Before You Say I Do

by Clare Lydon

  “How am I?” Delta clutched the side of the escalator. “Heartbroken. Miserable. Sober, which is a surprise.”

  “I don’t think your work would take kindly to you coming in drunk.”

  “I know, it’s so unfair.”

  They got off the escalator and walked to the next before resuming their conversation.

  “Have you heard from her?”

  “Nora?” Delta swept her brown hair behind her left ear.

  “No, Santa Claus. Of course, Nora.”

  Delta shook her head as they reached their chosen floor. “I haven’t. But then, I didn’t expect to. She made it pretty clear when she left this wasn’t a decision she was going to reverse. ‘You and I have run our course’, I believe were her exact words.”

  Abby winced. “Ouch. She’s read too many self-help books, clearly.”

  That raised a smile from Delta. “It did kinda feel like I was being assessed when she did it. I failed the assessment, by the way.”

  Abby gave Delta’s arm a squeeze as they walked between over-priced blouses and cripplingly expensive jackets. She stopped, and held up a glittery gold blazer, checking the price tag and making a face. “Would it make you feel any better if I bought you this?”

  Delta laughed. “I’m not planning a new career as a magician.”

  “You could rock this anyway,” Abby told her. She whirled around and pointed at a pink chiffon blouse opposite. “With that pink blouse, we could get you another date in no time. That outfit screams ladykiller.”

  The sad smile was back. “It’s a little too soon for jokes.”

  Abby put the jacket back on the rack, before threading her arm through Delta’s. “Never lose your sense of humour, D. That’s when the bastards win.” She paused, glancing Delta’s way. “Anyhow, I’ve got news. Something to take your mind off you-know-who.”

  Delta turned her head. “I’m all ears.”

  “Marcus has hired a professional bridesmaid for me. And she’s… well, she’s actually quite nice. Sane. Normal. Not society at all.” Attractive, too. But Abby wasn’t going to focus on that part. “Marcus says she handles Marjorie like a dream. The upshot is, he’s thrown money at my biggest headache and the headache has gone away. There are plus points to having money, it turns out.”

  Delta stopped as they approached the swimwear, and scratched her head. “What exactly is a professional bridesmaid? You’ve already got actual bridesmaids who know you, plus a wedding planner.”

  “We have, but she works for Marjorie, so she’s not on my side.” Abby sucked on the inside of her cheek. “Meanwhile, Jordan is going to be my right-hand woman, helping me out with whatever I need. Including the hen weekend.”

  Delta’s frown deepened. “Isn’t that my job?”

  Abby had to be delicate. “Yes, but you’ve been a bit preoccupied of late. Marcus has hired this woman to help, so I say let her. Then we can both relax and just enjoy my hen. What do you think?” If she’d asked this a month ago, Delta wouldn’t have been amenable. Now though, her face told a different story.

  “I can’t help but feel I’m letting you down.”

  Abby hugged her best friend. “You’re not. Think of it as doing me a favour. I need to give this woman something to do. You’ve already got the ball rolling, so it’s been a team effort. Let her take over from here.”

  Delta pursed her lips. “I’m still your maid of honour?”

  Abby nodded emphatically. “Of course. You’re my best friend. Jordan can’t replace that, can she?”

  Delta approached a nearby swimwear display, before turning back to Abby, her face nearly back to normal. “So, this Jordan.” Delta paused. “Who the hell’s called Jordan apart from people in American sitcoms, by the way?”

  “It was good enough for Katie Price.” Abby grinned at her own joke.

  “She doesn’t look like Katie Price, does she?”

  Abby conjured an image of Jordan in her mind. Her laughter that crackled in the air long after she’d stopped. Her easy smile. The way she looked directly at Abby as if she knew far more about her already.

  “Far from it.” Abby picked up an orange bikini bottom, but threw it back down just as quickly when she spied a pink glittery flower on it. “Plus, as you know, the Montgomerys and their friends are all from a certain background. Jordan isn’t. She could be one of our friends. It’s early days, but it’s nice to have someone on my side who’s in the middle of it all. Someone who gets me.”

  “I get you.”

  “You know what I mean. On staff. You’re not staff.”

  “Oh my god. You’ve got staff for your wedding. Slippery slope. Have you told your mum yet?”

  Abby shook her head. She wasn’t looking forward to telling Gloria. “Not yet.” She paused. “Are we good? I’ll tell Jordan she can take over the hen?”

  Delta eyed her for a few moments, before nodding. “So long as she’s not ordering a second stripper.”

  Abby nudged her. “You better be joking.” She held up a bikini that had more holes in it than material. “Do you think Marcus would appreciate this?”

  Delta’s mouth curved into a smile. “If he doesn’t, he’s gay. Have I mentioned I’ve still got money on that, by the way?”

  Abby rolled her eyes. “He’s not gay, believe me. He’s just sensitive.”

  “Gay is not an insult. I’m just saying, I think there’s more to your husband-to-be than meets the eye. A little like his future wife, might I add. Does Marcus know you dabbled in college?”

  Abby’s head whipped around to her best friend. “Enough.” There was a warning tone in her voice, and Delta heeded it.

  “Okay, no going there today.” Delta picked up a baby-blue bikini with white orchids printed on it. “How about this one for our totally straight bride?”

  Abby sighed, but couldn’t stop the smile spreading across her face. “I slept with one woman 15 years ago. You’d think you’d have let it lie by now.”

  “Maybe you don’t know me that well.” Delta gave her a wide grin. It was good to see. “Tell me more about Jordan.”

  “Let’s see. She’s about our age. Pretty, too. You’d like her.” Abby already did. “Blond hair, blue eyes, stylish. But the main thing is, she’s dealing with Marjorie, so I love her.”

  “How much does she charge?”

  “I don’t ask questions like that, because I’d probably baulk at the answer.”

  “If I was the more sensitive type, I’d say I was being edged out.”

  Abby raised an eyebrow. “Good job you’re so stoic, then, isn’t it?” She paused. “I still expect you to be there for me, by the way. Jordan is just a help. But there are some things I want your opinion on. Like the final wedding dress choice that’s happening soon. You’re definitely going to be there for that, right?” Abby and her mum had narrowed it down to the final two options and had them fitted.

  Delta made the sign of the cross on her chest. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

  Abby wagged a finger in her direction. “No dying on bridesmaid watch.”

  Delta gave her a look. “Just so long as Jordan knows I’ve been your friend for 20 years. I know you and what you like. Maybe we could meet up before the hen, and I can fill her in on a few things.”

  Abby nodded. “Totally. I’d already thought that.”

  “Good.” Delta eyed her. “Is she going to be there on the wedding night when you’re consummating the marriage?”

  Abby punched her in the arm. “At least we’d be having sex.” She sucked in a breath. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

  “You still not doing that?”

  Abby shook her head. She held up a navy-blue polka dot bikini from the rack. “What about this one?” She’d heard not having sex in the run-up to the marriage was common. But their slump was more than that. It had been months in the making.

  But Marcus was kind.

  She had to focus on that.

  Chapter 7

  “Which of the
se do I pick?” Jordan backed away from the golf clubs Abby set down at the side of their driving bay as if they were radioactive.

  Up ahead, the driving range was a luscious pea green, scattered with flags and bunkers, the width of 30 bays. Each side was flanked with 100-feet-high nets to keep the balls inside. They were needed, too. As Jordan stood there, balls flew out from above and either side, the rhythmic thwack of them being hit a constant background noise.

  Abby gave her a throaty laugh. “They’re called clubs. Do you really know so little about golf?”

  “This isn’t golf, right?”

  Abby shook her head. “This is the driving range, where you come to practise your driving and your swing. Or just to whack some balls.”

  “Got it. Me and sport aren’t friends. I was the person who always had my period during PE at school. My flatmate Karen makes me go running, because I have to stay in shape. But if I didn’t have to, I wouldn’t go.”

  Abby looked her up and down. “Really? You look like the sort of person who goes to the gym all the time.”

  Jordan shook her head. “Nope. Nervous energy. Pure and simple. Probably learned from childhood. I was a forces kid, always moving around. You learn to be on your toes, and be able to pack up and move in an instant. It’s why this job works for me. I’m organised and unflappable.”

  Abby nodded. “From my professional bridesmaid, that’s great to hear.” She paused. “Plus, if you hate sport, golf might be the perfect one for you. It’s gentle, and involves nothing more than a walk and a swing. The driving range cuts down the walking to zero. All you have to do is focus, and hit.”

  That didn’t sound so scary. “I can do that,” Jordan replied.

  Abby selected a club with a thick head — had she called it a driver? — then turned to Jordan, fixing her with her conker-brown eyes. “I’ll show you how to grip the club and swing in a minute. First up, sit on that sofa, then watch and learn. Okay?”

  Jordan nodded, and sat on the black wicker sofa at the back of the bay.

  Satisfied, Abby licked her lips, flexed her back, then placed her feet wide apart. She rocked her hips from side to side as she settled her hands on the club, eyeing first the range, then the ball. The concentration was immense, and Jordan was transfixed. Abby’s hips were low and loose, and looked like they could knock out a figure eight and perhaps a samba, no problem. Jordan let that image settle in her brain, before nudging it aside. She was here to work. And impress with a golf swing.

  A little more hip wiggling, then Abby raised her club, twisted her body and rotated her torso at speed, smacking the ball down the driving range. It sailed high and long, eventually hitting the right-side netting.

  Jordan sat up and let out a low whistle. Damn. Not only did Abby know how to move her hips in a more than dangerous way, she could also put a golf ball in its place.

  Next up was Jordan. Bugger.

  “You’re good at this.”

  Abby looked up. She gave her a louche grin. “Let’s just say, this is where I come to let off steam. If I’ve had a bad day, I pretend the golf balls are my clients. If I’ve had a good day, I pretend the golf balls are my mother-in-law. Works well every time.”

  She put another golf ball onto the scuffed blue tee, steadied herself, then whacked it again. Abby repeated the move twice more, then she turned, letting out a contented sigh as she took off her single golf glove and walked over to Jordan. Abby slumped into the sofa’s plump cushions, far more relaxed than when Jordan had first met her ten days ago. This was her safe space. Jordan was impressed she’d let her in so quickly.

  “So does Marcus come here with you, too?”

  Abby nodded, not turning her head from the vista ahead. “Yes. Although he’s humouring me, I know that.”

  “He doesn’t play golf?”

  “He does, but only for business reasons. He gets a lot of his business on the golf course, as is the way of the world. But if he didn’t have to go out on a golf course again, he wouldn’t.”

  “Do you play golf, too?”

  “On occasion. But this is easier to fit into my life. Just coming to a bay, getting a bucket of balls, and hitting them down the course. It’s therapeutic. It can be social. But I can also do it on my own. Some people go to the gym, some people meditate. I come here.” Abby paused. “Are you going to give it a go?” She raised an eyebrow at Jordan, before standing up and holding out a hand. “Come on, I’ll show you how. I promise the clubs don’t bite. And neither do I.”

  Jordan gulped, knowing she couldn’t get out of this. She took Abby’s hand and jumped up, ignoring the roll of her stomach as their fingers touched.

  Abby gave her a seven iron, holding its head in her hand. “See this?” Her fingers traversed the thick iron wedge. “The head is more angled, which means you’re more likely to hit the ball and drive it into the air.”

  Jordan nodded. “Airborne is what I’m after.” She took the club in her hands and swung her hips the way she’d seen Abby do.

  Even that wasn’t easy.

  “Interlock your hands together like this.” Abby grabbed a nearby club and showed Jordan. “Little finger in between the opposite index and middle finger.”

  Jordan frowned, then slipped her little finger inside her thumb.

  Abby shook her head. “No, your pinkie in between your index and middle.” She leaned in and rearranged Jordan’s pinkie. A waft of her floral perfume sailed through Jordan’s airwaves, before Abby stepped back.

  “Now watch the ball, not the club. Swing it up behind your head, and follow through by rotating your top half. Keep your hips still.”

  Jordan cleared her mind of everything else. She focused on the small white ball, before looking down the driving range. Above her, balls flew out from the other driving bays. To her right, a man in a cap was muttering under his breath as he swung, and missed.

  Jordan took a deep breath, moved the club behind her head, swung, and missed.

  Shit.

  She turned to smile at Abby.

  Somehow, it was important she did this. That she impressed Abby. Jordan was competent in most areas of her life, but golf didn’t fall into that category.

  Abby was standing with a hand on her hip, staring at her intently. Her hair shone under the lights of the bay, her cheekbones front and centre. “You’re gripping it too hard. Relax, loosen up, and you’ll find you hit the ball easier.” Abby wiggled her hips as if to show Jordan what she meant.

  Jordan copied what Abby had just done. She wasn’t sure it was going to help. She swung again. And missed again.

  Shit the bed.

  It didn’t look this hard on TV.

  In seconds, Abby was beside her, standing with her feet hip width apart, gripping a club. “You’ve got the grip right, but your placement is off. You’re holding it too high. Grip it towards the bottom of the black handle, like this.” Abby demonstrated on her club.

  Jordan stared at her fingernails, with their French polish. They were perfect. Just like most of her brides to be. However, Abby was the first one who’d ever brought her to a driving range. She normally got taken to spas, or to lunch. Never to a driving range.

  Abby was not Jordan’s usual client.

  Jordan did as she was told, manoeuvring her hands into what she hoped was the proper position.

  “Now you’ve lost your interlocking grip.” At least Abby said that with a hint of a smile. This was already proving a challenge, and she hadn’t even hit a ball yet.

  Abby dropped her club and stepped closer, arranging Jordan’s hands with her own. A tingle ran up Jordan’s body from her fingertips to her scalp. She turned her head to see if Abby had noticed her slight shudder. If she had, she wasn’t showing it. Abby was purely focused on Jordan’s grip. Her hand was wrapped right around Jordan’s as she stepped up behind her, then she wrapped her other arm around Jordan’s waist, the length of her body pressing into Jordan fully.

  Okay, they were doing a full body grip. Jordan gulped, and
steadied herself as Abby pressed herself up against her.

  “Sorry if this is invading your personal space a little, but you were the one who said we should get to know each other more intimately.”

  Jordan could hear the smile in Abby’s voice.

  “My first instructor did this to me, and it really helped.” She pressed a little harder, and settled herself into Jordan.

  Jordan’s mind scrambled.

  Abby swung Jordan’s golf club over her shoulder, her breasts pressing between Jordan’s shoulder blades.

  Yes, this was intimate alright.

  Jordan tried to focus on what Abby was doing.

  On her grip.

  On her swing.

  On being in public.

  But it wasn’t easy when her libido had woken up, and her heartrate had decided today was the day to practise sprints.

  “You see what I mean?” Abby dropped the club slowly, rotating through the swing and over Jordan’s shoulder.

  Then her expectant face was peering around and into Jordan’s.

  Could Abby hear how loud her heart was beating? Jordan hoped not.

  Abby let Jordan go and stepped back.

  Jordan cleared her throat, shaking her body, ignoring her fluster.

  Because the fact was, it had made a difference.

  She now saw how to hold the club, and also how far she had to swing.

  “Focus on the ball, and put your all into it. Try again.”

  Abby stepped right back, as Jordan wiggled her hips in exaggerated fashion.

  Abby let out another healthy chuckle. “You’re certainly looking the part. Now it’s a short step until you actually hit a ball.”

  “Stands to reason, right?” Jordan raised her club, holding it correctly. But she only succeeded in smashing it into the fake grass underneath her. The vibrations as she connected with the ground zapped up her arm. She grimaced, taking a step back.

  “Try again,” Abby told her. “I hit the ground constantly when I started.”

  “I don’t believe that.” Jordan took a deep breath, focused, swung and hit the ball, but also the tee. The heavy thud shook her ears, and she watched as her ball trickled off the tee and onto the range. She’d hit it, barely.