Page 1 of Resisting Mr Black

One

“You may now kiss the bride,” Francois, the slender middle-aged registrar announces with pride from the front of the sun-soaked Summer Room.

I stand discreetly by the double doors at the very back of the room and watch as the bride and groom enjoy their first kiss as husband and wife. Sniffs of emotion erupt from their nearest and dearest sat on rows of mock bamboo chairs, straining their necks to get a better look at the blissfully happy couple.

I love this moment. I love my job, helping couples enjoy the best day of their lives. I tick off another box on my mental list—the main event of the day has gone without a hitch, and I’ve seen another bride and groom begin the next chapter of their lives.

I twist the brass knobs on the double doors pushing them open, and hurry into the light-filled Orangery, sweeping a scrutinising gaze around the room to ensure everything is perfectly laid out for the champagne reception. A long rectangular table dressed in a pristine white tablecloth is covered with glasses of champagne and orangejuice for the non-drinkers. Sweet perfume fills the room from the calla lily garland I painstakingly spent most of my morning pinning to the tablecloth, as the late May bank holiday sunshine beats down on the glass-roofed atrium.

The familiar sound of the Wedding March starts up behind me and the scraping of chairs against the parquet floor of the Summer Room signals the ceremony is over and the bride and groom are headed this way. My cue to leave.

Once the final preparations on the day of the wedding are complete, my job is nearly done. I spend the remainder of the day hovering close by, ready to jump in just in case there’s a last-minute mess-up, but mainly dissolving into the background. Just how I like it. I back out into the bar as the Orangery fills with the hum of chatter.

“I opened the doors to the gardens to let the breeze in, it was like an oven in there.” Olly, the head barman, runs a hand through his mop of chestnut brown hair, flashing a self-satisfied grin, evidently pleased with himself for doing me a favour.

“Thanks, Olly,” I smile appreciatively. “It’s hotter than the forecast suggested.” I pinch my dress at the front and pull it from my body in a desperate bid to circulate some air between the material and my clammy flesh. My navy boat neck pencil dress is smart but not exactly light-weight and summery. I awkwardly shift from foot to foot, the soles of my feet burning in the blush heels I’ve been in since eight this morning.

Why didn’t I wear sandals?

“I’ve only just poured the drinks.” He folds his arms, oblivious to my shuffling feet. “No one likes warm champagne.”

That’s true.

“How’s it going?” Lucy asks, popping up to my right.

“Great.” I reach a hand behind my head and smooth down my hair which is swept up into a high ponytail. At least I had the forethought to wear my hair up today. “I could do with it being a bit cooler though. The flowers will start to droop.”

“It’s lovely and cool by reception.” Lucy straightens her light-blue blouse. “I’ve got both front doors open so there’s a lovely breeze. “

I puff out my cheeks and flap a hand in front my face. “Lucky you. Is it still busy?”

Shewrinkles her nose. “No, since the morning’s rush it’s been dead. You okay, Ol?” She peers around me at a preoccupied Olly staring into the Orangery.

“I’d better go and open another bottle; it looks like they’re running low. Can’t have that can we?” He gives me a wink and heads off to sort out the drinks.

Technically, the bride and groom have paid for drinks for fifty and that’s what they’ve been provided with, but I can’t fault Olly’s helpfulness, so instead I offer another polite smile of thanks.

“He’s trying to impress you,” Lucy says once he’s disappeared from earshot.

I know he is.

“I can’t understand why you’ve turned him down,” she carries on, tilting her head to the side, her eyes following Olly’s pert backside.

Not this again.

“He’s nice, but I’m not really looking to start anything, Luce.”

She gives a melodramatic sigh that tells me she doesn’t understand my thought process. “You’ve been single for three years, Sophie. Three years. He’s cute, and he’s got a nice arse.”

“And you’re getting married in just under two months so less talk like that, young lady,” I scold playfully, giving her a sideways glance.

She twirls a blonde curl around her index finger and twists her red lips in thought. “So? There’s nothing stopping me from having a look. I think you should give him a chance.”

She’s not letting this go.

“I’m fine on my own.” There’s an edge of defiance to my voice, but I can’t help it. I’m surrounded by enough love and romance in my day job to last me a lifetime. Happily-ever-afters are something that happen to other people. Not me. It’s easier to fly solo.

Lucy’s expression softens as she gives me a look that tells me I’m not going to like what she’s about to say. “I think it’s time you let your guard down and gave a guy a chance.” She rubs my shoulder supportively and I wish she wouldn’t because it’smaking my stomach churn with trepidation. I know she’s right. “They won’t all be like Theo.”

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