Page 97 of The Wedding Game

Max’s wedding is at Glasshouse Chelsea, a high-rise building where views of the winter sunset across the city are a thing of wonder. The light is so red, setting across the buildings in a horizontal bright flame. It takes my breath away.

He and his partner Michelle are having a glamorous but laid-back sort of wedding. While the venue is stylish, the atmosphere isn’t staid, or as formal as I’m used to in the UK. Max is very ‘New York’ and so is his wedding. He and Michelle wrote their own vows, including how he promised to refill the coffee machine with water each night, and how she promised to stop putting the remote control in random places. Michelle is wearing bright red rather than white, and she’s sporting a baby bump. There’s so much happiness in the air, there’s no formal seating plan and the pianist is playing Billie Eilish. If I was playing wedding bingo today, I’d have lost as I’d have had none of this on my grid. The wedding’s fabulous and it’s proof you can get married and enjoy the happiest day of your life however you want.

My jet lag is catching up with me. It comes in fits and starts and, to counteract it, I’ve been drinking Espresso Martinis all night. The mix of caffeine and vodka is making mefeel wired, but mellow at the same time. My eyes are wide open, but my brain is exhausted.

I reflect on how another wedding has been ticked off a seemingly endless list. Each one I’ve attended over the years has been different, but only one of them do I live over and over again in my mind. Only one of them was truly standout. I found Chris and then lost him, all at once. And then I met Josh. Which, in hindsight, I really wish I hadn’t.

I did wonder if Chris would come to this wedding, but there’s no sign of him, and I felt strange grilling Max about Chris in the run-up. He had more important things to think about as the happiest day of his life loomed. Chris not being here takes the shine off this trip, dulls it in some way. But I put a huge, happy smile on my face, congratulate Max and his new wife and enthuse wildly about their cool, fun wedding. Max confirmed excitedly what I’d already guessed, that they’re expecting a baby, before being ushered off to speak to other guests.

I make small talk with the colleagues I rarely see and then, when that’s run its course, I hang out at the bar and try to order a final drink before I leave. I might not make it an Espresso Martini. But I’m struggling to get served – it’s so busy.

I glance at my watch. It’s half eleven and I wonder if there’s any point going to sleep now, given that my flight is so early. I should think about going back to my hotel to start packing. I’ll count to ten and, if I don’t get served, I’ll take that as my cue to say goodbye and thanks to Max, give him the biggest hug I can and leave.

Ten, nine …

‘Can I get you a drink?’ a man asks me. ‘I’ve got the bartender’s attention and you’ve been standing there a while.’

‘Thanks,’ I reply quickly, all thoughts of counting down my exit gone. ‘Vodka tonic, please.’

He echoes my words to the bartender, who mixes my drink. I pull out some dollars and try to hand them to the man, but he politely declines.

‘I’ve wanted to introduce myself to you all evening, but I didn’t know how,’ he confesses coyly. ‘This seemed like a good way.’

‘Sneaky,’ I say, immediately drawn in.

He smiles, looks down at his drink, glances back at me and we’re suddenly jostled out of the way by a couple who clearly want to get to the bar. I’m pushed into him and he looks shocked, but catches me. ‘You OK? You want me to say something to them?’

‘No, it’s fine. They didn’t do it on purpose. They’re drunk. They’re happy,’ I tell him. ‘I’m Lexie by the way.’ I extend my hand and he shakes it. His grip is warm, his eyes blue.

‘Xander.’

‘Nice to meet you, Xander. Shall we move away from the drunk people, so we don’t get caught up in the fight that’s probably about to break out?’

‘Good idea,’ he says.

All good weddings end in a fight.I smile to myself.

‘You’re English?’ Xander asks.

‘Was it the accent that gave it away?’ I tease.

‘It was, yeah. It’s a cute accent. You live here or are you just over for the wedding?’

‘I’m over for the wedding. Max is my boss.’

‘Oh, cool. Max is my best friend’s brother.’

‘Oh, brilliant,’ I say conversationally and then try to work out that line of connection – best friend’s brother. OK, I’m there now.

‘Where are you staying?’ he asks.

‘At The Curated. The rooms are heavily discounted.’

‘How come?’

‘Because I work for the company.’

‘Right, yes,’ he replies. ‘That makes sense. If Max is your boss, then of course you work for the company.’ I can see him clawing around for something else to say. I’m doing the same.

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