Before You Say I Do

by Clare Lydon

Chapter 12

  It was the night before they were due to fly, and Jordan was doing press-ups in the lounge. She’d been to the gym that morning, too. And the day before. Seeing Abby’s toned physique up close had spurred her into action. If the bride was that cut, the very least her bridesmaid could do was support that. Although, admittedly, it might be a little late for Jordan to gain ultimate definition in ten days. But she could try her best.

  Karen walked in carrying two crumpets on a plate. Jordan didn’t even have to look to know they’d be slathered with butter. They were Karen’s favourite. Or, as she liked to say, her downfall. She sat on the sofa, curling one leg underneath her, assessing Jordan silently. The only sound was Jordan’s faint grunts as she lowered herself down, then up. When Karen finished, she put her plate on the wooden coffee table. She waited until Jordan collapsed on their wooden floor after her final set before she spoke.

  “So tell me again you don’t like this woman.”

  “Shut up.” The floorboards weren’t very comfortable. She sat up and dusted off her hands, before swivelling onto her feet and then standing. Jordan stretched her arms above her head, in a bid to put an end to this conversation.

  “I feel like I should come on this hen weekend, to protect you from yourself.”

  “I can handle it, I’m a pro.”

  “You’re doing press-ups without me nagging. You’re going to the gym of your own accord. This is not the Jordan I know and love. You’ve even started buying kale. That’s when I know things are bad.”

  Jordan bent forward, touching her toes with her fingertips. “I’m just trying to be healthy, that’s all. You’ve been telling me to do this for years. I thought you’d be happy.” She eyed Karen as she came back upright.

  “I am. I’m all for it. I’m just questioning the reason, that’s all.” She paused, pushing her fringe out of her eyes. “How long are you away for?”

  “Four days. Friday to Monday. The itinerary is packed, too. I get to flex my French in Cannes, plus the whole party will fall in love with my supreme organisation skills.”

  Karen paused before she spoke. “Four days is a long time to be in a confined space with someone you’re developing feelings for.”

  Jordan flopped down on the sofa beside Karen, covering her face with her forearm as she blew out. “I am not developing feelings for Abby. Plus, I’m not an animal. I don’t act on my feelings. I’ve liked plenty of women before and not acted on it. I mean, that’s basically the story of my life. You remember. You’ve been there for most of it.”

  That brought a smile to Karen’s face. “You’re not wrong there.”

  “So I don’t know why you’re stressing. I am the world’s worst at telling someone how I feel. At doing anything to move romance forward. Everything that’s ever happened in my life romantically has been the result of an accident, or someone else taking the lead. And that’s not going to happen this weekend, is it? Not on Abby’s hen weekend.”

  “You have a point.” Karen nudged Jordan with her elbow.

  “If anything, I’m still puzzled why she’s marrying Marcus. I mean, he seems absolutely lovely, but I wouldn’t put the two of them together, you know?”

  “He’s loaded.”

  Jordan nodded. “He is. But his money also brings issues. Plus, I wouldn’t put Abby into the gold-digger bracket. She’s got a good enough job herself.”

  Karen shrugged. “Biological clock ticking?”

  “More likely.” Jordan blew out a breath. “It just seems a shame for her to get married if she’s not totally into him.”

  Karen gave her a look. “How many brides have truly been into the guy they were marrying? From what you’ve told me, not many. Maybe you think Abby is different to the others, but in this instance, she’s not. She’s looking for status, financial security, and a father for her child. Even in this day and age, women have to think about these things.”

  Jordan shook her head. “True enough. Depressing, isn’t it?”

  “No argument here.” Karen yawned, putting a hand to her mouth. “But anyway, let’s steer the subject away from off-limits Abby and back to you. When was the last time you had a shag? Was it that woman you met on Tinder?”

  Jordan frowned. “Not that it makes any difference, but yes. However, I’m not planning on sleeping with anyone in Cannes. I’m working.”

  “I know you are. But maybe when you get back, you could open yourself up a little more.” She held up her hands. “Before you go off on one with me, I know you don’t do relationships. You’ve been hurt before. One-night stands are easier in your line of work. I get it. But you’re getting older. Time ticks on. Take it from me, it’s kinda nice to have a relationship. I’m sure you had some good moments in ones in your past, didn’t you?”

  Jordan slumped. “A couple. But they all worked out the same in the end, didn’t they? Heartbreak. Me losing my home and some of my possessions. They take up too much time and bring too much pain. I’ll stick to one-night stands. But not until this job is over.” The thought of having a one-night stand with Abby made all the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

  She could never imagine that. Abby was not your one-night stand kind of girl.

  Neither was Jordan when she was around her. She buried that thought.

  Karen got up, then reappeared a few moments later, throwing a Marks & Spencer bag at her.

  “What’s this?” Jordan opened the bag and pulled out a red bikini. As she unfurled it, her eyes widened. “Who’s this for?”

  “You. I knew you wouldn’t buy it for yourself, but you were eyeing it up the other day in the shop, and so I got it for you. You want to look the part in your fancy Cannes villa, don’t you?”

  Jordan gulped. She hadn’t stopped to think too much about the poolside activity, but now she was realising she was going to be seeing Abby in a bikini too, most likely. That thought sent her pulse into overdrive. “Good job I’m doing those sit-ups, because this bikini leaves little to the imagination.”

  “It’s a bikini. It’s kinda the point.”

  Jordan peered into the bag, and brought out some black lacy knickers, along with a matching bra. “Are these for me too?” She held them up like they were part of a police forensics operation.

  Karen nodded. “They are. Free samples from work, so I got us both some.” She leaned into Jordan. “Put these on and you’ll feel invincible. Nobody else has to see them. But if anyone does, they’ll be jealous. Or about to rip them off. Just make sure it’s not the bride, and you’re golden. Didn’t you say the maid of honour was gay?”

  “She is. And recently heartbroken. I know where your brain’s going, but stop right there.”

  “You say recently heartbroken. I say single.” Karen put air quotes around ‘recently heartbroken’ and ‘single’.

  “That’s why you should never be a matchmaker.” Jordan raised a single eyebrow in her direction.

  “A gay best friend. They should do a movie about that. Is she fit?”

  “Not my type.”

  “You have a type?”

  Jordan gave her a look. “My type is available. Delta is not that. She’s still snivelling over her last girlfriend. Plus, I’m not exactly her favourite person.”

  Karen tapped her nose with her index finger. “But isn’t that how all the best romances start off? You hate each other, but then grow to love each other over time. I see promise in this one. She could be your French Fancy.” Karen chuckled at her own joke.

  “Do you lie in bed thinking of these jokes?” But Jordan was smiling. She couldn’t help it.

  “Focus on the maid of honour, not the bride. Got it?”

  Jordan stood up, stretching out her arms as she did. “This weekend is business. Abby is getting married in less than two weeks. Pas de problème, as the French say. This is Abby’s last hurrah, and I’m going to be there to make sure it’s one she never forgets.”

  Karen stood, walked up to Jordan, and pressed the lingerie bag to her che
st. “That, my gorgeous friend, is my worry.”

  Chapter 13

  Abby climbed the steps up to the plane door. A private, smaller plane than she was used to travelling on, the door was located at the back. They were greeted by the steward, Gavin, and their pilot, Michelle. Both were around her age, impeccably suited and booted. Michelle even had a peaked cap. Gavin, meanwhile, had perfectly styled eyebrows.

  “I hope you enjoy the flight,” Michelle told her with a wide smile as she shook her hand.

  Abby was pretty sure she wouldn’t. Her stomach was already tight as she boarded, nausea a constant friend. She was feeling woozy, too. She hadn’t let her hatred of flying stop her from getting on a plane, but it was never a happy occasion. Her ideal holiday would be somewhere in the UK. Or somewhere she could get to by boat or train. She loved the Eurostar. She’d tried to persuade Marcus to honeymoon in Paris. To no avail. He wanted to go to the Maldives. He thought everyone wanted to do that for their honeymoon.

  On the handful of flights they’d been on together, Marcus was far too full-on when they boarded. He smothered Abby, asking if she was okay every two seconds. He didn’t understand she just needed space, along with gentle reassurance.

  He didn’t understand how to make take-off and landing as easy as it could be, just by holding her hand and being there.

  He didn’t understand Abby.

  She pushed that thought down the back of her mental sofa, then turned her focus to Michelle. Long, dark hair, matched with long, dark lashes. Abby’s stomach rolled again as she shook Michelle’s hand.

  “Thanks, Michelle,” she said. “And it seems fitting we’ve got a female pilot for a hen weekend.” She’d never seen one before and it was kind of a thrill. But whatever the gender, Abby’s rules still stood: please get us there in one piece and don’t let us die.

  However, when she glanced back to Delta, it was all Abby could do not to burst out laughing. Delta’s mouth might as well have been hanging open. From the look on her face, she was trying so hard not to punch the air and whoop out loud.

  Abby didn’t blame her. Who didn’t find pilots sexy?

  As they walked up the aisle of the plane with its two neat rows of seats, Abby spotted what was on them. A Tunnock’s Tea Cake and a can of Irn Bru. Happiness burst inside her. She glanced back at Jordan, who was busy checking her phone. Abby was picking up a weird vibe from her. She was cooler than normal. Aloof. She shouldn’t read anything into it. Jordan might have slept badly. Or she might just be concerned about the weekend.

  That was probably it.

  Putting the thought out of her mind, Abby looked to Delta, who gave her a massive grin.

  “Is this your doing?” Abby held up a Tea Cake in one hand, a can of Irn Bru in the other.

  Delta shook her head. “It’s not. This is all down to your other bridesmaid. The one who’s known you the longest.” She inclined her head towards Jordan, raising an eyebrow.

  Jordan walked around Abby, and put her hand luggage in the overhead locker as they were in the front row, before turning.

  Abby was still holding up the Scottish items from her childhood.

  For the first time that day, Jordan gave her a smile.

  Damn, she had impressively straight, white teeth.

  “This was you?” Abby couldn’t quite believe her fake bridesmaid had gone to such trouble. Scrap that, had even known this about her.

  Jordan shrugged. “Of course. Wasn’t this what we lived on in school in Glasgow? I thought it might take you back to the playground, sitting in the summer sunshine, making daisychains.”

  Abby stopped short, staring at her. How did she know that?

  “I miss Tunnock’s Teacakes,” Mum said. “Good call, Jordan!”

  “What the hell are these?” asked Marcus’s cousin, Arielle.

  Mum put a hand to her mouth in response. “These, my dear, are Scottish heritage. An orange fizzy drink made of girders, and a chocolate biscuit. If you haven’t had breakfast, this is the perfect pick-me-up. So much sugar, you’ll be buzzing.”

  Arielle didn’t look convinced.

  Abby glanced around the plane, to the rest of their party holding onto Jordan’s thoughtful gift. “You’re good at this shit, you know that?” She leaned in as she spoke, breathing in Jordan’s scent. She remembered it from the dress fitting the other day.

  Their gazes met, and Jordan stilled. “I’ve done my research. I want our story to be watertight. I thought this would be a good way to begin.”

  Abby nodded. “It certainly is.”

  Jordan dropped her gaze, then gestured to the locker. “Need anything putting up?”

  Abby handed over her Louis Vuitton carry-on.

  Jordan stowed it, before turning to Abby, her face puzzled. “Are you sitting next to me?”

  “If that’s okay?” She’d decided to put Mum and Delta on the opposite side, so all four key players could be up front and centre.

  “Whatever you want, it’s your weekend.”

  And there it was again. Business Jordan. Not happy, smiling Jordan.

  She shook herself. She was probably reading far too much into it.

  “White leather. Very rock star, isn’t it?” Gloria stroked the seats with a grin. “And did you see the loos? They’re huge for plane toilets. Three times the size and so plush.”

  “Whose plane is this?” That was Delta, still giving Jordan a bit of side-eye.

  “Family friend of the Montgomerys. They’ve given us the plane, complete with Captain Michelle and Steward Gavin. There are definitely some plus points to marrying into money.” They weren’t going to be a full flight today, only taking up 10 of the possible 30 seats. However, Michelle had already told them she was picking up a party of 25 hens from Cannes today and bringing them back. That made Abby feel better about her carbon footprint.

  “Are we getting champagne, too?”

  Abby smiled. “You can have anything you want. You’re the mother of the bride.”

  Gloria clapped her hands. “I’m so looking forward to this already.” She leaned forward, half hanging out of her seat. “Are you going to spend the flight fixing everything on that big spreadsheet of yours, Jordan? I saw it when we were having coffee. I’ve never seen a hen weekend look like a corporate trip abroad before.”

  Jordan smiled. It was a little forced, but it was there.

  “Abby loves a spreadsheet, too,” Mum added. “You’re a match made in heaven.”

  She was never going to stop embarrassing her, was she?

  “I’m just trying to make this trip the smoothest ever, Gloria,” Jordan replied. “But of course, don’t think your help in the run-up — or Delta’s — hasn’t had a huge impact on the plans.”

  Abby bit down a smile. When Jordan went into charm offensive, she was one of the best Abby had ever witnessed. What was she like when she was going after a woman? Did she have a spreadsheet then? Or was it purely based on instinct and attraction?

  Abby glanced at Jordan, her own attraction tapping her on the shoulder. She jumped up, going down the plane, making sure all the hens were fine.

  Her cousin Taran was sat beside Abby’s old friend Nikita. They were followed by Marcus’s cousins, Arielle and Martha, plus Abby’s friends from university, Erin and Frankie. Ten in all. It wasn’t a big hen party. She’d been on a couple that had over 20 people, and Abby had vowed never to do that. A night out in London with a nice meal would have done her fine, but it was Marcus and Marjorie who’d insisted on this, coming up with the plane, the villa, the contacts. And, of course, Jordan.

  She walked back to her seat and sat down.

  “Okay?” Jordan said, as if noticing Abby for the first time that day.

  Abby nodded, goose bumps breaking out across her skin. This was really inconvenient. Being around Marcus wasn’t this distracting. Being around anyone else wasn’t as distracting as Jordan.

  “I will be, once we take off. I’m a bit of a nervous flier. It was one of the reasons Marc
us arranged this flight, so I wouldn’t stress quite as much.”

  “Is it working?”

  “I’ll tell you when we take off.”

  Michelle walked past them, before stopping and turning around. “Would you like to sit up-front with me for any of the journey?” she asked Abby. “You’re very welcome to come in after take-off.”

  Abby’s stomach rolled again. “I don’t think so,” she said. “Just get us there safe.”

  Michelle gave her a salute. “I’ll do my best. And if you change your mind, let me know.”

  Abby gritted her teeth as she settled back in her chair. Even the thought of going into the cockpit sent her pulse racing. Seeing the entirety of the sky and how the plane defied gravity just by the will of a friendly pilot? She was pretty sure that would only add to her flying issues, not heal them. She gripped the seat arms and closed her eyes. It was going to be fine. The plane wasn’t going to crash with her and all the people she loved the most on it.

  Although if it did, at least then she wouldn’t have to marry Marcus.

  Her eyes sprang open and she sat forward, clutching her chest. Where the fuck had that thought come from? She took a deep breath, as Jordan’s worried face hovered into view.

  “What happened? Are you okay? You jerked forward so swiftly then.”

  Abby shook her head. “I’m fine. Just nervous, that’s all.” Not questioning everything about this wedding one little bit.

  No siree.

  Not her.

  Jordan’s concerned gaze didn’t shift. “I wish you’d told me before. I would have brought something to chill you out.”

  Abby tilted her head. “Like what?”

  Jordan stuck out her bottom lip. “I dunno. Valium?”

  “Is that even legal?”

  Jordan gave Abby a shrug. “If you wanted Valium, I’d have got some.”

  “Too late now.” She paused, looking down the plane. “Some booze would help.”

  Jordan unclicked her seatbelt. “I’ll get you something.” She stowed her laptop overhead.

  “Aren’t you meant to have your seatbelt on?” Abby asked.