Page 41 of A Wedding in a Week

“Well, I’d be happy to bring one of my tents over to your place if you want to see how it would look in situ. Even happier to talk about renting them to you. I’m always looking for new income streams.”

“Tell me about it.”

Hayden huffs out a sigh and man, I feel that so much. He also chuffs out a laugh that comes with another self-deprecating smile, and it’s a good look on him—one it seems Marc appreciates too, although that isn’t instantly apparent when he joins us.

I feel his hand land on the small of my back again first, and I like him leaving it there more than I know what to do with until Hayden smiles again. This one isn’t aimed at me, and I might barely know the man, but even I can tell that this version is different. For one, it’s surprised and aimed directly at Marc, plus it’s familiar, as if they know each other.

“Marc! I didn’t know you’d be here. It’s me—”

“Hayden.” Marc’s surprised too.

“That’s right.” Hayden extends a hand that means Marc has to take his from my back. They shake, and I miss that contact, but I don’t miss Hayden pulling out his phone and giving it a waggle.

He says, “Nice to see you for real rather than only via the app,” and my heart sinks.

This is who Marc was messaging?

I survey them both through new eyes, feeling like I’m back in the hospital again, only with more than my elbow dislocated. I’d been an observer not a participant while on the good drugs. I’m on the outside of this conversation too, and I wish I wasn’t. I also wish my first impression of Hayden had been off.

I can’t pretend he’s anything other than exactly what Lukas promised—stiff competition—and as he and Marc talk, I construct a mental tally of boxes he ticks.

Hayden’s local. He’s determined to stay in Cornwall. He even shares the same social circle.

He is stiff competition, or at least that’s what he becomes the moment I tune back into their conversation.

“We should rearrange that dinner.” Hayden waggles his phone again. “Pick up from where we left off.” He points towards the snug bar. “If you haven’t eaten already, we could—”

For a long, drawn-out moment, I’m reminded of hanging over that cliff, part of me wanting to fight free of my seat belt. The rest of me had battled to stay still, one false move meaning I might lose my family. Or be lost to them, and they’d been through a version of that once already. Now I freeze all over again, waiting for Marc’s answer.

I have no idea why I hear my brother’s voice instead. He’s miles away in London, not leaning against this bar beside me, and yet he could be whispering in my ear.

Don’t let him fall for another loser.

But that was me, wasn’t it?

My heart sinks deeper, and I’m at a party, not hanging over that cliff, but I can’t stand by and do nothing.

I can’t.

The need to act wars with my instinctive freezing because the cliff rescue team won’t haul me back to safety this time, will they?

I know I’m not in real, physical danger but my body gets a different message. Adrenaline must do something to my vision—Marc turns crystalline clear. I see each taut tendon at the side of his throat, the pulse at its base beating slower than my wild, internal hammer, and it makes no sense to want to pull him close and fasten my mouth right there.

I don’t need to feel the kick of his heart under my tongue, or to suck a mark there as deep and dark as my first wicked bruising. This primal urge to fight for my life is way out of proportion when, for all I know, Hayden could be a good man for him.

But I’m better.

I am.

I’m the right man for Marc.

I haul in a deep breath, which feels like old ice cracking. My chest puffs, every button on my borrowed shirt straining, and I couldn’t be happier about it when Marc looks at me, not at him. It also means I get to see a flicker of his smile the moment I state, “Marc’s here with me this evening.”

I’m fucking delighted when he nods, agreeing with me.

Hayden nods too, if more slowly. He even backs off, but not far enough for comfort, and a swell of something I haven’t felt since I last saw everyone here gathered together also washes through me. I’d discovered that Luxton fighting spirit hadn’t skipped a generation the first time after Dad’s wake. Coming home to demands from the bank had made me come out swinging.

This is the same feeling, even though I know Marc doesn’t belong to me like my family’s land. That means I hold my breath, stopping somewhere between outright staking a claim and popping all of my brother’s shirt buttons, but maybe that’s enough.

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