Page 41 of Forever Mr Black

Cecilia looks at Art. “Long time no see, young man. I hear business is doing well.”

“Yeah, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? Business is doing really well, thanks,” Art says.

There’s a pause, and then Cecilia says, “Sophie, this is my daughter, Aisling.”

On cue, she takes a step forward, forcing me to look at her. Her figure-hugging, off-the-shoulder royal-blue dress leaves little to the imagination. Her thick hair lies in waves across her shoulders. French-manicured nails match the toenails that peek out from strappy gold sandals. There’s no doubt she’s dressed to impress.

She gives me a tight smile, as though it’s paining her to be civil. “How lovely to properly meet you, Sophie. We didn’t get a chance the other day.”

I can’t bring myself to say it’s nice to meet her, too, because it would be an outright lie. But she’s playing the game, and I’m not one to be beaten.

I force a polite smile.

Bored with the pleasantries of speaking to me, she shifts her gaze to Art. Jealousy knots in my stomach as her green eyes slide over him from head to toe.

She smiles sweetly. “It’s nice to see you again, Art. You look great.”

I bite the inside of my mouth and taste metal.

He smiles. “Thanks.”

“Aisling’s told us you put her in touch with some of your contacts to help her find a new place to live,” Barbara interjects.

“It was nothing,” Art insists.

Aisling swings her hair over her shoulder and gives a tinkly little laugh. “It wasn’t nothing, silly. They were perfect.” Her eyes glide over him again, in a way that suggests that’s not the only thing she thinks is perfect. “I think I might have foundthe one, all thanks to you.” She bats her eyelashes and flashes another sickly-sweet smile.

I hate this. The way she’s playfully chastising him. It’s familiar. Too familiar.

“Art was very helpful and obliging … as always.” She raises her glass to her lips, hiding a smug smile.

I take a hefty drink of champagne to stop my mouth from running away with me. If we were alone, she’d be getting a piece of my mind. She’s got the others fooled but not me. I’m not buying the butter wouldn’t melt act. She seems hell-bent on pushing my buttons, and I’m determined not to rise to it, but if I’m not going to create a scene, then I need to move. Now.

“If you all will excuse me, I think my mum wants to speak to me. I’ll be right back.” I turn on my heel with my head held high and no intention of returning.

I mingle with the other guests, swapping proposal stories and discussing honeymoon destinations. But I’m distracted. Only half-listening. I’m shaken, inwardly reeling from what just happened. Trying to process the mishmash of thoughts going round in my head whilst outwardly trying to keep up appearances.

A polite, ready smile is etched on my face, and after a while, my cheeks begin to hurt. My mask is dangerously close to slipping as I watch Art and Aisling, still talking on the patio. Every now and then, she flicks her hair and touches his arm or shoulder, and I fight the urge to waltz over to them and break up their little tête-à-tête. But I hold myself back. That would be childish and immature. And I know she’d see that as a win. Proof that she bothers me. Evidence that she’s getting under my skin. I’m not going to give her the satisfaction.

Fourteen

The hours roll by. The sun disappears into the burnished evening sky, and the guests begin to leave. Art and I haven’t had an opportunity to speak since earlier. He’s been trying to make his way over to me ever since, but he’s been stopped by guests and dragged into conversations. Aisling and her mum have disappeared, and I thank the Lord she’s finally gone.

“All right, Soph, Steve and I are heading off.”

Lucy’s at my side, holding a half-empty glass of champagne.

I frown. The evening’s passed by in a blur, thanks to my preoccupied brain. “Oh, okay. What time is it?”

“Just gone nine.” She drains her glass and looks at me. “Are you all right? You’ve got a face like a slapped arse.”

“Sorry, I know I’ve been a bit distracted tonight.”

Lucy twists her lips in thought and narrows her eyes slightly, as if working something out. “You’re not still brooding about the whole wedding-venue thing, are you? If you are, just have it out with Art tonight.”

I wish.

I shake my head. “No, it’s not that. It doesn’t matter; it’s nothing.”

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