Nice Day For A White Wedding

I feel a pit of dread in my stomach, which I quickly ignore. I know how to deal with difficult people. I’ve dealt with drunken men the size of Alex on my own and never felt afraid. I’m pretty sure his family aren’t going to physically hurt me and I can definitely live with a few nasty words from a few rude, obnoxious people I’ll never see again after this stint.

It’ll be worth it for half The Macau.

We touch down on the runway and after we come to a stop, Gloria appears from the staff area of the plane to open the main cabin door. A set of steps are wheeled over to the plane by an ancient man in gray overalls. I squint out of the window once more before I release my seat belt and stand up.

Alex gallantly stands back and allows me to go first. As we walk down the aisle, Gloria wishes us a pleasant stay. I reach the doorway and stop for a second. The air is mind-blowingly fresh compared to London. I fill my lungs with it. I can see the mansion in the distance and any dread I had dissipates, replaced with a kind of nervous excitement.

Wait till I tell you all about this adventure, Mum.

I really hope Alex is right about his great aunt’s preferences for a wife for him and she likes me. She is the only person he seems to care about keeping happy so I’ll concentrate on being the perfect fiancée to Alex she could ever hope for.

As we walk down the steps the old man in the overalls ignores me and nods reverently at Alex. My feet touch the ground and a delicious cool breeze starts to roll in. I turn back toward Alex and watch it lift strands of his hair and drop them across his forehead. I feel my stomach do a little flip at the sight.

The temperature is similar to the evening air in London which reassures me that I have packed correctly. I gave up trying to work out what exactly the weather would be like, and I just brought a selection of my usual clothes. Thinking of my clothes draws my attention to collecting my suitcase, but when I look in that direction, I see the cargo compartment is already open and the ancient man in the overalls has already begun to unload our luggage.

In front of us there is a long black car waiting. The chauffeur who is actually wearing a peaked cap is waiting by the open passenger door. He nods politely at me.

I have a feeling I’m going to have to get used to being waited on for the duration of this trip. Alex is the sort of guy who has drivers back in London and maybe some other household staff, and if I react like this is all new to me, then his aunt will know instantly that this is all a sham. Alex puts his hand on the small of my back to lead me to the waiting car.

He grins down at me. “Show time, baby.”

The endearment is so foreign I have to laugh. But as soon as the laugh dies away it becomes impossible to concentrate on anything else except his hand on my back. I suddenly wish my dress wasn’t forming a barrier between us. I want to feel his hand on my bare skin. I blink the thought away as we reach the car.

Alex allows me to get in through the car door closest to us and walks around to the other side. I smile my thanks at the chauffeur and slip into my seat. Alex slides in next to me as the driver closes my door. I can feel that dangerous heat from his body. I don’t know whether he feels the pull I’m feeling, but he starts tapping his fingers impatiently on the leather seat, until the driver gets in and we’re heading for the house.

I watch the house through the window and as we get closer, I see how grand and imposing it really is. It reminds me of Buckingham Palace. I am so far out of my depth here I realize with a sense of panic. It’s all good and great saying it’s an adventure, but how the hell can I convince a person who lives in a house like this that I’m good enough for her great-nephew? I’ve watched a program on TV about the complicated dinner table settings of polite society. How simply eating with the wrong cutlery can turn you into the uncivilized outsider. In fact, there are thousands of innocuous things that you can trip up on and out yourself.

“Hey,” Alex says.

He brushes his fingers over mine and his touch does nothing to quell the rolling of my stomach. I blink and look at him.