rel="nofollow" href="#u9594b538-5c12-53ce-a328-dcf57938121f">
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘SO, WHO DO YOU HATE? The bride or the groom?’
Elspeth frowned at the sound of the stranger’s voice behind her. She turned to look and realised that she’d noticed this guy earlier. How could she not? Even among the sea of tartan and kilts he stood out. He was taller and broader than most of the other men filling the Royal Botanic Garden in Edinburgh, and his red hair had obviously been dragged into some sort of order at the start of the day but had been progressively rebelling ever since.
With her mouth open to tell him to leave, Elspeth realised that the man was already pulling up a chair to sit beside her, man-spreading with a confidence that showed just how comfortable he was in a skirt.
‘Neither, of course,’ she said, faking a smile, conscious that she was only at this wedding for appearances’ sake, and clearly not doing a good enough job of keeping up the appearance of wedding joy.
‘Then why do you look upset?’ her new friend asked, looking at her astutely.
‘Maybe I just have one of those sad faces.’
She wasn’t sure why she’d answered him, given that it wasn’t actually any of his business. She’d been wearing her best corporate fake smile for the best part of six hours, through the most ironically torturous day of her life. What was it to this guy if she’d let it slip for three minutes while everyone else had eyes on the bride and groom’s first dance.
‘Long story,’ she added with a sigh.
She wondered briefly why she hadn’t just shut the conversation down, as she’d originally intended. Perhaps something about the scene playing out in front of her was making her sappy. Or perhaps it was today’s date—the one she’d inked into her diary with a simple ‘my wedding’. Or the fact that this was the venue that she’d booked for her own nuptials. And the flowers were the ones that she’d chosen, and the food was the exact menu she’d tasted for the first time a little under a year ago.
In fact, the whole day had been the wedding that she’d spent a year planning and then had been faced with dismantling when she had split with her fiancé with just six months to go before their big day.
She remembered coming into the office the morning after they’d called it all off, eyes red and skin tight from lack of sleep, to find her boss, Janet, proudly showing off a diamond ring. And it had seemed that before she knew what was happening her boss was offering to take over all Elspeth’s reservations, saving her from losing the deposits, so that she could have a whirlwind wedding.
She’d turned it into more of a circus than Elspeth had intended, of course, chucking in a hundred extra guests and adding a few zeroes to the budget. But her own wedding had been visible enough to sting throughout the day, like little brushes of nettles against her bare arms everywhere she turned.
She couldn’t make herself regret it, though—the cancellation of her wedding or agreeing to the takeover. It made financial sense. Elspeth couldn’t afford to lose the money, so she’d gone along with it, happily in denial about the whole thing until the invitation had arrived and she’d realised that she was expected to attend.
If she hadn’t needed to impress everyone at the GP practice in order to be offered a permanent role when her training post ended she wouldn’t be here. But she needed financial security, and that meant turning up, smiling, and making sure her boss never saw how much she was hating this.
Turned out she’d been doing such a shoddy job that a complete stranger had already rumbled her.
Elspeth took solace in the fact that on her wedding day Janet was hardly going to be paying her much attention. As long as Elspeth appeared in the photos and was mentioned in the inevitable office chat about the event on Monday morning it would hopefully be enough.
But for now she should really get rid of this man. The last thing her misery needed today was company. She just had to get through watching the first dance, and the cutting of her cake, and then she could go home.
A stiff drink was the answer.
She stood and headed to the bar, wondering whether he would follow her. The sensible part of her—the part of her she usually left in charge—hoped that he wouldn’t. That she could just drown her sorrows in private. But there was something about the mischief in his eyes, something promising trouble, that had her intrigued. That made her want to ignore the part of her brain that had kept her together and her fear at bay for as long as she could remember.
‘So, if you don’t hate either of them, what’s this long story about?’
Elspeth’s stomach swooped at the soft sound of his voice behind her, his presence by her shoulder making her skin tingle in awareness. That answered her question, then. She’d been hoping for more of him.
‘I’m not sure I want talk about it,’ she said, lifting one of the flutes of champagne laid out on trays on the bar and taking a long sip as she turned to him.
He gave her an easy, relaxed smile, grabbing a glass for himself before leaning back against the bar. ‘Well, will you at least let me try and distract you from it?’
Any way he wanted.
Wow, when her mind went there, it really went for it, she realised, as a host of ideas for how they could distract one another flooded her consciousness.
She studied him closely over the rim of her glass. ‘Why would I do that?’
Just because her body was telling her in no uncertain terms what she wanted, that didn’t mean she couldn’t have a little fun with this.
He was still leaning against the bar, the picture of casual insouciance. ‘How about because I’m also here under
