wrong with yours?’
He turned to look at the maid of honour sitting next to him at the top table. Ridiculous seating plan. He’d never been sat next to the maid of honour before, not in six other weddings.
‘Nothing,’ she replied sweetly. Too sweetly. ‘It was stupendous … but rather small. That’s why I want yours if you’re not going to do it justice.’
Damien glowered at his plate briefly, as if the ravaged dessert somehow held some of the blame in this situation, and then shoved the plate in her direction, nobly resisting the urge to say anything about overfilled bodices.
‘Knock yourself out.’
‘Thanks.’
She dug in straight away, he noticed. Somehow that irritated him. He focused on a rather ugly pink hat somewhere else in the massive marquee and tried to will the minutes to go faster. Only a short time now and his official duties would be over. Soon he’d be able to slink off and find a good single malt to lubricate his petrified facial muscles. They’d set into a stupefied smile earlier in the day. Right about the time Sara had said, ‘I do.’
Always the best man …
It was starting to sound like a joke to Damien now—and not a very funny one. While he enjoyed helping his friends out in this way, he was beginning to feel like the odd one out. So many of his friends were all settled down and happy now, just as he wanted to be. Damien felt as if he was the unlucky jockey in a horse race, whose starting gate had failed to open while all the other riders were racing away from him. And now his best friend had snapped up the one woman Damien had considered a viable candidate for being Mrs Stone, it was even more disheartening.
‘Mmm. You don’t know what you’re missing,’ Zoe murmured next to him.
Damien braced his aching shoulders to stop them sagging. Unfortunately, he knew exactly what he was losing out on today. How could he not when she was sitting only three places away? He made the mistake of glancing to his right, the opposite direction from the pavlova-devouring machine on his left.
He must have momentarily forgotten the granite smile, because he snagged Sara’s attention for a second. She made the most adorable face, asking him what was wrong by pulling her lips down and creasing her forehead into a little frown.
He shook his head, shrugged one shoulder and resurrected the ghoulish grin he’d been fooling everybody with all day. Blast that Zoe. Her dessert stealing had made him lose focus. Why couldn’t he have been seated next to Sara’s mum? He could have distracted himself from this train wreck of an afternoon by charming her socks off.
Sara noted his changed expression and gave him a soft smile before turning her attention back to her new husband.
Damien wanted to sigh, but his ribs were too tight under his skin to allow his lungs to expand that fully, so he made up for it by huffing out an exasperated little snort through his nose.
‘Calm down, tiger.’ The words were slightly muffled through a layer of whipped cream and raspberry coulis. ‘There’s still a bit left if you’re regretting your generosity.’
He turned to look at Zoe as she nudged the almost empty plate his way. A lump of soggy meringue with a single berry on top was all that remained. Her mouth was pressed together in a knowing little smile and her eyes glittered with unsaid words.
Regretting your generosity to me, they seemed to be saying.
He shook his head, not trusting his tongue to remain civil.
‘Sure?’ she asked, as she began to move her spoon into position to capture the last morsel. ‘I’m sure I could pilfer one for you from somewhere, or sweet-talk one of the waiters …’
‘I’m sure you could,’ Damien replied dryly.
That saucy glint again. Now his suit was three sizes too small instead of two. And all that shrinkage was making him feel hot and jittery.
‘Oh, well,’ she said and popped the now full spoon into her mouth, turning it upside down at the last moment so she could suck every square millimetre of the silver clean. She closed her eyes and murmured her appreciation deep down in her throat.
Damien experienced a quick, hot jolt of something unexpected. Something he didn’t really want to identify. Especially when it was prompted by Zoe St James’s mobile lips sliding along a spoon.
Thankfully, Sara’s father chose that moment to stand up and clink his dessert fork against his glass. All heads turned towards the top table and Damien instantly sat up straighter and put his game face back on.
In fact, he was so busy making sure he wasn’t giving off any unwanted non-verbal cues to more than a hundred guests that he didn’t even hear the opening sentences of Colin’s speech. He couldn’t let anything slip. Not a facial twitch, not a glance in the wrong direction. No one must guess that he was anything less than the perfect best man. But all the while the guilt, the frustration, the slow, glowing flicker of rage kept building inside him until he wished he had a giant version of the metal cages that went round champagne corks. If he wasn’t very much mistaken, his head was about to explode from his shoulders, and that wouldn’t do before the toasts were over.
More words. They floated past like yachts in a stiff breeze. Words he’d heard a hundred times before at occasions like this. Until the end of the speech, that was …
‘So …’ Colin Mortimer beamed at his wife and then his daughter ‘… Brenda and I decided we wanted to do something special for our little girl.’ He paused for dramatic effect as his only daughter smiled back up at him. ‘We know you’d planned a simple honeymoon sailing Luke’s pride and joy down the south coast, but we decided we’d like to upgrade you a little …’
Damien sat up straighter. Uh-oh. Luke had planned the perfect honeymoon for himself and Sara, one Damien would have given his right arm to have. A fortnight on Dream Weaver with no one but Sara? It sounded like heaven. Oh, Luke would smile and thank his new father-in-law if he produced tickets for an all-inclusive break in some slick hotel, but his dream holiday would be ruined.
Always the one to take charge, to make sure all the details were ironed out and perfect, Damien started composing a speech in his head, one he’d have with Colin afterwards, to try and help Luke back graciously out of this latest development.
The father of the bride handed Luke a wallet. ‘Two plane tickets to the Virgin Islands—’
Damien began rehearsing that little speech in earnest.
‘—and the use of a luxury yacht for three weeks!’
There was a collective gasp from the guests and then people started to clap and cheer. Damien was frozen. For some reason he couldn’t move. Hell, he couldn’t even think straight.
Sara was hugging her father and Luke was pumping his hand enthusiastically.
No wonder. Luke had dreamed of sailing those turquoise Caribbean waters since he and Damien had both been racing little Laser dinghies together at summer sailing school. However, since Sara had put her foot down about a transatlantic crossing for a honeymoon, Luke had had to settle for West Country cruising instead.
Why hadn’t Damien thought of doing this for them?
