Page 32 of Endgame

‘He’s not a problem, he’s…’

‘He’s a consideration, you’ve said – but he’s not, or shouldn’t be. He’s a problem. He hurts and embarrasses you. He’s the reason you’re here, in a country you don’t want to be in, and, as much as I hate to say it, dealing with me. You’re letting him hold you captive, Aari. When are you going to decide you’ve had enough?’

‘When I’ve had enough. I’m still in love with him, Dom. It’s complicated with Caleb.’

‘I’m not sure there’s a simple answer when it comes to him.’ Dominic took it too far with that last statement.

I manoeuvred myself out of the space between him and the wall to open the door. Things may be messy, confusing and difficult to wade through at the moment, but I refuse to let Dominic think he can take shots at Caleb and I’ll be okay with it.

‘It’s getting late, Dominic,’ I said curtly, refusing to meet his eyes.

He groaned, walked to my door and looked at me like he felt sorry for me.

‘I don’t know what it is with this guy, but I’m around if you need me.’

It was the last thing he said to me until amnesia roses and an apology note arrived the next day.

Friends really shouldn’t kiss friends without their permission, no matter how enchanting they may have been. I should have kept my hands and thoughts to myself last night. Dom.

I responded with a phone call and, by the time I’d hung up, we’d agreed to keep our friendship as it was.

EIGHT

CALEB

I remind myself that Ariella is happy that I am in the UK for Zachary’s wedding as I check my white shirt, navy tie and petrol-blue suit and straighten my pocket square in my bedroom’s mirror one last time. Eden, Ivory Bow’s resident stylist, called in some favours to get the Brunello Cucinelli suit fitted at the last minute. I fix my cuffs and tuck a stray hair back into my side-sweep. I want to look good for her.

‘Come on, Caleb! There will be drunk bridesmaids and a whole load of women from a country that has never heard of you, so at least someone, at some point, will want to talk to you.’ Lara calls loudly from the living room.

I adjust my tie and walk out.

‘Why couldn’t you just go straight there, again?’

‘Because I’m not invited until the party later, so I need to hang on and pretend to be your plus one.’ She waves the invitation she stole from the kitchen top at me, then pops it in her bag. ‘Also, Honey is on some random bus trip to Ireland for the next few days and I bought a dress and everything.’

‘Speaking of Honey, that was a dirty move you pulled, telling her that I gave her two weeks off.’

‘What? When she called you to check if you were sure, you said yes, so what’s the problem?’

‘She was so excited, I was hardly going to say no, was I?’

‘Stop complaining. She came to the Wednesday class with your hoodlums, didn’t she? Besides, she deserves the time off. I’ll call us a cab.’ Lara whips out her phone and opens up her taxi app. ‘It’ll be here in two minutes. Too late to cancel now. Come on.’

She grabs my hand and drags me out of the apartment. As we hit the pavement, she adjusts my tie. ‘There. It’s straight now.’

We hop into the taxi and make our way through London towards Kensington Palace. The car drops us off and we take a stroll through the grounds. Lara lets out a low wolf whistle as the Orangery comes into view.

‘Scottish meatballs, how fucking minted are they?’

The glass building overlooking the palace looks like a clearing in the woods, surrounded by perfect rose-filled hedges. It is covered with vines and an intricate network of perfectly placed leaves. We notice that guests are walking through mysterious white-flower-framed gaps in the hedges and disappearing, so we follow.

Lara and I round the corner to discover that the walkway has been created with flower-covered arches, that lead to a softly lit white room filled with roses. It smells like berries, citrus and woodland. As we walk in, two ladies in wispy green dresses hand us each an order of service and float their hands towards the seats.

‘It’s so stunning, I’m not sure I’d want to fart in here,’ Lara whispers.

The laughter that escapes from me is sharp and loud, prompting everyone listening to the elegant cellist to look round. Zachary laughs when he spots us, and gives us a little wave;while Jasper quickly approaches and places us on the same row as Sophia.

‘Lara,’ he says curtly.

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