Page 74 of The Key to My Heart

Priya:Balls of steel. Remember?

Chapter Twenty-Three

I’d hoped Shauna and Don’s anniversary party would be a perfect distraction from what happened between me and Joe yesterday – I just didn’t expect this. Total escapism levels of distraction. Stepping into anotherworldlevels of distraction. Because when Shauna described the venue for her anniversary party, she failed to mention it was basically a castle –an estate. One that wouldn’t look out of place on a BBC period drama. I couldn’t believe it when my satnav led me here, down this huge sweeping driveway, and the hall appeared, a huge L-shaped building. The way Shauna threw it into casual conversation, I expected a little banquet hall at the most. I did not expectthis. This is a luxury spa resort. This has a hedge-maze and pillars and those suitcase trolleys – the gold ones that are always attached to men in tailcoats. And I admit – I’m very glad I chose to dress up. I was worried, when I pulled out my trusty little black dress from the back of the wardrobe that a) it wouldn’t fit me and b) I’d be overdressed. Like someone showing up to play in a football match in a ball gown. But I’m glad I took the risk, because not a single fucker in the Maddens’ family – well, Shauna, nor her Tommy Button– told me that they’d be celebrating here: in what might as well be the Bridgerton estate.

I crunch across the gravel, my breath clouding in the air as I walk towards the grand entrance – two, large glass and teak-framed doors, with long, gold handles. It’s cold tonight, the weather switching into full-autumn, without a hitch.

‘Nah, nah, you’ve gone wrong, mate.’ A man in a tuxedo stands at the entrance, a half-full beer in his hand, a phone to his ear. His bow-tie hangs untied, either side of his neck. ‘You need to swing a left there. You’re at the golf club. We’re at the main house. Yeah, that’s it. That’s where you’re going.’ A guest, or best man, I suppose, from a wedding party being held in another function room. He steps aside as I approach, and I go inside.

At the quiet reception desk, I open the invite Shauna emailed to me on my phone. ‘I’m here for Don and Shauna Madden’s anniversary party,’ I say to the man on reception, who has a fixed (and exhausted) grin on his face. He looks like someone who’s had quite enough of drunken wedding guests for one lifetime. ‘In the, er … the Coles Suite, is that right?’

The man nods, and gives me directions. ‘You can’t miss it, madam,’ he says flatly, ‘just follow the corridor right around. You’ll hear it before you see it.’

And he’s right. I do hear Shauna and Don’s party before I see it, and it’s so raucous, I wonder for a moment, if it’s therightparty – but when the glossy double white-panelled doors come into view, I instantlysee Tom. He’s waiting outside, resting easily against the wall, his eyes on his phone, and for a second, I almost freeze, there on the carpet. He looks like the Tom I met at Avocado Clash.Betterthan the Tom at Avocado Clash. Tall, totally dashing, as my mum would say, and just – so incredibly handsome. I wonder if Amy thinks this when she sees him. She must do. That jaw, those eyes, that perfect mouth …

‘Thomas,’ I say, ‘I wondered if your ma-ma would permit you to take a turn in the gardens with me.’

Tom glances up, and his face breaks out into a smile. ‘Hey! I was just calling you. You didn’t pick up.’

‘Sorry, my phone’s in my bag. But hi. I’m here.’

‘Yes, you are.’ He smiles and closes the gap between us, slowly, across the floor. ‘Well, fuckin’ hell, Foxes,’ he says. ‘I must say … You look good. Better than good.’

‘Scrub up well, don’t I?’

‘Putting it lightly,’ he grins.

‘And you … you look positivelydashing.Very Mr Darcy. Or maybe – Mr Darcy’s rough and rugged younger brother.’

‘And have you seen.’ He gestures with his hands down to his shoes. ‘Polished. Bless my little heart. I really tried. Really made the effort.’

‘Oh, I’m so going to need a photo.’ I laugh. ‘To send to Priya.’

‘Of course. Only reason I bothered to be honest. And …’ He raises the camera in his hand. An SLR. Black. A thick, black band attached to it, for his neck. ‘Allowme.’ He snaps a photo of his feet on the floor, and I do the same on my phone, like his shoes are two celebrities that just arrived at the Met Gala.

‘Proper normal behaviour this,’ he says. ‘And shall we? I’mpositivedear ma-ma will be er – splendiferino’d to see you.’

‘Quite,’ I reply, linking my arm through his, and something settles in my tummy, like safety, being this close to him. ‘Lead the way. But no sudden surprises please. I’m sewn into the dress and the slightest bit of pressure, and I’m worried I’ll be blown out of it.’

‘Interesting,’ says Tom. ‘Sounds like an invitation to be honest.’

He leads us both through the double-panelled doors and into a room bathed in a haze of blue-purple light. And it is full of people, and I meanfull. It looks more like a wedding reception, than a party. Even the dance floor is heaving, all arms and legs and bobbing heads.

Tom looks down at me and widens his blue eyes. A wordless ‘this is mad, eh?’

‘There are alotof people here,’ I say over the music and Tom nods.

‘Yup.’

‘And when’s your toast?’

‘I don’t know,’ he groans deeply. ‘Soon, I guess? I’m just hoping to die before it’s time. A heart attack might be nice. Right over the chocolate fountain, for a little extra drama.’

‘No, Thomas,’ I say. ‘You’re not allowed to die.’

Tom winces. ‘Sorry. Bit tasteless of me.’

‘No, I just mean – well, I need you to finish my damp-proofing first for starters. Then you’re free to go up in beautiful flames.’

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