by Lucy King
‘Because you spent the entire ceremony looking like you wished you were somewhere else.’
Oh. She hadn’t wanted to be anywhere else. She’d wanted Marcus to be somewhere else, preferably on another planet, but she’d thought she’d managed to hide that. Clearly she’d been wrong. ‘I’m surprised you noticed.’
‘Oh, I noticed,’ he murmured, his gaze drifting over her and making her skin feel all hot and tingly and tight. ‘You look beautiful, by the way.’
That was the trouble with him, she thought irritably as she stamped out the heat with every ounce of self-control she had. Just when she felt like slapping him, he went and said something charming. ‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘And you look very handsome,’ she said, because he did and it would be churlish to ignore the fact. More handsome than usual if that were possible.
‘My, my, a compliment,’ he said softly. ‘That’s a first.’
‘Yes, well, don’t get too used to it.’
‘I won’t.’
They advanced another agonisingly slow couple of paces, then stopped, and he said, ‘So you do approve?’
‘Of Dan and Zoe?’
‘Well, I know you don’t approve of me.’
‘I approve wholeheartedly,’ said Celia with a serene smile. ‘Of them.’
‘They’re good for each other.’
She nodded. ‘They are.’
‘And are your parents behaving?’
She narrowed her eyes at her parents, who were accompanying each other down the aisle in stony silence and about as far apart as it was possible to get given the width restriction of the aisle, which was pretty much par for the course. ‘Just about.’
‘And how’s work?’
Insane. ‘Work’s fine.’
‘Then what is there to be so tense about?’
‘Tense?’ she asked, blowing out a slow breath. ‘Who’s tense?’
‘You are. If it isn’t the wedding, it isn’t your parents and it isn’t work, I might be inclined to think it’s me.’
‘Hah. As if.’
Off they set again, and this time, thank heavens, it looked as though the end was in sight because Dan and Zoe had run out of guests to chat to and the great oak door was being opened and Celia could practically taste freedom.
‘Admit it,’ he said softly, his voice so warm and teasing that it did strange things to her stomach, ‘I make you feel tense.’
‘You don’t make me feel anything,’ she said, her pulse drumming with the need to get out of here and away from him.
‘Oh, Celia, you break my heart.’
‘I didn’t know you had one. I thought it was another part of your anatomy entirely that kept you alive.’
‘So cruel.’
‘I dare say you’ll survive.’
‘I dare say I shall.’
And then, thank God, they stepped out into the July sunshine and she felt as if she could suddenly breathe again. She dragged in some air and blinked as her eyes became accustomed to the brightness after an hour in the church, then she took her hand from Marcus’ arm and stepped away.
She didn’t miss the strength of it. Or the heat of him. It was blessed relief that was sweeping through her. Of course it was, because what else could it be when the whole past ten minutes had been a nightmare she never wanted to repeat?
‘Right,’ she said, looking up at him with a bright smile and shading her eyes from the sun. ‘Well. Thank you for that.’
‘Any time.’
‘So I’m going to congratulate the happy couple and mingle.’ And then she was going to find the champagne and down as much of it as she could manage.
‘Good idea.’
‘I guess I’ll see you later.’
‘I guess you will.’
And with the thought that despite the conventional conversational closer hell would probably freeze before either of them sought the other out, Celia gave him a jaunty wave and off she went.
* * *
Marcus watched Celia kiss and hug her brother and new sister-in-law in turn, then laugh at something Dan said, and his eyes narrowed. Ten minutes in her company and already he was wound up like a spring. He wanted to punch something. Wrestle someone. Anything to relieve the tension that she never failed to whip up inside him.
Standing there in the warm summer sunshine while people streamed out of the church, he shoved his hands in his pockets and resisted the urge to grind his teeth because this was supposed to be a happy day and the last thing anyone wanted to see was a grim-faced best man.
But it was hard to relax when all he could think was, how the hell did Celia do it? And why?
Generally he had no trouble getting on with the opposite sex. Generally women fell over themselves for his attention and once they’d got it went out of their way to be charming. But she, well, for some reason she’d had it in for him for years and he’d never really been able to work it out.
On the odd occasion he’d pondered the anomaly, usually after one of their thankfully rare yet surprisingly irritating encounters, he’d figured that it seemed to boil down to the number and frequency of women that flitted in and out of his life, but he didn’t see why that should bother her. The last time he checked it was the twenty-first century, and where he came from men and women could sleep with whomever they liked without censorship.
And so what if he enjoyed the company of women? he thought darkly, watching her peel away to take a phone call. He worked hard and he played hard. He was single and in his prime and he liked sex. He never promised more than he was willing to give and when relationships, flings, one-night stands ended there were never any hard feelings. The women he dated didn’t appear to object, so who could blame him for taking advantage of the opportunities on offer?
Well, Celia could, it seemed, but why did she disapprove of him so much? Why did she care? What he got up to was none of her business. As far as he was aware he’d never hooked up with any of her friends so she couldn’t have a grudge about that. And it certainly wasn’t as if she were jealous. She’d made it very clear she didn’t want to have anything to do with him the night he’d made a pass at her years ago and had been very firmly rebuffed.
So what was her problem? And more to the point, what was his? What was it about her that got under his skin? Why couldn’t he just ignore her the way he ignored everything he didn’t need to be bothered with? Why, with her, did he always feel the urge to respond and retaliate?
Marcus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as the questions rattled round his head, and thought that he could really do with a glass of champagne if he stood any chance of making it through the reception.
‘Is there any particular reason you’re scowling at my sister?’
At the dry voice of the groom and his best friend, who’d evidently managed to drag himself away from his new wife and had stealthily materialised beside him, Marcus pulled himself together.
‘Nope,’ he said, snapping his gaze away from Celia and switching the scowl for his customary couldn’t-give-a-toss-about-anything smile.
‘Sure?’
He nodded and widened his smile because there was no way on earth he was going to let Dan in on the trouble he had with Celia. ‘Quite sure. Congratulations, by the way.’
Dan grinned. ‘Thanks.’
‘Great ceremony.’
‘The best. And thanks for being my best man.’
‘No problem. I’m glad I made it in time.’ He’d bust a gut over the past couple of days to get here—and whatever Celia thought it had had nothing to do with over-clingy lovers—and he might be knackered, but he wouldn’t have had it any other way because he and Dan had been good friends for nearly twenty years.
‘So am I,’ said Dan, a
nd then he asked, ‘So why the thunderous expression? What’s up?’
Marcus shrugged. ‘Just trying to remember my speech.’
Dan shot him a knowing look that held more than a hint of amusement. ‘Sure you aren’t ruminating about the lack of single women here?’
Oddly enough—when it was generally the first thing he ascertained at any kind of social gathering—searching for likely conquests this afternoon hadn’t crossed his mind. ‘Maybe a bit,’ he said, largely because Dan seemed to be expecting it.
‘Sorry about that, but we wanted to keep the wedding small.’
‘No problem.’
‘Has it been a while, then?’
‘Six months.’
Dan’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Wow. Because of...what was her name again?’
‘Noelle.’ As the memory of his last girlfriend, who’d turned into a complete psycho stalker, flashed into his head he shuddered. ‘And yes.’
Dan grunted in sympathy. ‘I can see how after everything she did you’d be a bit wary, but, come on, six months? That must be a record.’
‘Not one I’ll be boasting about.’
‘No,’ agreed Dan. ‘Why would you?’
‘Quite.’
‘And not one you’ll be breaking today, I should think,’ Dan mused.
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Celia’s the only single woman here.’
‘Is she?’
‘And judging by the way you were looking at her just now I’m guessing she’s not a likely target.’
Marcus inwardly recoiled. Celia? A target? As if. He couldn’t stand her. And as she could stand him even less, even if he were insane/deluded/drunk enough to make a pass at her again, which he most certainly was not, in all likelihood he’d get a knee to the groin.
‘Didn’t we just clear that up?’ he muttered, really not wanting to dwell on that particular outcome.
‘Not very satisfactorily.’ Dan rubbed a hand along his jaw and frowned, as if in contemplation. ‘You know, Zoe mentioned she thinks you do it a lot.’
‘Do what?’
‘Scowl at Celia.’
‘Do I?’
Dan nodded. ‘Pretty much every time you come into contact, apparently.’
‘Oh.’
‘So what’s with the two of you? Why the friction? What did she do to you?’
Interesting that Dan thought it would be that way round when everyone else would have automatically assumed he’d be the one to blame. ‘She didn’t do anything to me,’ he said with a casual shrug. Apart from reject him. Resist him. Ignore him. Avoid him. And drive him bonkers by getting to him when he’d never had any trouble not letting her get to him before. ‘We just don’t get along. That’s all. Sorry.’
‘No. Well, she is something of an acquired taste, I’ll grant you.’
One that he’d briefly acquired when he’d been an angry and out-of-control teenager but wouldn’t be acquiring again, so he hmmed non-committally and sought to change the subject. ‘Zoe looks radiant,’ he said, watching the bride smiling and chatting, happiness shimmering all around her like some kind of corona.
‘She does,’ said Dan with the kind of pride in his voice Marcus couldn’t ever imagine feeling, which was just as well because marriage was not for him. ‘She also has a different take on it.’
‘A different take on what?’
‘You and Celia.’
Marcus frowned. So much for changing the subject. And what was Dan doing, making it sound as if he and Celia were a thing when they were anything but? ‘Does she?’
‘Yes.’
‘Right.’
‘Want to know what she sees between the two of you?’
Not particularly. ‘Knock yourself out.’
‘Chemistry. Tension. Denial.’
Huh? Marcus reeled for a moment, then rallied because Zoe was wrong. Totally wrong. ‘She sees a lot,’ he said, keeping his expression poker.
‘She does.’
‘Too much.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘What makes her such an expert anyway?’
‘She’s made an art out of reading people. She’s generally right.’
‘Not this time.’
Dan shot him a shrewd look. ‘She reckons it’s like that kid analogy,’ he said.
‘What kid analogy?’ asked Marcus, although he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
‘The one about pulling the pigtails of the girl in class you fancy.’
At the odd spike in his pulse Marcus shifted uncomfortably. ‘It’s nothing like that,’ he said, wondering what the hell the brief leap in his heart rate was all about.
‘If you say so.’
‘Celia deeply disapproves of me, and I—’ He stopped because how could he tell his best friend that he thought his sister was an uptight, judgemental, workaholic pain in the arse? ‘Anyway, wouldn’t it bother you?’ he said instead, although now he thought about it perhaps the question came fifteen years too late.
‘You two together?’
Marcus nodded. ‘Hypothetically speaking, of course. I mean, she’s your sister and I’m not exactly a paragon of virtue.’
‘It wouldn’t bother me in the slightest,’ said Dan easily. ‘Celia’s perfectly capable of looking after herself and, actually, if I was going to issue a big-brother kind of warning I’d probably be issuing it to her.’
‘Why?’
‘She’s a tough nut to crack.’
‘One of the toughest,’ Marcus agreed, because she was, and not only because she was the only nut he’d wanted but had never managed to crack. Not that he thought about that night much because, after all, it had been years.
‘She’d drive you to drink trying.’
‘Undoubtedly.’
‘And that would be a shame.’
‘Just as well you don’t have to worry about me, then, isn’t it? Although I do think you ought to be worrying about Zoe,’ he added, now just wanting this oddly uncomfortable conversation to be over. ‘She’s been cornered by your mother and a couple of your aunts.’
‘So she has,’ said Dan, that smile on his face widening as his gaze landed on his wife. ‘I’d better rescue her.’
‘Off you go, then.’
Dan must have caught the trace of mockery in his voice because he stopped and shot him a look. ‘One of these days it’s going to happen to you, you know.’
‘What is?’
‘Love and marriage.’
Marcus shook his head and laughed. ‘Not a chance.’ He valued his freedom far too much, and anyway, he’d seen what love could do. The pain it could bring. The tragedy it could result in. He’d been part of the fallout.
Dan arched an eyebrow. ‘Too many women, too little time?’
‘You said it.’
‘If you really believe that then you’re going to end up like my father, heading for sixty and still chasing anything in a skirt.’
‘That’s a risk I’m prepared to take.’
Dan laughed and clapped him on the back. ‘One day, my friend, one day,’ he said, then set off for Zoe, leaving Marcus standing there frowning at Celia and thinking, Chemistry, tension and denial? What a load of crap.
TWO
Three hours later, Celia had worked her way through one cup of tea, two glasses of champagne, a dozen of the most scrumptious mini sandwiches and petit fours she’d ever eaten and a hefty piece of wedding cake. She’d survived the photo session, listened to the short yet witty speeches, and had had conversations with everyone except Marcus and her father.
The reception so far had been beautiful. The weather was behaving, the sky a cloudless blue, the sun beating down gently, a perfect example of one of those heavenly yet rare
English summer days. Zoe’s parents’ garden, with its immaculate lawn, colourful and fragrant borders and sharply clipped hedges was an idyllic setting for a small, tasteful, traditional wedding celebration. The music coming from the string quartet sitting beneath the gazebo drifted languidly through the warm air and mingled with the happy hum of chatter, so enchanting and irresistible that every now and then couples came together and swayed along.
She had to admit that, even to an unsentimental person such as herself, the romance of the afternoon was undeniable. She could feel it winding through her, softening the hard-boiled parts of her a little and making her feel uncharacteristically dreamy. Even her parents seemed to have been caught up in it, appearing to have reached a sort of unspoken truce and, although not talking, no longer shooting daggers at each other from opposite ends of the garden. Her brother looked happier than she’d ever seen him and his bride sparkled like the champagne that had been flowing so wonderfully freely.
Yet as mellow as she was feeling and as much as she liked her brand-new sister-in-law, Celia couldn’t help wishing Zoe were more of a people person. If she were, there’d have been several hundred guests at the reception instead of the fifty or so that were milling around the garden.
And OK, so as bridesmaid and sister of the groom she wouldn’t have been able to wriggle out of the photo session either way and she’d still have had to steel herself against the weight and strength of Marcus’ arm around her waist and the heat of his hand on her hip as they posed, but at least she’d have been able to ignore him after that.
As it was, though, guests were thin on the ground and she couldn’t be more aware of him. Everywhere she looked there he was in her peripheral vision, smiling and chatting and generally making a mockery of her efforts to blank him from her head.
Despite the fact that she’d positioned herself about as far from him as possible, for some reason, he was utterly impossible to ignore. Not that she hadn’t tried, because she had. A lot. In fact, she’d used up practically all of her mental and emotional energy trying, and as a result she hadn’t really been able to concentrate on anything. She kept losing track of conversations. Kept finding herself gravitating towards him. Every time she told herself to get a grip and hauled herself back on track his laugh would punctuate the air and she’d have to battle the urge to whip her head round to see what was amusing him.
