Page 54 of The Player

“I think so too.”

“He’d have been so happy. He told me once that he thought you and Con would end up together.”

“He said what?”

She shrugs. “He was joking after you’d both hauled him over the coals over that hotel bill, but there was a truth behind his words I didn’t understand at the time. I think he knew what would happen.”

I feel suddenly emotional, so I change the subject. “Oh my god, I remember that bill. The head of a small country would have spent less. I thought he’d bought the bloody building, not spent the night.”

She chuckles. “I do miss his accounting. He was so creative.”

“Like the time he claimed that an evening in a sex club could be classed as hospitality.”

We both laugh, and she kisses her fingers and places them over David’s picture for a second. “I’ll raise a glass knowing he’d be sitting there laughing and loving you both.”

“Me too.”

She hugs me, then walks away. “I’ll see you at the wedding,” she calls.

***

I’m standing at the french doors in the lounge when Con finds me half an hour later.

“The marquee is done. The lads said everything is ready, and the caterers have just arrived,” I say, hearing his footsteps and reaching out to lock the doors.

“So, it’s just you and me, then?”

I turn around, and my breath catches. “Oh, you do look lovely.”

He’s wearing a grey three-piece suit that clings to his wide shoulders and long legs. His tie is the same colour as the lavender in his corsage, and his hair is pushed back from his tanned forehead. His eyes are brown and very clear as he looks at me.

I cross over to him. “This is wonky,” I say, adjusting his corsage.

He hums, sending his finger over my hand. “Still nervous?”

I look up at him and grin. “Not anymore. Steady as a rock.” He raises an eyebrow, and I snort. “Maybe a bit, but never about marrying you. I can’t wait to be your husband. I’m just scared of doing something wrong during the ceremony.”

He shrugs, playing with the ends of my hair, which is hanging loose at his request. “You can’t do anything wrong.” He pauses. “Apart from running off and leaving me at the altar.”

“Have you seen my running? I wouldn’t get far.”

He snorts. “Forrest Gump was more graceful.” He strokes over my eyebrow, his fingers gentle. “And if you do anything silly, it’ll just be another funny story we’ll tell.” He kisses me, and his lips are soft and warm, and his scent fills me, calming me. “I love you, Frankie. It’s always been you. It always will be you.”

I pull back. “I love you too. You don’t know how much,” I whisper and kiss him again. “Ready to get married?” I say against his lips. He nods, and I hand him my tie.

“You do it. Otherwise, I’ll end up looking like Matty Healy.”

“Is that what normally happens with your ties? I thought you were deliberately aiming for the look of a rumpled undertaker.”

I laugh and watch his face avidly as he ties my tie. When he looks up, I wink at him. “Got your plant superglue, Monty Don?”

“You are not funny,” he warns me as we leave the house, and he pauses to lock the front door.

“You know very well I am. Stop trying to deny it.”

The village street looks beautiful, with cottage windows twinkling, and the mellow golden stone of the buildings glowing in the afternoon sunshine. The street is already busy with tourists.

Signs are everywhere for the garden show, and we pause by a beautiful display of purple flowers. They look rather straggly at the front, and I’m sure I can see the gaps in the arrangement.

---