I’d much prefer not to spend the night with my legs wrapped around my head. I’d probably take the floor instead. “Six foot two. So, let’s both sleep in the bed. I’ll build a pillow wall down the middle if it helps
?” I set about pulling the pillows down to the middle of the bed but by the time I finished, Stella hadn’t moved a muscle. There was only one thing for it. I scooped her off the sofa, and before she could ask me what the hell I was doing, I put her down on the bed.
“There. Now sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
“Thanks,” she said in a small voice, and I grinned to myself. She was cute when she was embarrassed. I had no idea why she didn’t think she was marriage material, she outshone everyone in the room tonight. She might not believe it, but she was entirely kissable and almost irresistible. But tonight, between us? The time just wasn’t right. When it was, I would kiss her, and she wouldn’t be thinking of any ex-boyfriends when I did.
She wouldn’t be drunk.
She wouldn’t be sad.
And she wouldn’t ever be sorry.
Sixteen
Stella
Oh. My. God.
Every time I thought back to last night, my stomach dived into my feet and I had to pause whatever I was doing to make sure I wasn’t about to throw up. Why could I have not passed out rather than decide I’d try to kiss Beck? It was as if I wasn’t content with the humiliation of being at my ex-boyfriend’s wedding with a stranger who was pretending to be my boyfriend. I had to bear the additional shame of trying to kiss the most handsome man alive.
I was an idiot.
I wasn’t sure anything was worth spending the rest of the week here. If I’d been sober enough to charge my phone, I was pretty sure I’d have booked a flight out of this cave of mortification by now. It didn’t help that we were all being bused to Matt’s uncle’s castle from the hotel for a day of activities. It might only be a fifteen-minute journey, but the narrow, winding roads mixed with the memories of the evening before were threatening to bring up last night’s dinner. At least I was at the front of the coach—last on, first off. I’d nearly missed it, and I was almost certain that by the end of the day I would wish I had.
The bus pulled up in front of Glundis Castle. Last time I’d been here, Matt and I stayed in the west wing in the Churchill bedroom, named after its most famous occupant. I tried to push away the memories. Things were different now. I couldn’t change it. Every time we’d been away together in the last few years, I’d wondered if Matt would propose. Last summer when we were here, it hadn’t been any different. I pressed my head against the window to take in the turrets on top of the four stories of weathered red brick. The wide, stone steps narrowed toward the entrance and a red carpet had been laid to give everyone the VIP treatment as they entered. Last time I’d been here, I’d been treated as a member of the family. This time, I was one of many guests.
When I got off, I stood in the rare Scottish sunshine, trying to focus on something other than the sloshing in my stomach. “Hey,” Florence said, bounding over to me. “I didn’t see you get on the bus. I wondered if your head was hurting a little too much this morning.”
“Don’t remind me. I was a mess.”
Jo and Bea came up behind us and I opened my arms and pulled them into a four-way hug. My girls. At least today I wouldn’t see much of Beck—hopefully by tonight, by magic, his memory would have been erased and he wouldn’t recall my sad, pathetic humiliation. Today the men and women had been separated and different things planned for each group. Apparently, the boys were shooting. We were probably flower arranging or something. The invitation assured us it would be an enjoyable day. I knew better.
“It’s so good to see you,” Bea said. “I love that I get to hang out with you for an entire week!”
Thank God there was finally an upside of being here. I was beginning to wonder if I should just spend the rest of the week with fake tonsillitis. Or something more contagious that would give me an excuse to check into my own room, where I’d be as far away as possible from Beck Wilde. If only I could just rewind and make myself go right to bed without speaking a word to him.
I was never drinking again. Ever.
“Can you believe this pottery shit?” Jo said as we followed the rest of the party around the back where five long trestle tables were set out with chairs on either side. Free-standing shelving full of plain pots and glazes flanked the tables. “Why can’t we go shooting with the boys?”
If I hadn’t made a complete fool of myself with Beck last night, I would have agreed, but today I was grateful we’d been divided by gender—even if it was sexist bullshit.
“Matt would never agree to pottery painting and Karen wouldn’t go shooting, so I guess it makes sense,” Florence said. “It’s kinda like the hen and stag parties they didn’t have.”
“I know, but I’m desperate to meet Stella’s new man!” Bea said as we took our seats at one end of the table. If I thought I’d have a reprieve from my nausea, I was wrong. Florence was the only one who knew Beck was actually a fake boyfriend. She’d convinced me that the fewer people who knew the truth the better. I hated lying to Bea—she was always so open about her dating life.
“Well, we’ve got another four days so I’m sure you’ll get to see him at some point,” I said, trying my best to give a genuine, newly-in-love smile.
“Speak of the devil,” Florence said as we followed her gaze to see Beck heading toward us.
Oh God. What did he want? I’d faked being asleep when he got up for a run, then dashed into the shower and made it out before he returned. I’d given myself a metaphorical pat on the back—it wasn’t as if we had anything in particular to say to each other. And I needed a few hours for my humiliation to be brought down to a simmer.
Now I was going to have to act like the dutiful girlfriend. “Hey,” he said. “Hi, Florence. Jo.”
“I’m Bea, Stella’s friend from St. Catherine’s.” Bea stood and beamed at Beck.
“I’m delighted to meet you, Bea,” Beck replied as he bent down to kiss her cheek. “I’ve heard so much about you. And I’ve just met James.”