by Trish Morey
Nan sniffed, looking somewhat consoled by the thought. ‘I hope you’re right, Sophie.’
‘All done,’ called the photographer. ‘Thank you, everyone, I won’t keep you from the celebrations any longer.’ The women all sighed with relief at the change of subject as a smiling Dan and Lucy joined them.
‘Time to party?’ Dan said, his arm around Lucy. ‘I think my new bride needs a whirl around the dance floor.’
‘We all do,’ said Beth. ‘Come on, sisters of mine, we better go circulate.’
‘You two go ahead,’ said Sophie, busy scanning the crowd.
Hannah scowled at her. ‘You’re not going off to sulk because that bozo Jason stood you up?’
‘What?’ said Dan and Lucy together.
‘Forget it,’ said Sophie, wanting to stick pins in an effigy of her eldest sister.
Not that Hannah could forget it, of course. ‘Jason dumped her last night, the night before the wedding, can you believe it? Which explains why Sophie’s been self-medicating on bubbles since eight this morning. It’s a wonder she made it down the aisle.’
Sophie rolled her eyes. ‘Thanks for that, Han. Appreciate it. Not!’
‘It’s no more than the truth.’
‘Told you,’ said Beth. ‘Can’t help herself. Bossy to her bootstraps.’
‘Give me a break,’ said Hannah. ‘Somebody has to keep you all in line.’
‘Not me,’ said Sophie, ‘I’m out of here. I’m going to go enjoy this wedding.’ And she set off to check out the guests.
Half an hour later, Sophie was feeling far less hopeful. The speeches had been done and the cake had been cut, and from what she’d managed to scope of the guests, there weren’t that many eligible men, after all. A few orchardists and sons, and friends of orchardists. A guy from the garage where Dan got his vehicles serviced. A couple of his old schoolmates, most of whom seemed to have come complete with a woman on their arm.
Sophie looked disconsolately down at the near-empty champagne flute in her hands, annoyed by the way the few available single men had been hoovered up while she’d been busy with the photos. Her hopes of finding a companion for the night were fading by the minute, the heady glow of champagne disappearing with it. If she was going to spend the night by herself, what was she worried about? There was no point being sober. She looked over at the bar.
Hello …
Her eyes narrowed, and she had to squint a little to focus. He looked youngish, but he was kind of cute, with one of those haircuts where the sides were all shaved, leaving a flop of hair over his brow. Adorable really. And if he was serving alcohol, he couldn’t be that young. Nothing in her hastily configured plans to find company for the night said it had to be a guest she invited back to her luxurious hotel room. There was no harm in checking out all the possibilities …
She gathered up her long skirt in one hand in a way she knew would pull the silk closer and emphasise the sway of her hips as she walked, and sashayed over to the bar. The barman was drying a glass with a tea towel when he looked up and saw her coming. She watched as he took in her smile and her wiggle and all points in between, and she liked it when the hands on the glass stopped rotating.
She leaned one hip up against the bar. ‘Hi,’ she said, trying not to stare at the zit on his chin or the jut of his Adam’s apple, which she hadn’t noticed from further away. After all, who was she to judge? Even she still got the odd zit and besides, it wasn’t like she could afford to be too choosy.
‘Um, hi.’
‘So,’ she said. ‘I have this problem.’
He looked perplexed. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s this glass.’ She held out her flute. ‘It seems to have a hole in it.’
He blinked so hard at her, Sophie could just about see the cogs turning slowly behind his eyes, before he suddenly swung into action. ‘Oh, I can fix that,’ he said, pulling a bottle of sparkling wine from the ice bucket to fill a new glass for her.
She took a sip of the cool bubbly liquor and gave a blissful sigh. ‘I do love a man who can solve my problems.’ And she could swear he was blushing. Totally adorable!
‘So tell me,’ she said, licking her lips before pausing as she regarded him coyly over her glass. ‘Do you have a girlfriend?’
‘Um. No.’ Then he seemed to have thought better of it, because he added, ‘At least, not at the moment.’
‘Wow. That’s nuts, a good-looking guy like you.’ She would have cringed at her cheesy words, but bar boy was grinning and lapping it up and she thought, what the hell? ‘Funny, though, because I don’t have a boyfriend.’
‘No way!’
She shrugged, liking the way the conversation was developing. ‘Well, I did,’ she said, preparing to embellish the truth in the interests of strengthening her case. ‘But I found out he was two-timing me with one of my best friends and so I dumped him.’
Bar boy had all but forgotten about the glasses he was supposed to be drying. ‘He wasn’t good enough for you.’
She gave a wistful sigh. ‘I know. But now I’m all alone.’ She looked longingly towards the dance floor as couples leaned close and bodies swayed. ‘I don’t suppose you dance.’
He looked torn. ‘Um, I can’t. I mean, I can, but I’m working.’
She winked as she took another sip. ‘Maybe later, then?’
His eyes skated over her like he couldn’t believe what was on offer, while his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down disconcertingly, and for a second she started having second thoughts. But only for a second, until he said, ‘Maybe,’ and half sounded like he meant it.
She laughed as she held up her glass and he topped up her wine.
Game on!
‘Hey, Sophie.’
She swung her head around, her smile wide until she saw it was the best man who was coming and said, ‘Oh, it’s you,’ and swung it right back around to the barman again. Except the barman was looking right at Nick.
‘Can I get you a drink?’ he asked.
‘Sparkling water, thanks.’
The barman pulled a bottle from the bucket at his side and poured the last inch in the bottle into a glass, before diving around in the ice and coming up blank. ‘I’ll just grab another bottle. Be right back,’ he said, before heading over to where the spare drinks had been stashed by the shed.
Sophie pouted, crossing her arms. ‘You didn’t have to send him away.’
‘What’s your problem? Don’t tell me you fancy him.’
‘And what’s it to you if I do?’
‘Come on, Sophie, he’s about twelve years old.’
‘He can’t be, not if he’s serving at the bar.’
‘Great. So he’s eighteen. I didn’t figure you for a cradle snatcher.’
‘Go away, Nick.’
‘I’m waiting for my drink.’
‘You’re cramping my style.’
‘Your style is barely out of short pants.’
She pushed herself off the bar and lifted her chin as she raised herself to her full height, a technique Sophie found made her pretty formidable when your opposition was three feet tall, like the kids she was used to dealing with at primary school. ‘I don’t recall asking for your opinion.’
Nick didn’t look half as intimidated as the kids did. Damn. ‘Nope, that’s because this is your lucky day and I’m offering it for free—just because your boyfriend dumped you is no reason to go pick up any Tom, Dick or Harry. You might at least find yourself someone old enough to shave.’
She gave up on trying to outsize him and glared at him instead. ‘Who told you I was dumped?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘God, is nothing sacred?’
‘Sorry to keep you waiting,’ said the bar boy, hurrying back and looking suspiciously from one to the other as he approached.
‘Not a problem—um, sorry,’ Nick said, squinting at the barman’s name badge. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Zephyr,’ he said, screwing off the cap and topping up the glas
s.
Nick glanced sideways at Sophie, his brows heading north. ‘Thanks for that, um, Zephyr,’ he said, as he was handed the glass, and with one deft movement, he’d plucked the glass of champagne from Sophie’s hand and substituted it with the glass of sparkling water.
‘Hey! What do you think you’re doing?’
‘Saving you from a bigger headache tomorrow than you’re already going to have.’ He poured what was left of her glass out on the lawn. ‘Don’t you think you’ve had enough?’
‘What are you, my mother?’ She looked over his shoulder, her eyes narrowing when she saw Dan watching them, and put two and two together. ‘Oh, I get it. Dan set you onto me.’
He shrugged. ‘What if he did?’
‘Thanks, Nick.’ She plonked the water down on the table. ‘It’s sweet of you, really it is, but I don’t need a babysitter.’ She turned back to the bartender. ‘Ignore my friend here, Zephyr. I’ll have another glass of bubbles, thanks.’
Nick raised one hand and stopped the kid in his tracks, but it was to Sophie he directed his next words. ‘So maybe you should stop acting like a baby.’
‘What? How dare you?’
‘Come on,’ he said, grabbing her by the hand and pulling her towards the dance floor as Elvis started crooning. ‘They’re playing our song.’
‘We don’t have a song.’
‘We do now.’
‘Nick!’
But it was useless fighting because Nick wasn’t about to let her go.
Nick Pasquale was all kinds of stupid. If he thought ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’ was their song, he was in cloud-cuckoo land. And if he thought she was going to let herself be babysat all night just because her brother had asked him, he could think again.
But he had a vice-like grip on her hand and a steely determination about his jaw as he towed her towards the dance floor that told her he was deadly serious and there was no way she was getting out of this without making some kind of scene. And oh, wouldn’t he just love her to try that!
She refused to give him the satisfaction. Instead, she’d pretend to scamper quietly behind him and play along with this dance thing, let him think she was acquiescing, and then after a song or two, he’d relax and she’d blow him off.
Easy. Just as soon as this song was done.
Their song. What a joke. Definitely all kinds of stupid. Not to mention boorish, arrogant and completely out of line. What was it with big brothers and their friends?
He eased up his grip on her hand when he found a space on the dance floor and turned her towards him, but the hand he placed in the small of her back more than made up for any sense of impending freedom. She might as well be his prisoner. She looked over his shoulder so she didn’t have to look at him, saw the smiles on the other couples swaying to Elvis, and felt the resentment building inside. Everyone else looked happy. Nobody else looked like they were having their evening railroaded by a friend of a big brother with an overblown sense of responsibility.
‘So, how long have you been a member?’ she asked, because he was coaxing her to move to the music and she really wasn’t enjoying listening to a love song when tonight was turning into a complete shambles.
‘Member of what?’
His voice sounded gruff, like he was grinding the words through that set jaw, and she especially didn’t like the way she could almost feel the vibration of his voice through his grip. It was no fun being this close to someone who was behaving like such an arse.
‘The fun police. You know—determined to root out and put an end to fun wherever it manifests itself.’
‘Aren’t you having fun?’
‘Sure, you nailed it. I’m having the time of my life.’
‘There you go,’ he said, ‘that makes two of us.’
She sniffed, and immediately wished she hadn’t. He was wearing some spicy aftershave that didn’t smell anything like the Lynx the Year Six/Seven boys laid on thick to impress the girls at school. This was spicier, maybe with a touch of sandalwood, and something else, something that was more difficult to pin down.
She didn’t like that she couldn’t pin it down. She didn’t like that she liked it. Most of all, she didn’t like that he hadn’t stepped on her toes once.
Who knew Nick Pasquale would be so light on his feet? Talk about annoying.
Elvis faded away and Sophie saw her chance. ‘Well, thanks, Nick,’ she said, dropping her hand from his shoulder. ‘It’s been a real hoot, but I really have to—’
‘Not so fast,’ he said, lifting her hand back to his shoulder as the instrumental started for the next song, and if she wasn’t mistaken—crap, that’d be right, it was none other than Rod Stewart with ‘Tonight’s the Night’. Once upon a time it had been her mum’s favourite song, and now that she was older and understood the lyrics, Sophie really didn’t want to think too much about why.
‘You don’t have to do this, you know. I’m sure there are plenty of women here tonight you’d rather be dancing with.’
‘Maybe I’d rather dance with you.’
‘Liar,’ she said, but she let him lead her again, swaying to the gravel-over-velvet tones of Rod Stewart seducing his inexperienced lover. She swallowed back against a bubble of disappointment, thinking about the bottle of French champagne she’d ordered, no doubt already chilling in an ice bucket alongside a king-sized bed strewn with rose petals. She’d hoped tonight was the night. After Jason had bailed on their last hook-up—because he’d messaged he’d been too ill with gastro to travel (like hell)—she’d done everything humanly possible to ensure tonight was a night to remember—other than convincing Jason that he cared enough for her to be here by her side, apparently.
She sighed, letting herself lean a little closer to Nick’s shoulder. There was something about his aftershave, some ingredient whose name hovered just out of reach, but if she concentrated hard enough, she was sure it would come to her in a minute or so. Another song and she’d have it, and he’d no doubt be satisfied and they could give up this pretence of wanting to dance together.
But at least it gave her something to think about while she waited for him to have had enough. He was a much better dancer than she’d have ever imagined. He was no Patrick Swayze of course, his moves were more sideways swaying than dirty dancing, but that was okay, too.
At her back he shifted his thumb a fraction and her whole body tingled. A big hand, his long fingers splayed, radiating warmth wherever they made contact. And Sophie was never more aware that just one sheer layer of silk separated them, one sheer layer that shifted with every dance move. A subtle slide of fabric against skin that made her breath catch and her flesh hum. A subtle pressure from his hand that willed her body closer and made her want to give in.
Weird.
This was Nick, her brother’s best man. His best mate, who’d been set on her like a faithful dog. It was laughable.
Though he was single …
No. No. No!
She straightened in his arms, clamping down on that thought quick smart. Maybe she really was drunk, because this was Nick. He didn’t want to be here, dancing like this, holding her like this. He was doing her overbearing brother a favour, that was all.
And she was so not going to make a fool of herself over someone who would stoop to doing something like that. As soon as this song was over, she was out of here.
The song ended and she shifted further away. ‘So, are we done yet?’ She hated the husky note her voice had suddenly found.
‘On the contrary,’ he said, ‘we’ve only just begun.’
A sense of panic overwhelmed her. ‘Look, Nick, you don’t have to do this.’
‘What if I want to?’
‘Yeah, well, we both know that’s not the truth.’
‘One more dance, okay?’
And only because it wasn’t too unbearable she agreed, and somehow one more dance became two, or maybe six, since she’d lost count, until she heard murmurings from the crowd. ‘What’s going on?’ she
asked, pulling her head from Nick’s shoulder, from where it had no right to be. When had that happened?
‘Dan and Lucy are leaving,’ he said, taking her hand to lead her from the dance floor.
‘What?’ she said, eyes blinking her back into reality. ‘Already?’
‘It’s eleven o’clock, Sophie. Looks like the party’s over. Come and say goodbye.’
Sophie stopped and stood stock still. ‘No!’
‘What? You don’t want to see Dan and Lucy off?’
She shook her head. How could she explain? This couldn’t be happening. ‘Of course I do. It’s just …’ She’d barely begun searching for someone to share the night with before she’d got waylaid by Nick, and now she’d wasted an entire evening, but she could hardly tell him that. ‘It can’t be over yet.’
But Nick was right. The DJ was packing up and they were the only couple left on the dance floor, the remaining guests milling around the newlyweds as they made their way to the waiting car. Even the guy behind the bar had disappeared.
Sophie’s frustration turned to anger. As soon as Dan and Lucy departed, the guests would follow and filter away and she’d be left alone.
The long night stretched out before her. A long night in a rose-petal-strewn bed with champagne laid on and no one to share it with. A long, lonely night without the happy ending she’d been hoping for, bereft of the chance that attending this wedding with her might inspire Jason to take their relationship to a whole new level.
Stupid. So damned stupid.
‘Thanks for that, then,’ she snapped, as she picked up her skirts and swept past Nick, those damned tears she’d been on the verge of all night feeling like a tsunami building behind her eyes. One false move and the tsunami would burst through. Bloody Nick.
‘Not the most gracious thanks I’ve had from a dance partner,’ he said, refusing to take the hint and disappear like she wished he would. ‘Anyone would think I stomped all over your feet.’
No, he’d been a good dancer. Surprisingly good when it all came down to it. So damned good that she’d completely lost track of time.
‘How about we just forget it?’ she said.