Page 4 of Van Cort
I turn to see a guy leaning over the bar, his body angled towards me. “Excuse me?”
“Which side? I’m with the groom. We were at school together, but that was years ago.”
“Oh, I see.” I smile. “Bride.”
The man’s dressed in a smart suit, complete with a pocket handkerchief, but he’s clearly had a few drinks already from the look of his glazed eyes.
I dip my head and let my hair serve as a curtain to block our contact.
“Can I get you another? I’d love to buy you a drink.”
“Oh, you know, I’m not sure if that’s—” I try to back out politely.
“No, I won’t hear it.” He lifts his hand and indicates for another round before I can turn him down.
“Okay. Just a quick drink.” I realise I can’t really say I’m leaving if I’m here as a guest, but I’ll figure a way out of this later.
The scrape of the barstool has the few people in the room turning towards us, but he seems unbothered as he moves to sit right next to me.
“Wow, you are gorgeous.”
“Thank you.” I dip my head again, regretting agreeing already. I take the glass from the waiter and don’t put it back down, hoping to drink it in record time.
“Totally over the top if you ask me. But that’s Max. Or maybe it’s the wife. Already flexing her muscles in the relationship.” He laughs at his own joke.
I twist away from him and take a gulp. Thankfully, the bar is filling up, so my exit plan is looking easier with every minute.
He continues to prattle on, and I smile, nod and drink, all whilst realising that the wine will go straight to my head but past caring.
“Thank you for the drink. I really must go and find Eleanor.”
“Eleanor?”
“Oh, a friend from school. She’s around here somewhere.” I indicate to the group of people who are coming in.
“And I haven’t even got your name. You can’t leave me like this.”
“Thank you for the drink,” I repeat.
“Why not stay for another? Eleanor can join us. The more the merrier.”
“No, thank you.” I stand to leave, but his hand clamps down on mine on the bar.
“We’ve got all night.”
“The lady said no,” a man’s voice cuts in, drawing both our attention.
He’s tall, well over six feet, wearing an immaculate tux, his hair pitch black.
“Alright, relax, man. Just trying to have some fun.”
“I suggest you go seek it elsewhere.” He turns to the drunk, leaving no space for misinterpretation. Even I want to shrink into my chair a little.
I watch as the guy staggers off his seat and heads in the other direction, mumbling as he goes.
My saviour keeps his head facing forward, his hands leaning him on the bar.
“Thank you. Truly.”
