Page 70 of Best Man
I know relationships have been built on less. But we’ve been together outside the bedroom too. Surely all the laughter and easy conversation have to count for something.Not against five years though,I think glumly. And Patrick is the finished product. Perfect exterior even if the interior is rancid.
Patrick could be lying, though. The thought comes out of the blue, and I seize it like it’s a life raft. Somehow, despite what he said, I still cling deep down to my knowledge of who my Zeb is. A man who’dnever entertain sleeping with someone who was with someone else. He’d rather cut his hand off than hurt anyone. He’s kind and generous and thoughtful. How have I lost sight of that in the last ten minutes?
I straighten my jacket. “I’ll go out and talk to him,” I say out loud, seeing the resolution in my face. “I’ll ask him what’s happening. He won’t lie to me.”
My plan is foiled when I get back to the main room and I can’t find him. The room is packed now with people talking loudly and happily. He isn’t here. I come to a stop in the room. Where is he? Then I spot that the door to the patio is ajar, letting in a draught of cool air. I push my way towards it, but when I reach my destination I pause, hovering with my hand over the handle. I don’t know why I’m so uneasy. He might not even be out there. He might have gone looking for me or be helping Patrick.
The nice thought gives me the encouragement to open the doors. They swing open, letting fresh air flow around me as I stand stock still, staring at the sight in front of my eyes. Zeb and Patrick are standing on the patio, their arms wrapped around each other and their mouths fused together in a hungry kiss.
For what seems like an eternity but is probably only a couple of seconds I can’t move, standing looking at them. Then Patrick gives a low groan and it breaks my stasis and I step back, banging my elbow clumsily on the door. Then I’m gone back into the room, making my way towards the door and escape.
ZEB
For a too-long second I stand on the balcony held tightly against Patrick’s chest, who seems to have developed hands like an octopus since we split up. Surprise keeps me there for a second but then reality surges back and I get my hands up and push him back forcibly. He stumbles back, his mouth swollen and his eyes at half-mast. Once, that would have done things to me. Now, I just feel a weary surge of disgust.
“What the fuck?” I say, wiping my mouth. “What are youdoing? Have you gone mad?”
He rests back against the stone balustrade and shrugs, a half smile on his face. “I’ve always been mad. You know it.”
“Yes, but not suicidal.” I stare at him. “Pat, you’re getting married in a few hours and you’re trying to kiss your ex.”
He shakes his head. “You’re not my ex.”
“I must have a powerful imagination, then,” I say wryly. “Because I’m sure I remember a fair few screaming matches followed by you taking half my furniture and my pension.”
“We’ll never be over,” he says stubbornly, coming back towards me, his arms outstretched. I sidestep them neatly, so he stumbles slightly.
“Why?”
He stares at me feverishly. “Because nothing and no one can get in our way. Not Frances, not your silly boy toy.”
“Leave Jesse out of this,” I say sharply. He laughs, and I narrow my eyes. “What have you done?” I say.
I feel the sense of unease again that started to gather this morning while I tried to catch Jesse’s eye numerous times and failed. Every time I looked at him, he was resolutely staring away as if he couldn’t bear to look at me. The one time I thought he was looking and I smiled, he turned away from me, and I felt nausea grip my stomach.
I regretted the row as soon as it happened. I just got cross when he wouldn’t stop talking about going to Devon. Part of the anger was because I wanted to go more than anything. I wanted to apologise as soon as I saw his face fall at my rejection, but I couldn’t find a way to get back to us, so I stayed silent.
It’s given me a sour stomach but here was not the place for a serious discussion. I’ve therefore put on a good face for others all morning, but I’ve felt sick since we got here, and the only thing that’s got me through is the thought that I can apologise to him when the wedding is done.
The uneasy feeling grows into a steady pressure on my chest. “Patrick?” I say loudly and he jumps.
“I told him.”
“Told him what?” I can hear the panic in my voice and he smiles.
“Zeb, don’t worry. He can’t stand between us. I won’t allow it.”
“What did you tell him?” I say, enunciating each word slowly and clearly.
His smile widens. “I told him about the circumstances of you agreeing to be my best man.”
My stomach knots so badly that I feel like throwing up. “Oh fuck,” I groan, pacing away from him and staring unseeing over the balcony. “Why did you do that?”
“He had to know.”
I whirl. “No, he didn’t. He fucking didn’t need to know about the one moment in my life I am most ashamed of.”
“Why are you ashamed?”
