by Lynda Renham
‘You are drunk, and you are dressed like… well, words fail me…’ Simon snaps, flexing his neck.
Jesus, why is he wearing that jumper?
‘Ah, Marc Jacob jumper,’ I scream. ‘It’s been with me everywhere,’ I giggle.
I bite my lip and attempt to straighten my skirt with my spare hand but I am only just about managing to hold onto the counter. I carefully place the whisky bottle onto the check-in desk and smile lopsidedly.
‘This is for your dad and this…’ I slap the carrier with the handbag inside it against his thigh. ‘Is for…’
Everyone has gone silent. I fumble to remember what I was going to say but I can’t recall anything.
‘You’re two days late, you missed the family dinner and you walk in here pissed,’ Simon says quietly. He resembles a bubbling volcano and I feel myself tense.
‘I’m not pithed,’ I argue. ‘Just a bit tippy, that’s all.’
He shakes his head.
‘You reek of whisky,’ he states flatly as he passes me.
I was sure he looked better in the Marc Jacob jumper. In fact, I was sure he looked very different altogether. He runs his fingers angrily through his hair and I spy several grey ones by his temple. Bloody hell, when did they sprout? Surely I would have noticed them before. I must be very drunk I think and feel rather ashamed.
‘Simon,’ I begin but he puts his hand up. Oh I see, talk to the hand time is it?
'Be quiet Annabel,’ he says with a tone of authority.
I see Christian is seething and hold my breath. His face is thunderous and the muscle in his jaw is twitching.
‘Don’t talk to her like that, you’re not her father,’ he says sharply, walking to the counter and handing over his passport.
I cringe while at the same time feeling it is pretty cool to have two men quarrel over you.
‘Did he bring you Annabel? Is he the reason why you’re so late?’ Simon barks at me. ‘Did you lie to me about the middle-aged couple?’ He stretches his neck from side to side.
I open my mouth to speak but Christian gets there before me.
‘Is this how you talk to your wife-to-be? She has not been here five minutes and you are shouting at her.’
‘Really, it is okay,’ I say, while thinking it is not okay at all.
‘Annabel, leave this to Simon,’ orders my mother.
‘What on earth are you wearing?’ chimes in Alex, scathingly. I look down at the skirt.
‘It’s new,’ I say smiling broadly and point proudly to my sandals.
‘Okay, come on Simon. It really is no big deal,’ says another man, softly, whom I presume to be Simon’s father.
‘Of course it is a big deal, Edward. After all, she is terribly late,’ says his mother. What a bloody cheek. If the bride can’t be late for her wedding then who can be?
I smile at his mother and hiccup.
‘Christ, Bels,’ Alex snaps, running her hands protectively over her bump.
‘Sorry,’ I mumble.
Simon wags his finger at Christian.
‘I should have known it was you. Only you would be so selfish and irresponsible to get her here so late. I bet you did it on purpose. That is just the kind of thing you would do. You have both been drinking haven’t you? You’re disgusting.’
My God, do Simon and Christian know each other? I pray there will not be a fight as I really do not know whose side I will take. Simon moves closer to Christian and my breath catches in my throat.
‘You are an embarrassment,’ Alex hisses.
‘I am not,’ I say with as much force as I can muster, almost falling over in the process.
Suddenly, a young blonde woman flies past me and throws herself into Christian’s arms. I stare at Claudine mesmerised. I feel a sense of relief when I see she is not as pretty as her photograph.
‘Oh hello, are you, err?’ I say louder than I expected, while holding out my hand to her in an attempt to look sober.
‘Chris, where have you been? Why didn’t you answer my texts honey?’ she asks in a heavy Texan drawl and plonks a kiss on his cheeks, seemingly not at all perturbed when he gently pushes her away. Chris, why do I think I have heard the name before? I watch as Christian takes his room key.
‘Well, I’m shattered…’ he begins.
Simons stands in front of him.
‘I am sick of your, I don’t give a damn attitude,’ he shouts, making me jump. ‘And when it interferes with my life it is something else.’
I wobble slightly and grab the desk for support. I attempt to step between Christian and Simon with all of the conviction of Jack Bauer. The minute I do it, I realise I must be crazy.
‘Simon, please calm down. I’m so sorry. It really is my fault…’ I say tapping him on the arm. He pushes it away roughly while Christian looks crossly at him.
‘Ah, come on Bels, don’t do that. Don’t start apologising when you haven’t done anything,’ he says softly.
‘Don’t you fucking call her Bels,’ yells Simon, ‘don’t you fucking dare.’
Oh my God, Simon is going all blue in the face. I look to my mother who is visibly cringing at the double dose of the ‘F’ word.
‘Simon, you’re my brother, but sometimes you are far too intense for me.’
Brother, brother. Oh shittity fuck. Of course, Chris, that Chris, the brother Simon did not want as his best man? ‘Chris is too laid back, I will never relax. Besides we have never been that close. I prefer if Jamie did it.’ Shit, shit, shit. I am in love with my future brother-in-law.
‘I’m fucking intense? Have you dropped your legal shit yet, have you? And you are too bloody irresponsible. How dare you be so arrogant to think you could bring her here?’
‘Right, that is enough. I don’t know what you two are talking about but Simon, you’re going too far.’ I look at Simon’s father and realise there is a striking resemblance to Christian and my heart skips a beat.
‘It’s okay Dad,’ Christian says quietly.
Simon shakes his head.
‘I think you owe me an explanation Annabel. If there is something going on here you should tell me. Just exactly what have you been telling him?’
Everyone looks at me expectantly. I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out. Oh dear, was there something I told Christian that I shouldn’t have? Just what, exactly, was I not supposed to talk about? I feel sure I ought to know. I rack my brains and finally give Simon a puzzled look. He looks crestfallen, and I want the floor to open up and swallow me. I turn to Christian who is just looking at me.
‘Of course there isn’t anything going on,’ I say finally. ‘That’s silly. I’m here to get married to…’ I hesitate and spot the Marc Jacob jumper and point. ‘And I’m not interested in anyone else,’ I lie. ‘He just gave me a lift. We both missed the flight,’ I say, concentrating hard on the words, speaking slowly and as clearly as I can.
Christian shakes his head. His eyes are telling me something but I try hard not to look at them.
‘Christian, what’s going on baby?’ drawls Claudine, seemingly three sentences behind everyone else, and I thought I was drunk.
‘She’s not my type Simon, so get over it,’ Christian asserts.
I’m not?
‘And he is certainly not Annabel’s type,’ pipes up my mum. ‘She has had her fair share of men like that.’
I see Christian’s eyebrows rise.
‘Absolutely,’ I echo, feeling stupidly hurt by Christian’s words.
Christian marches towards the lift with Claudine running behind him leaving a trail of Poison fragrance in her wake.
‘Well, now that is sorted I am going to have a rest. God knows, I need it after being with her for two days,’ he says caustically.
I feel myself blush and am grateful when the lift door closes on him.
‘I think you should sober up,’ snaps Simon.
I watch as he walks away. I turn to my mum and grimace. She grabs me roughly by the arm.
&nbs
p; ‘I can’t imagine what you were thinking, behaving like this. God knows you were brought up differently.’
I grin at Alex and get a sour look back. I let out a long sigh and enter the lift where a young man takes my hand luggage.
‘Welcome to Rome, madam.’
What I would not do to go back to France.
Chapter Fifteen
Christian
‘Was it a misunderstanding honey?’
What a mess. My head aches from the whisky and I feel stupidly embarrassed. Why the hell did he have to mention the lawsuit and in front of Dad? What a wanker. I force a smile for Claudine and walk to the loo.
‘I wish you hadn’t have done that honey, you know with the credit card,’ repeats Claudine.
I deliberately leave the bathroom door open. I’ve learnt something about women in the past few years and I really am not in the mood to have things thrown at the door. I splash cold water at my face and head and grit my teeth. What the hell is going through Bels’ head right now? How the hell did someone like Simon get someone like her? She’s smart, beautiful and too giving for him.
‘Honey, did you hear anything I said?’
Okay, so she was a bit irritating at times but she has so many redeeming qualities. Does he even notice the way she licks her lips before being kissed or strokes her throat when she is aware of being watched? Does the look in her warm brown eyes and her beautiful smile make him feel he is walking on air? I don’t imagine so. She is too good for him.
‘That hotel is ridiculously expensive and you know it Claudine,’ I reply, rummaging through her handbag for some aspirin.
‘But we can afford it.’ She stands in front of me and pouts.
I spot her dress hanging on the back of the door and remember my own luggage. I should have asked Claudine to look into that for me. Damn, another problem to deal with. Is he with her now, telling her what a bastard brother I am?
‘Was it a misunderstanding then? Are you going to let me have it back?’
‘What?’
‘The credit card, of course, anyway as it happens your family have been really nice to me, even Simon.’
‘That was big of him.’
How the hell am I going to cope with having Bels as my sister-in-law? Damn, I almost slept with her. If her phone hadn’t have gone off would it have happened? Well, it doesn’t matter. What does matter is that I don’t let anything so stupid ever happen again. The stupid plonker already thinks I would steal his woman just to get at him. Does he not know me at all? The last thing I want is to give him ammunition against me. I find the aspirin and throw two back with some water.
‘Can I have it back then honey?’
‘What?’
‘The credit card, darling.’
Oh, of course. Jesus, isn’t she going to ask me why it took me so long to get here? Why I was with my future sister-in-law? Why I was partly drunk when I arrived? Or didn’t she notice any of that? I sigh heavily and watch as she slowly removes her jumper.
‘I bet you want to see me in the dress don’t you? I bought it yesterday.’
She runs her fingers tantalisingly through her newly highlighted hair and grins at me. I smile reluctantly.
‘Are you okay baby?’ she sidles towards me.
‘Sure, sorry I’ve been such an arse. Why don’t you bring the dress into the bedroom and model for me.’
She flings her arms around my neck.
‘I thought you would never get here,’ she says snuggling up to me.
‘So did I?’ I mumble lifting her up and striding into the bedroom.
Chapter Sixteen
I hold my head in my hands and moan loudly. Kaz is holding out two Paracetamol tablets.
‘What is the maximum dose? Surely I can take more than two,’ I groan swallowing them with the second mug of ultra-strong coffee she offers.
‘I wouldn’t want to be your liver,’ she jokes shaking another pill from the bottle.
‘I don’t want to be my liver. I don’t particularly want to be me at all in fact. How many of these do I need to kill myself?’
We are sitting in my hotel room. Everyone has left me in disgust, it seems, although I do not remember the events in the foyer an hour earlier very clearly.
‘Oh God,’ I groan, ‘I really don’t want to go.’
I am to meet Simon for dinner with my parents and his in just under an hour, and I am dreading it.
‘Have you seen Christian?’ I ask hopefully.
She gives me a mean stare. I sigh. It seems like forever since we arrived in Rome and most of what happened in the foyer is a blur. Although I clearly remember Christian saying I was not his type. Jesus, why did I not realise he was Simon’s brother? How could I have been so stupid? After all, I knew he was a famous architect living in New York and that he was younger than Simon, and of course, I was aware his name was Chris. Damn him, damn him for not being in the least like Simon. Damn him for being able to wear the Marc Jacob jumper better than Simon ever could. Damn him for being so easy going. Damn him, damn him for coming into my life. Damn him even more for showing me just how over-the-top responsible Simon is. Damn him for being so bloody young, or is it just that Simon is so old? Oh damn everything. Tomorrow at three I am to be married, and I have no idea what to do.
‘I’ve become a joint person already, how the hell do I become un-jointed?’ I ask Kaz desperately.
She dunks a biscotti in my coffee.
‘Are you going to jilt him at the altar?’ she asks, looking not in the least horrified.
Oh my God I can’t possibly do that. I can’t jilt someone at the altar. Oh Jesus, that means I have to get married then. Oh shittity fuck.
‘Of course not,’ I reply, trying to maintain some dignity.
‘Of course, you could do it at dinner tonight. I guess that would be a bit more acceptable.’
It would?
‘I can’t jilt him in front of his parents, or in front of mine come to that.’
Bugger it. Kaz shrugs.
‘I guess you’re lumbered then.’
I grab a biscotti and immediately remember all the biscuits I had eaten with Christian.
‘The thing is, if you don’t marry Simon, you’re not going to marry anyone are you?’ she says sipping from her banana smoothie, while crossing her legs and slipping into the lotus position. I stare at the blue liquid and wrinkle my nose.
‘Why is that blue?’ I ask curiously.
‘Blueberries and banana, and I have to tell you the soya milk here is just fab. Anyway, I think Simon is a real catch. You’re very lucky.’
I sigh and walk towards the bathroom.
‘You marry him then,’ I call over my shoulder.
I pass my suitcase and feel tears prick my eyelids. Twenty-four hours ago and I would have been thrilled to see it but now it is just another reminder of all that has gone on in the past few days and I feel terribly responsible for the argument between Simon and Christian. I know I can’t really jilt Simon for his brother. That would be just too cruel. Besides, I have no idea how Christian feels about me. I have never felt so trapped in my whole life. I step in the shower and let the hot water relax my muscles. Talk about feeling like a spare part at a wedding, what a bloody shame the sodding wedding is mine. I wrap myself in the soft fluffy towel and walk back into the room where Kaz is still sitting in the lotus position and is now stretching her neck. God forbid any breakdown of mine should interfere with her journey towards peace and spirituality.
‘You’ve gained weight,’ she states flatly.
Jesus Christ, great karma that is. I see she has made me more coffee. I begin to wonder whether it will be worth even getting into bed tonight.
‘I can’t have, not in a couple of days,’ I deny hotly, very aware that my tummy is swollen with an impending period.
She peers at me with her head on one side.
‘Uh oh, I think you have you know. You look far too big to get into that dress now.’
She po
ints her nose upwards towards my wedding dress which is hanging on a hook and looks to me very much like a shroud. Oh I must stop thinking like this and pull myself together. Think of all Simon’s good points. A full minute later and I am still bloody trying to think of them.
‘You’d better stick to salad tonight,’ she advises, clicking her neck. I grimace and pull clothes out of my suitcase.
Forty-five minutes later I am heading nervously for the lounge. Kaz had talked me into wearing my Monsoon dress and a white cashmere cardigan. For the first time in days I actually look really nice and instead of wishing Christian could see me, I am praying I do not bump into him. Simon is waiting by the bar and I approach hesitantly. Oh God, please don’t let him be wearing the bloody Marc Jacob jumper or, I swear that will be the end of the evening. He turns to appraise me.
‘Ah,’ he says.
I stare at him. What the hell does ‘ah’ mean?
‘Where are the stud earrings I bought you?’
Oh shit. I finger the gold dangling pearls.
‘I… erm… I didn’t bring those,’ I lie.
He looks disappointed and finishes his drink without offering me one.
