Page 36 of After Felix
I nod brightly. “Of course. I’m not going anywhere. We can talk after the wedding.” Relief crosses his face, and I gesture toward the door. “Go on. We’ll talk in a bit.”
He nods and leaves the bathroom. His body language screams that he’s glad to be gone, and I actually feel sick. I rest against the shower wall, letting the water pound down on me, my eyes clenched shut. “Well, that didnotgo well,” I say out loud.
I wonder what to do now. Do I pretend I never said anything?Does it even matter?
I’ve done it now, and Max clearly already has a foot out of the door.
I switch off the shower. I’m not going to think about it anymore and act morose or worried. If I’m going to salvage this and keep seeing him—which is my deepest desire—then I need to keep it light.
Make him laugh and be easy,I tell myself as I dress in my dark grey suit. It could be that he’s just freaked out by commitment. Maybe if we went back to what we were, I can raise the idea at another point, and he might be more receptive.
I wonder at what I’ve become. From free and easy tothis.I’m actually pitiful at the moment. How did it happen?
“You fell in love,” I say out loud to my reflection in the mirror. Thewords should be joyous, but my haunted eyes tell a different story. “You can do this,” I tell my reflection firmly.
A few hours later, I’m not sure I can.
The wedding was beautiful. Even a former commitment-phobe like myself could appreciate it. The ceremony took place in the house’s orangery, which was full of scented plants and warm sunshine. Henry and Ivo’s vows were the simple ones without any additions, but the way they looked at each other supplied all the extra feels. Warm and loving and as if they’d finally come home to each other.
We’re currently sitting down at the meal in a big wood-panelled room with French windows that lead out onto a stone terrace. The speeches have been incredibly funny and dry and full of embarrassing stories about both men. I know I’m biased, but I think Max’s was the best. He’s wonderful talking in front of people. Where I’d have broken into a sweat at more than ten people, he stood relaxed and handsome, his face full of laughter in front of three hundred people, making them laugh until they cried.
It had been a little bit like watching a stranger though, because this urbane, sleek man who was chock full of charisma was not the Max who had repaired my boiler, put his number in my phone, and ate my arse out within twenty-five minutes of meeting me.
Maybe if I’d known this man, we’d never have connected at all. Perhaps I’d have been too intimidated.
I listen to the conversations waxing and waning around me and realise with a start that I’ve been quiet for rather a large portion of the meal. It isn’t so much the quiet that’s surprising. It’s the fact that Max doesn’t even appear to have noticed. He’s staring down at his drink, a smile that seems false playing across his mouth.
I clear my throat and shift position next to him, but he doesn’t even react. It’s like he’s an island, untouched by everyone. Normally if I’m quiet, he’ll want to know what I’m thinking and bug me until I tell him. Now I could be a complete stranger to him. Totally unconnected and insignificant.
He’d seemed so adamant about needing to talk to me before he’d left on the flower run. But after returning, he made no attempt to talk to me. Instead, he’d dived into the shower and took so long that I tookthe hint and vanished downstairs. When he joined me, his face was totally blank.
The theme carried on throughout the day. Oh, he was by my side and made some of the usual motions, but they were somehow empty. His mind seems as far away as the moon.The moon or at the top table. My stomach gives another sickening twist as I follow his gaze, once again, to Henry and Ivo. Drinking or staring at the happy couple are the only things he’s done all through the meal.
He’s steadily working his way through the bottle of wine he’d requested from the waiter. There’s no obvious outward signs of him being drunk, but I recognise the unsteadiness of his hand and the flush on his cheeks, the slight bleariness that corrupts his normally farsighted and alert dark eyes.
I sneak a glance at Zeb and realize I’m not the only one troubled by Max’s behaviour. My normally urbane and peaceful boss looks thoroughly fucked off, and every time Max lifts his glass to his mouth, Zeb seems to get more tense, like an elastic band stretched to its snapping point.
“You alright?” I mutter to Max. The wait staff is clearing the tables, and people are beginning to flock through to the other room where a band has set up.
Max doesn’t respond. He stares ahead as if I’m not here. Patrick snorts softly, and my cheeks begin to burn.Fuck him,I think savagely.
I open my mouth to say something sharp, but Zeb stands, his chair scraping back loudly. “Max, a word please,” he says abruptly.
Max looks up blearily and takes a few seconds to focus. “What?” he slurs.
“I want a word with you,” Zeb says, enunciating his words very clearly. “Try to leave your bottle behind. If you can,” he finishes coldly.
Max stares at him. “What the fuck is your problem, Zeb?” he says. It’s too loud, and a couple of people look round. Luckily, most of the party is in the ballroom.
Zeb leans down. “Not here,” he says and grabs Max’s arm to haul him up.
Max falters for a second but then regains his balance, pushing Zeb’shand away before following him. He doesn’t even give me a backward glance.
Someone settles into Max’s vacated chair, and I sigh when I turn and meet Patrick’s bright gaze. “Ooh, Zeb’s very cross,” he says far too happily.
“Hmm,” I say in a noncommittal voice, but he doesn’t take the hint.
“He’s going to give Max a mouthful. He’s been furious with him since he found out—” He pauses. “Oops, perhaps I shouldn’t say anything,” he says with blatant insincerity.
