But, bracing myself, I try to push away. Whatever El said earlier, whatever I’ve been thinking, I’m not ready for this.
‘Where are you going? Just relax.’ Pressing a tender kiss to my forehead, he loosens his grip a little and sways to the music. The band have just broken into an acoustic rendition of John Mayer’s version of ‘Free Fallin’’, the singer’s voice smooth and melodic. I can’t help it, my hands uncurl on Jake’s shoulders, and I lean into him. Letting him lead, holding me tight.
‘My dad used to do this when I was little,’ I whisper, ‘before Mum left. At weddings, parties, and stuff.’ Pausing, I gulp. ‘We never really danced after that. Once she was gone, I guess he didn’t feel like dancing.’
Jake says nothing, just pulls me closer, and I lay my head against his heart. The picturesque lake beside us is tranquil despite the noise of the wedding, and the mountains circling it stand shoulder to shoulder as if protecting us from the outside world. Above us, the sky stretches upwards and outwards for ever, a deep velvet navy with pinpricks of light from a glittery scattering of stars. It’s beautiful, idyllic, and reminds me of the wonderland under my bed from all those years ago, the one I stuck day-glow stars on to keep me company and let me live in another place, just for a bit. The creation did the same for Jake. It also reminds me of the starry sky that night above Durdle Door when I saved the life of the boy who’s turned into the man holding me. Could a shared history as friends, I wonder blearily, fuzzy with alcohol, turn into a joint future as something more?
As the tension leaves my body, ebbing away like a low tide, I sigh, and start to notice that as well as a sense of peace, I also feel aware and on edge. Energised. Just as I’m starting to think too much about it, along with the way Jake’s hands feel resting on my hips, the song reaches its peak and he spins me around, finishing by dipping me backward, low over his arm. My back’s arched in a curve with my pale hair streaming down towards the grass, and if he let me go now, I’d be in trouble – or at least, lying in an undignified heap. Staring down at me, his eyes soft, he strokes my cheek with his forefinger, drawing an invisible line down it. The touch makes my skin feel scorched. We’re so close. I feel safe and, at the same time, like I’m in danger.
‘Leila,’ he whispers.
I can see from his gaze that Eloise is right; he wants something more. We’re having a moment. I can’t deny it, but I’m breathless and confused. As he rights us again, I step backwards off his feet deliberately, placing a hand on his chest to create some space between us. His shirt is crisp under my fingers and he smells amazing. But this is Jake. Jake. I shake it off, too afraid to make the leap. If I mess this up, it will be another person who leaves me. I can’t risk losing his friendship. I won’t.
‘No, Jake. It’s just the drink and the atmosphere. It’s a wedding. You’re the best man, and you’re supposed to pull a bridesmaid.’
‘It’s not that.’ He shakes his head. ‘It’s more, and you know it.’
‘No. I—’ Overhead, a purple firework blooms in the sky with a bang and a sizzle, cutting off my words. I gaze upwards. Boom, boom, boom. In quick succession, the fireworks launch and explode, lighting up the celebrations. When there’s a brief pause between them, I glance at Jake to find him watching my face rather than the dazzling display.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I just need things to be … as they are. I’m not … I mean, I can’t …’ I bite my lip. ‘Shit! I can’t deal with change right now.’
Hands moving to grasp my elbows, he steps closer. ‘Leila,’ he whispers urgently, his warm breath fanning my face as fireworks start whizzing overhead again, ‘the only constant in life is change. You can’t control it. Nothing is ever certain. Nothing. And it’s only what we do when we’re faced with that fact that makes us who we are.’
His beautiful impassioned words get to me. But I’m resentful, scared. Even despite the amazing experience we had in the mountains this morning, when the peace touched me at my core. Fire spits out to cover my vulnerability. ‘Maybe I don’t share your optimistic view of the world, or believe in happy ever afters. You know me, how floaty and unreliable I am.’ I break my arms free, knowing the alcohol is clouding my judgement and unleashing a torrent of emotion. ‘Perhaps I’m meant to be alone,’ I cry.
He stares at me, struck by my aggressive defence. ‘I don’t know what to say to you any more, Jones.’ Stepping backwards, he shakes his head, looking defeated and leaving me cold. ‘I need another drink.’
‘Yes, that’s it,’ I lash out at how easily he’s been pushed away. ‘Hit the bottle like your dad. That’ll help.’
He flinches. ‘Not cool, Jones. Not cool at all.’ His censure is almost more than I can bear, and I feel horrible. ‘Unlike him, I can handle my drink,’ Jake remarks. ‘Can you?’
Shame burns through me as he strides away. I stand, barefoot in the crisp green grass, arms wrapped around myself, watching as he goes.
***
It’s past midnight when I stumble up the concrete stairs to the main entrance of the hotel. After my blow-out with Jake, I found my friends, determined to shake off his words and have fun. We danced and drank some more, Jonny laughingly swinging me around to a Dirty Dancing song, and all the bridesmaids linked in a circle around Chloe, then pumping our fists to a Beyoncé tune after the swing-band had finished and the DJ came on. The bride forgot to throw her bouquet until the end of the night, and then tossed it from the arbour in an alcoholic haze. We all jumped to catch it but she miscalculated and it sailed over our heads, into the lake.
‘Noooo!’ Chloe cried, almost bursting into tears at the loss of such lovely flowers.
Owen came running over, comforting her with hugs and kisses, telling her it didn’t matter. When he saw her distraught drunken face, he rolled up his trousers and waded into the water to retrieve it, much to everyone’s entertainment. I caught sight of Jake watching, a smile on his face, ready to get in and help if required. He didn’t turn my way once.
‘My hero.’ Chloe threw her arms around her new husband as he triumphantly brought the flowers back to her.
‘My princess.’ He kissed her nose as she put them down on the concrete floor, promptly forgetting about them when the DJ started playing Avicii.
Blowing out a breath as I arrive on the terrace, I pause to take in the moon over the lake one last time. It’s been a brilliant day and I’m so lucky Jake was able to bring me here, no matter what’s happened between us tonight.
‘Is your carriage about to turn back into a pumpkin?’ he asks, stepping out of the shadows.
‘Oh!’ I jump. ‘Jake. I thought you went up to bed a while ago.’
‘I wasn’t ready for the night to be over yet.’
Approaching him, I touch his arm. His skin is warm, sleeves still rolled up in the heat, and his jacket thrown over the balustrade. ‘I’m sorry about earlier.’ I force myself to look into his eyes. ‘I shouldn’t have said that about your dad. Are you okay?’
‘I’m tired of talking.’ Wrapping an around my waist, he brings me in close, gaze on my mouth. I can feel the heat of his hard body burning through my thin dress. ‘Come on, Leila Jones, make my day.’
‘Only your day?’ I can barely get the words out.
‘My week, my month, my year,’ he says gravely.
Lust pulses through me, and my lips move nearer to his.
‘You’ll have to kiss me this time.’ His breath is warm on my mouth and does funny things to my stomach. ‘I’m not making that mistake again. Go on, do it. I dare you.’ There’s a gleam in his eyes.
I plant both hands on his chest, all my insecurities and fears rising up between us. ‘It’s just a game? Because I rejected you that time?’ Breaking free, I back away from him. ‘You’re obviously only trying it on because you’ve had too much to drink. I’m the girl you came with and you’re single. Or is it the bridesmaid thing after all? Quick, Shell might still be down there.’ I point to the lawn, where fairy lights are still twinkling, an
d music is pounding.
His mouth drops open, and I don’t think he’s faking the astonishment on his face. ‘How can you say that?’ His tone is one of disbelief. ‘For over twelve years, I’ve been— Oh, forget it. I’m done.’ Storming from the terrace, he slams through the glass doors and is gone in an instant.
I stand staring after him, a leaden feeling in my chest, knowing I’ve pushed him too far. I also know I was right: the risk of losing his friendship is too great. Because if this is how awful I feel watching him walk away from me when we’ve not even kissed properly, imagine how devastated I’d be watching him walk away if we were a couple.
***
At breakfast the following morning everyone is rowdy, high on talk of the wedding before Owen and Chloe depart for their honeymoon in Nice. In contrast I’m subdued, staring down at the food, which feels like hamster-cage bedding in my mouth.
I was hoping Jake would ask me to drive back to England with him so we could talk and make sense of what happened last night – God, we were both so drunk – but when I asked after him at reception a few minutes ago, the petite French woman said he checked out early this morning. Racing to the car park, I was deflated to see the BMW gone.
‘Are you okay?’ Chloe stops by our table, wearing tight jeans and a vest top with The New Mrs Plaitford emblazoned in diamanté. ‘You look a bit pale. Well, paler than usual.’
Forcing a smile, I nod. ‘Yeah, all good. Shell and I are heading off to the airport after lunch.’ The fog’s cleared, so the return flights we originally booked are taking off this afternoon. ‘Yesterday was such an amazing day. I can’t wait to see the professional photographs. I was having such a good time I didn’t take any.’ For me, that’s when you really know an event has been good, when you’re so caught up with it, in living it, you forget to take your phone out and post all over social media. I know Jake would say the same. It bothers me I know that about him, how these thoughts slip into my mind so readily.
‘Me too. We’ll see you guys when we get back. I’m hoping we’ll have the photographer’s photos by then. Are you coming out front to see us off?’
‘Absolutely.’ Shell and I stand, while Eloise stays sitting down, cradling her head in her hands, badly hung over. Jonny’s rubbing her back and she keeps snapping at him to get off her. ‘Come on, El.’
Groaning, she gets to her feet, swaying. ‘Why did I drink so much?’
‘Because you were at our wedding,’ Chloe says with glee, squeezing Owen’s hand.
Owen just smiles, his gaze resting on my face. I wonder if he knows what happened between me and Jake, and I wince. Does he blame me for driving his best man away? Or maybe that’s egotistical of me. Jake said he was planning to drive the whole way back in one go, so perhaps it was always his plan to leave early. Still, he’d mentioned leaving tomorrow, not today.
‘Come on, ladies,’ Chloe prompts as Amanda walks over to us. ‘Time to say goodbye.’
***
The day after we get back from the wedding, I go to Jake’s door and press on the bell with insistent buzzes. He doesn’t answer. The hire car isn’t there, and his mum doesn’t seem to be either. I return later that evening and try again with no success.
Texting him, I get no reply.
It feels weird returning to real life – the wedding and everything that happened in Annecy feels like a faded dream. But I go into the spare room and start a painting of the chateau by the lake in bold acrylics, and when I close my eyes the scene is vivid behind my lids: the rolling manicured gardens with perfectly trimmed trees, the sparkling lake, the gorgeous hotel next to the shoreline.
Alongside that, I begin a sketch of the mountains where we stopped along the way, wishing I had the picture of Jake and me together at the viewing point. But it’s on his phone, not mine.
The following morning, I wander up his front path and shove an envelope through the letterbox. It contains a wodge of bank notes for fuel, and a post-it.
Thanks for taking me. I had fun, even if you no longer feel the same. Jones x
I’m on proverbial tenterhooks for the next few days, expecting him to text or call me, or knock on the door for a chat. Something. Anything. I have a weird anxious feeling in my stomach that won’t go away, like an itch begging to be scratched, and I can’t stop thinking about Jake. Lying in bed at night trying to read, failing with every turn of the page, I wear his jumper, which no longer smells of him.
My mind keeps picking through memories of us together, even when I don’t want it to. I’ll be musing over a completely different subject – hoping Chloe and Owen are having an amazing honeymoon, wondering what time Dad will be home for dinner, playing with Fleur – and I’ll suddenly realise I’ve slipped back into thinking about Jake again.
About how handsome he looked in his suit, and how he made me feel when we danced barefoot on the grass together beside the lake, the way my head spun when he dipped me over beneath all the stars. The look on his face when I pushed him away, scared of losing him if things didn’t work out.
Despite being away at sea all those years, he’s always come back to me. Always. Is he going to this time?
I have the sickest feeling that I’ve made a huge mistake.
Then I catch sight of a photo on Facebook that someone posts of us at the wedding, dancing together on the jade-green grass, my small bare feet planted on his shoes, his arms holding me tight. His face is full of joy and my grey eyes are soft as I gaze up at him.
The sick feeling surges through me again, stronger this time. I run to the window and push aside the curtain, craning my head to stare down the street at his house. But his car still isn’t there. I go to bed with a sense of gnawing frustration and unease.
The next evening, when I get in from a hot, sticky day at the gallery, I pick up a heap of letters Dad’s stacked on the bookcase. One of them is the envelope full of money, and with it there’s a handwritten note.
Thanks, but no thanks. And this is for you. J
Inside is a charm for my bracelet, a heart in the design of the French tricolour flag to honour our trip together. I’m touched. Then fear trickles into my veins as I notice the lack of kisses on the note, and the curtness of his words. Shivers run along my skin as I recall his words that night at the wedding, I’m done. Is the charm a parting gift?
The thought makes me gasp. It terrifies me so much logic flies out the window and emotion takes over. Without pausing to rationalise, I race out of the house and down the garden path, then along the short bit of pavement separating our homes.
I bang on his front door, and when he opens it, surprise fills his face. Before he can say anything, I jump up into his arms and wrap my legs around his waist. Grabbing his face between my hands, I give him the hot passionate kiss he’s been waiting for.
As scared as I am of losing his friendship, and as fearful as I am of things not working out, I have to take the chance. I can’t let him slip away without trying. Without knowing.
I kiss him deeply, revelling in his touch, and realise that nothing has ever felt so right.
Jake
June 2014
The Painter’s Palette Charm
When Leila shows up at his door and leaps into his arms, Jake is shocked. But he soon loses himself in her touch. In the feel of her soft lips against his mouth, demanding his total attention as her tongue seeks his. In the weight of her slight body as she curls herself around him, like she can’t get close enough. The scent of strawberries fills his nose as the waterfall of her hair swings around their faces. His stomach dips when her thighs tighten around his hips, her fingers curling into his thick dark hair to bring him nearer, consuming him. Her pert breasts are mashed against his chest and he can barely breathe. Not because she’s crushing his lungs, but because he’s been waiting so long for this, too long. It’s overwhelming. Years of waiting, and the moment is finally here. This is it. He’s kissing her, kissing Leila.
Adrenaline surges through him as their kiss deepens. Ste
pping backwards, he kicks the front door shut behind her, sinking down onto the bottom step of the stairs, shifting her legs so she’s straddling him. His eyes slide closed. For a while he loses himself in her again, in the heat of her body and the way she moans when he bites her bottom lip. Wrapping his arms tighter around her, his hands sweep down her back to curl over her narrow hips. When she moans again, he tears his mouth away, breathing heavily.
She stares down at him, moving her hands to cup his jaw, stroking his stubble. Her mouth is a deep, dark red, cheeks flushed, eyelids heavy. She traces the scar above his lip with a tender finger. ‘This is so sexy.’
There’s another funny dip in his stomach at her words. His whole life feeling self-conscious about his scar, of trying to ignore people staring at it, and she likes it. A tiny bit of the weight he’s always carried on his shoulders slips away.
She frowns when he doesn’t say anything. ‘Why are you stopping?’ she whispers. ‘Isn’t this what you want? I thought—’
‘Don’t!’ He tightens his grip as she tries to move away. ‘Of course it is,’ he rushes on. ‘You must know by now …’ He gulps as she shifts on his lap and brushes against him. ‘I want this. I want you. But what do you want? Why are you here, Jones, and doing this? Are you just feeling bad about how we left things?’ He keeps his arms around her to show how much he wants her here, with him.
Her grey eyes meet his. They’re clear and honest. ‘I do feel bad about how we left things,’ she says slowly, ‘and I’m sorry about the night of the wedding. I’m also sorry that you left without saying anything the next morning.’ When he goes to reply she places a finger against his lips to quieten him. ‘I’m sorry if I upset you,’ she says in a soft voice. ‘Your friendship means a lot to me.’
The Last Charm: The most page-turning and emotional summer romance fiction of 2020! Page 24