Page 71 of The Wedding Pact
Chapter 49
Flynn
In the house at the top of Elizabeth Street, it appeared to be a tradition to rotate get-togethers between flats monthly for awkward drinks and conversation. Flynn and August had just missed hosting one before they moved in, and tonight was their turn, so they’d been told by Callie.
Typically, the drinks were no longer than an hour, and Flynn knew that August was happy for the distraction. Even though her disastrous audition (her words) was two weeks behind her, she was still feeling at a loss with herself, wondering where her future might lie.
Flynn was pleased to host the drinks for not too dissimilar reasons. The past couple of weeks had seen his work ramp up to an almost unmanageable level. He was tired all the time and found it hard to step away. He’d barely seen Poppy, he hadn’t called home to Japan to speak to his parents for what felt like an age, and he was relying way too much on August to be his sounding board at the end of every long day. She said she didn’t mind, and that it stopped her having to think too much about her own issues, but even so; he knew he was snappy at times, and he could tell she was losing patience with his complaining. A forced break, a mandatory bit of social interaction, was just what he needed.
Maud and Allen from the flat below sat on the sofa. Compared to Callie – who sometimes seemed like their third flatmate, the number of times she popped over to chat to August – they didn’t know Maud and Allen well. The couple kept to themselves and didn’t pry. Allen in particular seemed uncomfortable around so many women, in a shy way, and mainly just chatted with Flynn about aeroplanes, keeping his head low.
August was refilling drinks when Allen grumbled softly, shifting in his seat, ‘What’s behind my back?’ Maud pushed him forward, sticking her hand underneath the cushion.
‘What’s that?’ August laughed, topping up Callie’s Prosecco, looking at the scrunch of black material Maud had dug out of her sofa.
‘It’s a –oh!’ Maud, in the manner of a magician, held the item up by one end and let it tumble down to reveal itself. And all of a sudden she held in her hand a black, very full-busted, bra. Maud, in a state of shock, shook it off her hand like it was a spider, and it landed on Allen’s lap, the clasp draped in his drink.
‘Oh!’ he mirrored Maud, fishing it out with his breadstick and passing it towards August, his face a neon pink.
Callie burst out laughing. ‘All right, Maud, it’s not that kind of party! Get your undies back on!’
Maud was now also pink head to toe, as evidenced by her shaking fingers. ‘It’s not mine,’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s August’s brassiere.’
August accepted the bra from Allen, breadstick and all, but was lost for words for a second, because this was most certainly not hers.
At that point, Flynn pulled himself together and shouted, ‘August, the drink,’ and August looked down at her nonbreadstick-and-bra hand, to see that she was still pouring Prosecco with the other, and bubbles were foaming out over the top like lava and pooling on the tablecloth.
Callie’s mum jumped into action with the napkins, Callie grabbed the glass and placed her mouth over it, trapping the remaining bubbles, Allen began a coughing fit and Maud glared at him because she knew full well he kept glancing at the bra, which still dangled mid-air.
Flynn and August met each other’s eye, and she did the only thing she could, really, given the situation.
‘I amsosorry, everyone, hard day at work yesterday and I was having a relax on the sofa when I got home. I must have forgotten to take this back to my bedroom.Ourbedroom.’ She picked the bra off the end of the breadstick and held it in her hands like everything was perfectly normal. Like this wasn’t someone else’s bra.
Callie, bubbles-problem-fixed, guffawed. ‘There is no way that’s your bra,’ she said, pointedly looking between the vixen-like cups and August’s own modest chest.
‘It was an audition, for an acting role,’ August thought on her feet. ‘I had to be a sort of Marilyn Monroe character and this helped … ’ Gulp. She avoided looking at Allen. ‘ … Create the shape.’ August telepathically shot daggers at Flynn.
‘Flynn, what’s it like having an actress for a wife?’ Callie asked, tucking into a sliver of watermelon wrapped in Parma ham.
‘It’s great,’ Flynn replied. ‘She’s always doing something interesting.’
‘I bet it’s great,’ Callie said with a crude wink, and then leaned over, holding out the appetiser plate. ‘Maud, Allen, can I interest you in August’s melons?’
‘Just going to put this away,’ August sang, and she hurried into Flynn’s bedroom, with him in tow, the sound of Callie’s hysterical laughter following them.
When they were out of sight, she pushed the bra against his chest. ‘I think this belongs to you,’ August hissed.
‘That’s not quite true.’
‘Your girlfriend, then. When did she even – you know what?’ August held up her hands. ‘I don’t even want to know. I don’t want to know anything about it. I love that you have a girlfriend, Flynn, it makes me so happy to see you happy, but just … well, I just ask that you stay away from my armchair if you’re going to do things in the living room.’
Flynn could see she wasn’t too mad, and it was kind of funny, but even as he stuffed the bra into one of his drawers and followed August back out to their guests, he wondered when Poppy would have taken that off. She’d only popped over once last week before they went out on a date, and they’d not done anything more than kiss. He had left her alone for a few minutes while he changed, though. Perhaps she removed it in anticipation? And then when things hadn’t got as heated as maybe she’d expected, she’d … forgotten?
Back in the living room, August was back in conversational flow and Flynn looked around to see if there were any more drinks that he could top up before he sat down next to Allen again. He hadn’t done a runner, though Flynn had half expected him to.
He tried to focus on Allen, but his spirits had dampened. Three days onGrange Hillat the age of eleven hadn’t prepared him for how much work it took to be an actor. The lies, the being on edge, it sometimes felt like as much of a full-time job as his real job. He stole a look at his faux-wife as she glowed and glittered, and wondered if she ever wished to just come clean.
As his gaze swept the room, Flynn caught Callie’s eye. She raised her eyebrows at him, her mouth set in a straight line, and for just a second before she readjusted her face and turned back to laugh at what August was saying, he swore she gave him the evil eye.
