Page 6 of The Wedding Game

‘Of course there’s a time limit. Dating seriously at twenty-five, married at thirty, babies by thirty-five. Divorced by forty.’

‘Jesus Christ! In that case, I’m massively behind.’ He looks out over the lawn and then glances back at me and his gaze holds mine for a second, two seconds. It’s magnetic. I can’t look away. I don’t want to.

‘Me too,’ I say softly.

He checks his watch and I feel my stomach lurch in disappointment that he might be leaving. ‘Have you got somewhere to be?’

‘I’m just seeing if it’s been seventeen minutes yet.’

I laugh at that. ‘Oh, that’s funny.’ I realise I like him. A pity he’s not the best man, though, because I should really be on the hunt. I can feel this spa day slipping away.

Chris drains his drink and I see my glass is empty too.

‘Would you like another champagne?’ I ask.

‘Sure, I can go and—’

‘I’ll do it,’ I say, not wanting to risk losing him inside to the crowd. ‘I’ll grab a couple of glasses and bring them out here? If you don’t feel our Big Talk has run its course, that is.’ I don’t want this to finish. I’d like to stay out here with Chris, talking and laughing and flirting.

‘Stay out here, chatting Big Talk with you and avoiding the small talk in there? Sounds perfect to me.’

‘I’ll be right back then,’ I tell him, taking his empty glass.

‘And I’ll berighthere,’ he replies. He leans against the balustrade, folding his arms across his chest and watching me go. I turn at the door and give him one last look, smiling. He smiles back, then I go inside.

CHAPTER TWO

‘What can I get you?’ the bartender asks as I reach the front of the queue after a long wait.

‘Two glasses of champagne, please.’ I say politely, handing over our empty glasses. He takes them away and pulls out two fresh flutes, popping the cork on a new bottle of fizz. ‘And can you fill them right the way to the top, so I don’t have to queue again for a while?’

The barman pauses pouring, looks at me.

‘I’m not joking,’ I say. ‘No half-measures.’

His eyes widen and he continues to pour. ‘Fair enough.’

‘Thirsty?’ the man queuing next to me asks as I watch the bartender pour.

‘They’re not both for me,’ I reply, turning to him.

‘No, I meant … all the way up to the top. Never mind,’ he says, blinking away his comment.

‘Oh, I see what you mean. I’ve just queued for what feels like for ever,’ I tell him, ‘and I don’t want to have to go through it all again in twenty minutes.’

‘That’s a good plan,’ he agrees thoughtfully. ‘I might steal that idea.’

‘Especially since the drinks are free,’ I whisper.

‘They’re not free any more,’ he says. ‘They hit the limitbehind the bar a little while ago, and now it’s every man for himself. I didn’t manage to get a refill in time, either.’

‘Oh, shit,’ I say as the bartender presents the glasses to me and tells me the astronomical sum I’m expected to magic up now for two glasses of the most expensive champagne ever. I’ve turned cold at the thought of my next credit card statement. I produce my card and hold it out to tap.

‘Sorry, it’s not gone through,’ the bartender tells me. ‘Do you have another card?’

‘No,’ I say ever so quietly.

The man next to me sees my concern. ‘I’ll get these,’ he says smoothly.

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