
Seeking her out.
Their stares met in mid-air, and Jordan froze.
She wanted to shout at Abby, tell her to not be railroaded into kissing the man. Even though it meant nothing. Even though it was just a bit of fun.
“Loosen up!” Gloria had said.
Jordan wanted to leap over the white leather low-slung couch in front of her, push the man aside and shield Abby from what was about to happen.
But she couldn’t. Instead, she gave Abby a tepid smile, and then a thumbs-up.
A thumbs-up? Really? Was she 12?
Seconds later, Abby leaned in and kissed the man on the cheek.
Delta shook her head, and held onto both Abby’s and the man’s arms. Erin and Nikita leaned in too. More discussion.
Then Abby shook her head, pulled her arm away, and almost ran up the four steps to their booth, not looking back. Just as she was about to make it to the top, she wobbled and fell sideways.
Jordan dropped to her knees as Abby righted herself, a frown creasing her face. One hand grasped her ankle as she sat up.
“You okay? What happened?”
Abby winced, shaking her head. “I think my heel broke.” She took off her cream heel and held it up. Sure enough, the heel was barely connected, flapping as she waggled it from side to side. She rubbed her side where she’d fallen. “Plus, that really fucking hurt.”
“Can you move your arm?”
Abby did so, wincing again. “It’s fine. It’s more my ankle. I don’t want it to be buggered for the rest of the weekend.”
Jordan put a hand under Abby’s armpit, helping her to a seat, just as Delta, Gloria, Nikita, and Erin arrived at the booth.
“What the fuck happened?” Delta’s face was stricken.
“My heel broke and I fell.” Abby leaned over and felt her ankle. She massaged it, then winced again. “It’s not broken, but I think I might head back.”
“Nooooo!” Delta said “We were just getting started. Plus, we’ve put in a whole load of requests for you.”
Abby glanced up. “For music or men to snog?”
Delta grinned. “A bit of both.”
“Just because I’m going home doesn’t mean you all have to. You can dance to all my records and you can share the men out among you. You’ll probably appreciate them more.”
“Nonsense!” Gloria said. “It’s your hen weekend. If you’re going, we all go.”
“And as your hen, I insist you stay put. Dance a little.” Abby nodded towards the bottle of booze. “If nothing else, we have vodka to drink and champagne ordered. So finish that, dance, then come home.” Abby glanced at Jordan. “You can take me home, then send the driver back for the rest, right?”
Jordan nodded. “Of course. Whatever you want.”
Abby gave a firm nod. “That’s settled then. Now, who’s going to help me up?”
Chapter 18
Abby winced as she hobbled out of the cab and up the path to the villa’s front door. In all honesty, she wasn’t in quite as much pain as she’d made out, but it had seemed like a good ruse to escape having to kiss any more men. Particularly when Delta had deemed kissing them on the cheek “not really kissing”. Abby was glad to be back at the villa. She was especially glad to be here with Jordan, who was the polar opposite of the rest of her hens: calm, considered, and sober.
As they walked onto the terrace, Abby glanced at Jordan. “You know you said you’d do anything for me this weekend?”
Jordan nodded slowly.
“I’d love it if you’d have a glass of wine with me and relax. It would definitely aid my ankle’s recovery.”
Jordan paused, then tilted her head. “I don’t normally drink on the job. But I’ll have a glass with you. Just keep it a secret, okay?”
Abby mimed zipping up her lips and throwing away the key.
“Sit down and wait there.”
She gave Jordan a salute. “Yes, Ma’am.”
When Jordan reappeared, she was carrying two glasses of white. “How’s your ankle?”
Abby rotated it right, then left. “Feels much better.”
Jordan put down the drinks, before moving a chair and placing Abby’s foot on it. “Keep it elevated. That should ta
ke the swelling down.” She frowned. “Should I get you some ice?”
Abby shook her head, taking her foot off the chair. “I know that’s what I should do, but you know what I really want to do?” She had no idea where this daring was coming from.
Jordan stilled. “You’ve already got me drinking.”
Abby hesitated. Her pulse raced. “How about we take those drinks into the hot tub? Seems a shame to waste such a gorgeous warm evening sitting here when the view’s just as good down there.” Abby assessed Jordan’s face. Getting semi-naked in water again with Jordan was a risk.
She knew that.
And yet, she couldn’t seem to stop herself suggesting it.
“If you don’t, I won’t write you such a glowing review for your website.”
Jordan flicked her gaze to Abby’s face, a ghost of a smile crossing her own. “We can’t have that, can we?”
Ten minutes later, Jordan held out a hand and Abby stepped into the hot tub, treading carefully to avoid more injuries to her body. She still wasn’t sure about her heart.
Jordan was wearing a one-piece black number, a far cry from her red bikini of earlier. She still managed to look stunning, though, causing Abby’s throat to thicken with want.
She was trying to get her mind back in the game as Jordan passed her wine, which she’d decanted into plastic glasses for the tub. She really did think of everything. Abby leaned over and pressed a large white button. In seconds, the water began to bubble all around them.
“Eight days until the big day.” Jordan sipped her wine, before resting the glass on the lip of the tub. “You think this is going to be you and Marcus on your honeymoon in the Maldives?”
Abby nodded, ignoring the sinking feeling in her stomach. She focused on the gentle stream of bubbles currently massaging the small of her back instead. “I guess so.”
“I’ve always fancied going to the Maldives, but it’s very much a honeymooner destination. I have a friend who went on her own but she said it was tricky travelling solo and being surrounded by couples. She had to invent a husband with food poisoning to ward off couples inviting her to their tables.” Jordan turned up her smile. “But you’ll pass the honeymooner test first time. Handsome man plus gorgeous woman.”
Abby’s stomach flipped. Jordan thought she was a gorgeous woman? “Thanks, I think.”
She recalled a conversation she and Marcus had recently about names for their first-born. Marcus had wanted what Gloria would refer to as “up yourself” names. Abby hadn’t wanted to argue, but she knew once they were married, they’d have to work this stuff out. But would they? Would she end up with children called Penelope and Jasper, rather than Harper and Luke? She couldn’t imagine it. But maybe it all started by having a honeymoon somewhere she didn’t want to go in the first place.
Small decisions with big implications.
“You don’t look very happy about going on honeymoon, if you don’t mind me saying.”
Abby reached for her wine before replying. “I am, it’s just the Maldives isn’t where I wanted to go. I suggested Paris, but Marcus and Marjorie both said that wasn’t grand enough. The Maldives is where everyone goes, like you said. But it’s also far away and requires a plane. The less air travel I have to do, the better for my nerves and my life.”
“Have you told Marcus how you feel?” Jordan frowned as she spoke.
Abby nodded. “I did, but he didn’t listen. He’s excited, and thinks this is what all women want. The funny thing is, he always told me he fell in love with me because I wasn’t like any other girl he’d been out with. But as soon as I agreed to marry him, all of that flew out the window. Now he’s doing everything by the book: wedding venue, cake, massive hens and stags. He’s got caught up in the whole thing, and it’s not what I ever imagined. When I think about the ceremony, which I have a lot over the past few months, I guess I would have liked something in St Albans, where my parents are. Or perhaps in Scotland, where it all started. Maybe even in a castle on a loch.”
“But it’s actually happening in a manor house in Surrey.”
Abby’s shoulder slumped. “It is. Ceremony in the nearby church where Marcus’s family go. Then back to the manor house for the reception. All because of Marjorie and Marcus joining forces and being persuasive.”
Jordan’s gaze was intense as she stared at Abby. “You never had a box under your bed where you kept clippings of the dress you wanted, and all of that?”
Abby’s stomach flexed. “Fuck, no. For one, my mother would have thrown it out, demanding I have bigger ambitions than getting married.”
Jordan’s deep, joyous laugh split the warm evening air.
“Have I told you I love your mum?”
“Most people do.” Abby was grateful to have her, too. “She’s walking me down the aisle, did I tell you that? My biological dad’s not interested. I asked Martin as I call him Dad, but he said Mum brought me up for six years before they met, so it should be her. But no, I never dreamed of a big wedding. It’s not really me. Yet, here I am having one.” All the while, she was sitting in a hot tub with a woman she was growing increasingly attracted to. Abby swallowed down, glancing up to the night sky, now a midnight blue. There weren’t many stars visible. When she glanced back at Jordan, however, her eyes were sparkling in the evening air like diamonds.
“It seems like I’ve forgotten a lot in my life. The wedding I wanted. The job I wanted.” Abby breathed out. “Once you start down a track like project management, it’s not easy to change to something else. You get sucked into the culture, the money, the people. And the longer you stay on the track, the harder it is to get out. I always wanted to do something that gave back. I thought project management was helping people, sort of. But now I remember it wasn’t my dream. Am I selling out on both counts?” When she said it out loud, she was pretty sure she was.
Jordan shook her head. “Of course not. You can change your job if you want to. For your wedding, you fell in love and went along with what your partner wants. Most people do. Although it’s usually the man going along with the woman.”
Jordan moved in the water, her hand coming into contact with Abby’s elevated foot. She shot a look at Abby that kept her in her place, before taking Abby’s ankle in her hands. “This is your bad one, right?”
Abby nodded. Yep. It definitely was. Although Jordan’s touch was making it feel so much better.
“You should elevate it more. If you put it in my lap, you’ll get a good angle.”
“Sure,” she replied.
Jordan’s fingers skated across her skin. Abby closed her eyes, imagining those fingers elsewhere. Drawing lazy circles on the inside of her thigh. Walking slowly up her midriff. Tracing a path from her neck to her earlobe.
Abby leaned her neck backwards as her fantasy played out, before snapping herself back to reality.
Her body jolted as she opened her eyes.
Jordan looked at her for a long moment, and the corners of her mouth flickered into a smile.
Something shifted inside Abby. Something that made her feel more uncomfortable than she already was.
Perhaps this hadn’t been the wisest move. As soon as Jordan touched her, or looked at her in a certain way, Abby’s mind scrambled and she couldn’t think of anything else.
Nothing but Jordan’s hands on her. Then her tongue on her. Then back to Abby’s dream, when she was inside Jordan.
She shifted on the hot tub seat, then looked away. She reached for her drink and took a large gulp. What she’d give to be a little more drunk now. Perhaps it would take the edge off her feelings.
The bubbles stopped. Quiet descended. As silence serenaded them, desire and panic crept up Abby’s spine like a slow, rising tide.
She searched her mind for something to say. Something that wasn’t incriminating.
“I like the feel of your hands on me.” Oh fuck. It wasn’t that.
All of Abby’s normal rules had flown out the window since she met Jordan.
Abby was desperate to get them back on an even keel. But it wasn’t easy while Jordan was still holding her foot. “So tell me, how many times have you seen the ‘get the bride to kiss a load of men’ game played out?”
“A few times before.” Jordan’s voice was like honey. She ran her tongue along her bottom lip.
Abby’s stare followed it, then flicked her gaze to Jordan’s.
Boom! Desire hit her full in the gut.
“But I’ve never squirmed so much while I was watching the bride. Because you’re not just any bride-to-be. Or any woman. Marcus was right on that count. You’re special, Abby.” Jordan looked away. “And I shouldn’t be saying any of this, so I’m going to shut up now.” She shook her head. “Ignore me,” she said quietly, almost as an afterthought.
Jordan had just called her special. Did that mean she liked her, too? And if it did, what then?
“Would it help to know that I hated the idea of kissing anybody else while you were in the room?”
Jordan stilled, before looking up. “You did?”
Abby’s heartbeat quickened as Jordan edged warily across the hot tub seat, closer to her.
The calm water kissed Jordan’s pert cleavage as she moved.
Abby sucked in a breath and dragged her gaze away. How she longed to be that water.
“It felt wrong. Like I was cheating. On you.” She dropped her head, as her heartbeat roared in her ears.
What the hell was she saying? Why were these words dropping from her lips?
But with Jordan sitting beside her, fixing her in place with her eyes, she couldn’t do anything else. It was like she’d been overtaken. As if Jordan had slipped some truth serum into her wine.
Now, sitting with the warm Cannes air caressing her skin, the words ballooned in front of her, floating on the water’s surface like giant imaginary inflatables. Abby wanted to sit on them, wrestle them under the water. Submerge them. But inflatables and words uttered in the heat of the moment didn’t work like that, did they? Rather, they wouldn’t be silenced. If you tried to get rid of them, they’d only pop back up and hit you in the head.