Page 51 of Love, Lilly

“We’ve got this!” Melanie says, looking serious. Feeling nervous, I look around and see some of the ladies standing next to us doing hamstring stretches. This appears to be a serious sport for some.

“I don’t think Sarah would want me to have her bouquet,” I tell Melanie, trying to edge my way out of the bunch of hungry-looking single women.

“Nonsense,” Melanie admonishes me. “See that yummy man you have back there?” she says as my gaze follows hers to where Oliver is standing watching me. “This may be the signal he needs to pop the question.”

“Oh no,” I tell her, attempting to backtrack out of this conversation. “We aren’t there yet.”

“You may not be, but that man over there is so hopelessly in love with you. I am surprised he hasn’t proposed to you yet.”

My face warms at this, and I turn to look at Oliver again. Could Melanie and Amy be right? Could Oliver have feelings for me? As I stand pondering this thought, I am suddenly crushed under the weight of four women, all fighting to catch the bouquet, which I only just saw was thrown directly at me.

Once the lucky lady—is that Melanie?—has the bouquet in her proud possession, I am given enough room to pick myself up from the floor. As I stand, Oliver is making his way to me with a worried frown on his face.

“Lilly, are you OK? You got absolutely smashed by the crowd.”

I inspect myself for injuries, ensuring that the Perfect Dress is unharmed, and I see a small cut on my elbow. I show it to Oliver with a pitiful whimper. “Do you think I will survive?”

Oliver lets out a relieved breath, giving my elbow a soft kiss, and smiles. “Those women were ruthless. I didn’t think you would make it out of there alive.”

“Never underestimate the power of a bouquet and a room full of women wanting to be the next to get married,” I say as I limp off the dance floor.

We sit back down at our table as I get my breath back, and I see that the wedding is starting the wrap up. With the formalities all complete, the bride and groom having said their goodbyes, it is now time to get some cake and start the long ride home. I look at Oliver, feeling a wave of sadness wash over me, knowing our weekend of pretend is over. But amid it all, I now have some hope. Maybe it doesn’t have to be pretend moving forward?

“OK, walking wounded,” Oliver says to me, holding my hand and pulling me up to stand. “I think it is time to go.”

“Cake first,” I insist.

“Of course,” he replies, leading the way to the cake table. He picks up two plates of two different cake flavours—so I can try both—and we make our way back to our hotel room. Once there, I polish off the cake, then step into the bathroom to take off my Perfect Dress and return to my normal, boring clothes.

While I am doing this, I hear Oliver packing up his belongings, and before too long, we are ready to go. As I turn towards the door, Oliver touches my elbow, stopping me in my tracks. He gives me another one of his intense looks before saying, “We should probably talk about the kiss?”

Finally, an acknowledgment.

“What kiss?” I pretend to think about it. “We kissed?”

Oliver smiles at me and roughly pulls me closer.

“You don’t remember?” he says, his lips inches from mine.

“Hmm, I may need my memory refreshed.”

Before I can even finish my sentence, Oliver has crushed his lips to mine, and it is better than the other kisses. This one is hot and almost brutal and goes on and on until we force ourselves apart, breathless and aroused.

“That kiss,” he says in a low voice, a voice that is doing things to my insides.

“Yup. That was a kiss,” I reply, still shell shocked by the power of it.

“So we should talk about it?”

“Yes, definitely, we should talk about it,” I say as I pull his mouth back to mine, now addicted to kissing him. This kiss is soft and tender, and I melt into it, feeling it down to my toes.

“We should go,” Oliver says after a long moment, lifting his head from mine, gently rubbing his nose against mine as he does so, his eyes filled with longing. “We have to check out, like two minutes ago,” he adds, looking at his watch.

Still in a daze, I nod and allow him to usher me out of the room and down the elevator. I let him take care of the paperwork as I float around the reception area. When I see Melanie, I promise to keep in touch and give her a hug.

“I’ll come and visit your pop-up café, Lilly,” she tells me, her voice raised with excitement. “I follow you on Instagram now, so I will stay up to date with all your developments.”

“That’s great, Mel. I hope we get to meet up again soon,” I tell her with full sincerity.

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