Page 51 of A Wedding in a Week

And that sums up what this almost-complete week means to me—what he means to me.

He hasn’t only carried a bale, he’s repeatedly thought of how to ease my workload. There isn’t any sea mist here this evening to obscure that truth. It’s clear from where we sit all the way to the horizon where a tall-masted yacht bobs, its sails billowing and licked gold by the sunset.

Marc is too. I can’t look away as he touches the bale we sit on. “I already took photos of the food while you were working, so I wondered…” He faces me, and he’s so much more to me than golden, so much more than someone thoughtful whose flush climbs as he tugs at his collar like he’s nervous. “Want to share a last picnic with me?”

I don’t want a last anything with him. Not now. But I don’t want to jinx his chances either by giving voice to what I do want.

All I can do is nod, and so what if more than my arm aches?

At least I get to see Marc happy.

19

Our last day starts with a different kind of aching.

I wake to find my bed empty, so I sit up and listen. Faint bleats register first. If I stood at the window, I guess I’d see Marc and Jess moving the sheep to rotate their grazing. Then I hear the scrape of a chair downstairs and I guess he’s actually in the kitchen. Marc must have got up extra early if he’s finished that chore already.

Because Hayden’s coming with his tent. He wants to be free for him.

My heart sinks like I do back on my pillows even though I know Hayden coming through on his promise is a good thing. A kind thing. His loan is generous when, in hindsight, I was a bit of a dick to him the last time I saw him.

A bit of a dick?

I lay back and cover my eyes with a forearm, which works just fine to block out the light. It does fuck all to block the memory of me leaning between him and Marc down in Porthperrin. I scrub my face next, which is still rough with stubble. I register that with both hands, my right one neither numb or tingling for a blessed moment suggesting I could get up and shave before he gets here. I would, if only Marc hadn’t looked across from his pillow last night and told me how much he liked this rough and ready version of me. Now that feels like a tiny advantage I’d be stupid not to leverage even though I’m certain Hayden isn’t any real competition.

I hear John then, even though it’s his day off, repeating what he said about Dad. It almost makes me want to hear Mum’s perspective—did she like Dad bristling to keep her, or did she roll her eyes like both she and my brother have perfected?

I’m pretty sure that’s what Lukas would do if he could see me. He’d roll his eyes all the way out of his skull and, for once, I wish I could see him do it.

I reach for my phone, and fuck, yesterday really didn’t do my arm any favours. It’s back to tingling as I stab out a message.

Stefan: Lukas? You up?

Of course he will be. He’ll be burning his candle from both ends, like usual, as if he shouldn’t be more careful, and here’s proof—I see him start to type a reply, dots on my screen waving and disappearing over and over. His typing keeps stopping and starting, and I guess he must be back on his gym treadmill, trying to reply while exercising like his repaired heart is bombproof. Or maybe he’s studying.

The alternative is Lukas typing an extra-long message, and I brace myself for some knife-sharp mocking from him, or for an obscure meme I’ll have to Google. He finally finishes typing his essay, but after all that waiting, what appears on my screen is a one-word answer.

Lukas: Yes.

That’s all he sends, and maybe it should be a relief and not a let-down, but this morning I could do with some kind of distraction. With his kind of distraction, which only proves that absence must make the heart grow fonder—or more masochistic. Still, I type again to provoke my brother into talking.

Stefan: What’s up? Cat got your tongue?

Stefan: Video call?

Stefan: Or is the lovely Destiny keeping your mouth too busy to talk?

Again, Lukas starts to answer, those same reply dots wavering. So does my spur-of-the-moment decision to open up about being a jealous wanker over Marc. Because that’s what I am, and I know it, but if keeping livestock has taught me one thing it’s that you can’t let infection fester. It only prolongs pain, needless and exhausting, and that’s what this jealousy feels like.

I have to get it out of my system, and fast, before Hayden gets here, but as my brother’s typing starts and stops again, I know what confessing will also tell him. The moment I admit who I’m jealous over Lukas will know I want to circle his best friend the same way Jess did those lambs. It will mean admitting that Marc and I are…

I don’t know how to describe what feels more than the spark of an old crush resurrecting. Hayden, on the other hand, feels like another cliff edge, and that’s got to be an overreaction. One joke from my brother could stop it dead because he might be the bane of my life, but he’s always made it easy to laugh at myself. He’s also always in my corner.

He’s in Marc’s corner as well.

I know that, so it feels right to get it off my chest once and for all—how Marc and I could have started something three years ago, if our lives had been different, right up to me wanting to delete that app from Marc’s phone like some Hollywood bunny-boiler. I’d tell him everything and take whatever teasing that costs me, but the next message Lukas sends means I’ll have to wait to make those confessions.

Lukas: I can’t talk now.

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