Always the Best Man

The glare he gave her made her shut her mouth abruptly. And if he hadn’t been concentrating on being just so fierce and condescending, he might have realised what a miraculous feat that had been.

And then, while all eyes were on the bride and groom, while the happiness seemed to be spilling out of the other guests and pooling around their feet, Damien rose stiffly from his chair and headed out into the twilight.

Zoe sat back in her gold-sprayed, velvet-seated chair and crossed her arms. Not even good enough to offer the precious Damien Stone a few words of congratulation. She had obviously sunk to a new low in his eyes. But Zoe didn’t let that cold feeling settle deep down inside like it wanted to. She couldn’t. She’d promised herself that never again would a man like that make her feel this way. And if crumbling in defeat wasn’t an option, she had no alternative but to go the other way. So, by his actions, the best man had decreed tonight would be all-out war, and the evening reception would be their battlefield.

Look out, Damien Stone, because all those snotty comments you’ve ever dished out are coming back to bite you on that finely toned rear end. Tonight, Karma is wearing a bridesmaid’s dress—and she’s in one hell of a mood.

‘Those ballroom dancing lessons really paid off in the end.’

Zoe smiled into the face of the man who had just twirled her into his arms. He really was looking particularly handsome today. And so he should.

‘I beg to differ, Luke. You’ve trodden on my foot twice already, and we both know why.’

He gazed above her shoulder, looking every inch the dashing groom. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

At that point Zoe did a little bit of toe-crunching of her own. ‘Really?’ she said innocently. ‘And there was me thinking all those last-minute work emergencies on a Thursday night were merely a ruse so you could cry off and go down the pub with your mates.’

Luke’s smile spread wider. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Still no idea. You must have the wrong person.’

The smile wavered momentarily, however, when he misjudged a step and almost sent the pair of them flying. Thankfully, Zoe rescued them with quick thinking and even quicker feet. There was a reason for that, too.

‘You owe me,’ she whispered in his ear as she clutched onto his sleeves. ‘You knew Sara wouldn’t want to go to those lessons on her own. You knew she’d drag me along as a substitute.’

Luke just beamed as if he was on a TV ballroom dancing contest, fixing his eyes beyond her. ‘And just look how well you can waltz now,’ he said. ‘You have me to thank for that.’

Zoe wanted to punch him. Or tickle him. She wasn’t sure which.

Luke saved himself by having the decency to look just a little repentant. ‘Okay, I do owe you. And I’ve just had an idea for a very fitting peace offering …’

He paused while he concentrated on changing direction so they didn’t plough into the four-tiered cake.

‘I know that all the wedding craziness has meant that you haven’t had the chance to have a proper holiday this year.’

He should know that, Zoe thought. She’d moaned long and hard about it often enough.

‘Well, Dream Weaver, thanks to the generosity of my new father-in-law, is now going to be sitting idle and unloved at her mooring for the next two weeks. Why don’t you make use of her?’

Zoe laughed so hard that the couple next to them lost their timing. ‘Don’t be daft, Luke! I don’t know the first thing about sailing.’

‘From what I remember, the few times you have made it on board, the highlights were sunbathing on the deck and sipping wine in the cockpit while the stars came out.’

Well, there was that. It had all been awfully civilised. And she could almost imagine herself using the twenty-year-old yacht as a base for a relaxing holiday. She could explore the surrounding countryside and the nearby village of Lower Hadwell, wander down narrow streets lined with ice cream-coloured houses. She started to dream of long pub lunches and enough time to read the stack of paperbacks that had been gathering dust on her bedside table.

She must have looked as if she were weakening because Luke added, ‘I can always arrange for my friend Matthew to take you out on a couple of day trips—up and down the river, or round to one of the little beaches near the estuary that can only be reached by boat.’

Zoe stopped turning and looked Luke straight in the eye. ‘Matthew? The Matthew who has the shaggy blond hair and the cute, tight little rounded—’

Luke burst out laughing.

She half-closed her eyelids. ‘I was going to say “nose”.’

‘Of course you were. But, yes, that Matthew.’

Well, that sounded like the perfect recipe for a last-minute, spontaneous holiday. Fit, toned surfer-dudes and throwing things into a suitcase were definitely her thing. She instantly forgave Luke for the further three times he would tread on her feet before the dance was over.

‘In that case,’ she said, dipping low as Luke very bravely swung her into a pose, ‘you might just have a deal.’

The music changed to a slow, sweeping tune, but Damien hardly noticed it. He was tired. Bone-deep, soul-weary exhausted. Which was odd, because if anyone should have built up a best man brand of stamina by now, it should have been him.

He checked his watch. Nine-thirty.

It couldn’t be long now before Sara and Luke left the grounds of this smart country house hotel to begin a new life together. And once the car had disappeared, even while the tin cans were still clattering down the drive, he planned to slip away.

He had a room booked at the hotel, but he wasn’t going to use it. He needed to go back to his flat, be by himself, not extend the aftermath of the wedding with nightcaps with the other guests or jolly communal breakfasts the next morning.

Just before he looked up from his watch he became aware of someone standing in front of him. A quick glance downwards revealed his worst fear—white satin and a pair of matching shoes.

‘Come on, you …’ Sara said in that gentle, clear voice of hers. Damien transferred his gaze to his brogues. She was too close. If he looked up now, really let her see into his eyes, she might guess.

Slim fingers tugged at his jacket sleeve. ‘We can’t have you moping about in the corner on your own. You’ve got your pick of the bridesmaids, you know. Once upon a time that would have excited you.’

He looked up without actually looking at her, and shook his head. Why settle for second best?

‘Well, you’ll have to make do with me, then. Dance with me, Damien?’

He pulled air in through his nostrils and pushed it out again through his teeth. He stood up, unable to refuse this bride anything. Besides, she would think it odd if he refused, would probably send Luke to wheedle the secret he could never tell out of him.

Sara grasped his hand and pulled him towards the dance floor. So much for slipping away.

When she stopped, turned and waited for him to take her in his arms he almost bolted, but instead he stoically took her hand in his and drew her close. Not too close, however.

Imagine it’s someone else, he told himself.

And it seemed to work, because they started to move their feet and he still felt relatively normal. There were no fireworks where they touched, no unexpected jolts or hot flushes. This was good. He had things under control.

‘You’ve been fabulous today,’ Sara said as he led her round the dance floor. ‘Perfect.’

Damien smiled. A smile of duty. ‘It was easy to do this for Luke,’ he said. His words were plain, slightly evasive, but not devoid of truth. It had been easy to decide to support his best friend all the way when Luke had announced—in his own words—that he was going to marry the most wonderful woman in the world. Damien couldn’t have done anything else. It wasn’t in his bones.

But where the spirit was willing, the flesh had been weak. He hadn’t been able to eradicate the growing feelings for the woman he was now holding in his arms. He’d tried. God, he’d tried.

Sara attempted to chat as they danced, but her efforts clanged off him and fell to the floor between their feet. He’d always been able to jest and banter with Sara before now, but after the emotional marathon he’d run today he found himself searching frantically for something to say.

Conversation would be good, Damien! Conversation would distract him from the feel of her waist beneath his fingers, the light touch of her hand on his shoulder, the rose-scented perfume that was flooding his nostrils and drowning his lungs.

He looked down, breaking eye contact. ‘Your ring is beautiful,’ he said.

Sara lifted her hand off his shoulder to inspect it, twisting her hand one way then the other. ‘Yes, it is, isn’t it?’