Page 5 of Pucking the Team
He hopped out. The rain had mercifully slowed to a light drizzle, and there was even a patch of blue sky in the distance. With a bit of luck it signified a change in my fortune.
Within seconds he had my suitcase out of the trunk and my door open. Ignoring my bouquet, and holding my mother’s veil in my fist, I stepped out. My spine was stiff and my knees strangely shaky; I feared they might give way without warning.
“I really am sorry how this has turned out,” he said. “And that I couldn’t do more to help. But if you could leave a review onWedding Cars R Usthat would be great.”
“A review?”
“Yep, just to say I got you where you needed to be on time.” He kind of shrugged and smiled. “I’m supposed to always ask that.”
“I…er…sure, I can do that…I suppose.”
“Great, much appreciated. You have a nice day now.” He slammed the door and jumped back behind the wheel. In the blink of an eye he’d pulled away, and the long sleek car had joined the stream of traffic heading back to the motorway.
I pulled up the handle on my case and stepped into the shelter of the overhang that circled the entrance to the building. The scent of burgers, donuts, sausage rolls, and bacon baps circulated.
The curious glances I received were plentiful and wide-eyed, and I shrank into the shadows, behind a brick pillar. I prayed no one would take a photograph of me—that was the last thing I needed. Not that I wasn’t used to being stared at or photographed, it was my job to look good and gain attention, but today that was not what I wanted. No way. I wanted to slink away and lick my wounds, not be seen or heard by anyone. I wanted to be invisible.
Not that I could blame the people who did spot me having a stare. I wore a body-hugging white gown, full-length, lace over silk that caressed my slight curves and had a sweetheart neckline. My hair was loose, long blonde curls falling over my shoulders, and even on a dull day my grandmother’s pearlnecklace would be sparkling—it had been professionally cleaned for the occasion.
I sighed. What the heck was I going to do?
Heathrow, that’s right. Get to the airport and get the heck out of Dodge. It was the only option.
Two long white coaches were parked on the other side of the lot. One had the image of an airplane on the side.
Airport. That must be a link coach. It would do, and no doubt only take fifty minutes from here, especially now the rain had slowed and we’d come to the end of the roadworks.
So with my phone and veil clutched in one hand, and tugging my banana yellow suitcase along—stuffed full of bikinis, sandals, sarongs, beach dresses, and sunhats—I made my way to the coach.
The door was open, the driver pacing several feet away, enjoying a smoke and chatting animatedly on his phone.
I lifted the hem of my dress and climbed the four steps. Half carrying and half dragging my case, I scooted to the back of the coach. It was empty. Several soft leather bags and a bunch of red fleeces were tossed around. This was no doubt a pit-stop break for a group of people who’d traveled down from the north of the country and were heading for the airport.
I reached the backseat; it was empty, and after tucking my case on one side, I slunk into the corner seat on the other and stared out of the condensation-misted window. I had some cash in my purse, but that was tucked in my suitcase. I’d get it if and when the driver asked for the fare. Right now, I felt numb and I wanted to be unseen. It was as if all of my emotions had been twisted in two giant hands and wrung out. I was bruised on the inside. My heart was beating in a broken, stuttering way.
I closed my eyes and an image of Steven’s smiling face appeared. He had boyish good looks, a quintessential English accent, and charming manners. But almost instantly, that imagewas replaced by the one of him kissing Cheryl with his hand on her breast. There was something so explosive about the way he was holding her, as though he’d die if he were denied her. He needed her.
In a way he’d never needed me.
Of that I was sure.
A few people got on the coach, deep voices, a slight rocking. I scooted down as best I could, wishing I’d had the courage to strip out of my wedding dress and into my travel outfit—jeans and a pale-pink cashmere jumper. But the sparkling tiny buttons at the back of the hideously expensive dress—that I’d got at mate-rates discount—required an extra pair of hands. The plan had been for Steven to seductively undress me, so without him I was pretty much stuck in it, for now at least.
“Brick, have you just eaten three Whoppers?”
“Yeah, what’s it to you?” The rustle of burger packaging and a slurp through a straw was accompanied by a throaty laugh.
“Your wife will kick your ass.” Another deep American drawl.
“Not if no one tells her. I go along with Olympian diets when we’re together, but when we’re not…”
“The mice and the cats will play, eh.” A thickly accented voice, Eastern Europe perhaps.
“When the cat’s away the mice will play, Vadmir.” A chuckle. “Get it right, man. You’ve been out of Russia long enough.”
I screwed up my eyes tighter. Hopefully, if anyone saw me they’d think I was asleep and leave me alone.
“Right, guys,” a female voice, strong and authoritative, came from the front of the coach. “We’ve got a bit farther to go, but hopefully the traffic will be clear all the way to our destination.”
