Page 31 of Wanting Mr Black

I frown, although I’m not surprised, she’s jumped to this conclusion. Mum’s a worrier.

“No, nothing like that.”

“Oh, that is good news because we really like him.” Mum lowers her voice a touch. “And he’s very handsome, Sophie.”

I inwardly cringe and glance at Art, who is oblivious to the compliment.

“We’ve moved in together.”

“Oh, lovely …” There’s a pause, and I know what she’s going to say before she says it. “It’s not a bit too soon, is it?”

“I hope not. It felt like the right decision.”

“And I really care about him,” I say, catching the smile on Art’s face.

“Okay, well, I’m glad that you’re happy, love. Now, you will remember to give Lucy and Mark all our best, won’t you?”

“Yes, Mum.”

“Wonderful. I’ll speak to you soon. Take care, love.”

“Bye, Mum.”

“So, that went okay by the sounds of it?” Art asks.

“She was happy, but she’s going to be because I think you made quite the impression on her and Martin.”

His smile broadens, clearly pleased that my parents love him.

I look down at the phone in my hand and realise I’ve received no texts from Lucy. Something doesn’t feel right.

“I’m surprised Lucy’s not phoning me by now to ask where the bloody hell I am.”

“I take full responsibility for making you late. There was no way I was going to be able to leave you naked in my bed.” He pauses and tilts his head, as if considering something. “Actually, correction … our bed.”

A fuzzy feeling of contentment fills my stomach at what he’s getting at. Ours. Mine and his. “Really?”

“Of course.” He places a hand on top of mine and smiles. “What’s mine is yours.”

I can’t help the stupid grin from spreading across my face.

The sun is shining, I’m about to witness my best friend get married, and I have him. What more could I want?

The bridal suite is in a wing of the hotel, overlooking the fabulously landscaped gardens. As soon as we arrive, I make a beeline for the stairs with Art hot on my heels. Lucy will be hopping mad by now. I can feel it. The fact that she hasn’t contacted me isn’t a good sign. She’s so pissed off with me that she can’t even bring herself to text.

Shit!

“I’ll see you in a little while,” I say as we reach the second-floor landing.

As I go to open the door, Art’s hand closes around mine, and he pulls me to him, attacking my mouth with his. He embraces me tightly as he kisses me, and I let him.

I’m already late. A few more seconds won’t hurt.

Finally, he pulls away as a cleaner appears through the door, giving us a knowing look. I feel my cheeks heat up at the knowledge that we’ve been caught out, kissing on the staircase like a pair of teenagers, but he doesn’t even seem to register her.

He smiles. “Now, you can go.”

His phone rings, and he drags it from his pocket, abruptly cancelling the call. There’s that frown again. I want to ask him who’s calling, but before I get a chance, he’s already started up the stairs.

---