Page 75 of Forever Mr Black

My phone beeps from inside my handbag, and I pull it out and glance at it as we climb out of the car. “Speaking of made up.”

“Your mum?”

“Yep. She’s sending me loads of photos of potential mother-of-the-bride outfits, and she wants me to tell her whether they could be a definite or a maybe.”

Bless her. My phone’s been beeping non-stop since I called her earlier to tell her we’d agreed on a date for the wedding. I push it back into my handbag. I’ll deal with it later. I can only handle one frenzied mum at a time, and Barbara’s bound to explode when we break the news.

We walk hand in hand up the steps to the front door. Art pushes the doorbell, and we hear it chime somewhere deep inside the house. I steal a glance at him. An ink-blue shirt complements his dark hair and makes his golden skin glow. He catches me looking and gives me one of his easy smiles.

“What?”

He’s flawless. But I’m not going to tell him and boost his ego.

I smile sweetly. “Nothing.”

He squeezes my hand and leans in for a kiss, but we’re interrupted by the front door flying open to the excitable cry of, “Darlings!”

Barbara looks the image of class, dressed in a crisp white linen dress. She throws her arms around us, pulling us into a hug. “So wonderful to see you both.”

She releases us from her vice-like grip, and Art leans down and kisses her cheek. “Happy birthday, Mum.”

“Yes, happy birthday,” I say.

Barbara admires my soft pink dress. “What a pretty colour on you. You’ve such a lovely figure, Sophie.”

A reluctant blush creeps up my cheeks at the compliment. “Thank you.”

“Come on in.” She ushers us into the house and closes the front door behind us. “Thank you for the flowers and card, dear. They’re beautiful.”

I glance through the doorway to the living room and notice a large bouquet of white calla lilies and a card sitting on an antique-looking sideboard.

Art flashes his eyes at me. “No problem, Mum.”

“It’s so lovely to see you again, Sophie.” Barbara’s diamond earrings twinkle as she turns to me. “Do come through.” She beckons for us to follow through to the kitchen. “We’re out on the patio, having drinks.”

“Drinks? It’s only just gone three.” Art laughs. “You’re starting early, Mum.”

“Oh, nonsense,” she calls over her shoulder. “It is my birthday, dear.”

The bi-fold doors at the back of the kitchen are open, affording a wonderful view of the patio and lawn beyond. A bottle of gin stands on the table on the terrace. Then, I see who’s sitting on one of the chairs. My stomach drops to my sandals.

Aisling is sipping a drink from a cut-glass tumbler. Her floor-length animal-print dress plunges into a deep V, showing off her bosom. Her glossed pink lips widen into a broad smile as she takes in Art. I clench my fists at the sight of her and feel my nails dig into my palms.

“Oh, hello, Art.” There’s a surprised note in her voice, like she didn’t expect to see him.

It’s his mum’s birthday. Of course he’s going to visit. And she knew it. This isn’t a bloody coincidence.

Her gaze reluctantly slides to me, and her voice stiffens. “Sophie.”

I force a smile, not trusting myself to speak.

“Sit down, sit down,” Barbara gushes. “Would you like a drink, Sophie?”

No way. I need to be stone-cold sober for the inevitable sparring match that’s bound to ensue. “No, I’m fine. Thank you, Barbara,” I reply politely.

“Art, dear, would you like a cup of tea?”

“No, thanks, Mum. I’m good.”

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