Page 40 of Release Me
‘Yes, you’re an expert on all the best man duties—including shagging the bridesmaids,’ Sean says, shaking his head wryly.
‘Gross! At least he won’t be shagging your bridesmaid, Sean!’ Zara exclaims, appearing beside us. ‘Because we all know Layla’s going to ask me!’
Layla and Sean exchange a look. ‘I thought I’d left the politics in England,’ she laughs.
‘This is why we should run away and get married abroad. Rome might be nice,’ Sean beams at her, pressing a kiss to her temple.
‘Get a room, will you?’ I roll my eyes. My words come out sharper than I intend. It’s been happening more frequently lately. It’s getting harder and harder to keep up the persona. To be the joker. The life and soul, when my soul belongs to someone I can never have.
My phone vibrates in my pocket then. I pull it out and stare at the screen.
Anthony.
He hasn’t forgotten our tradition after all.
I swipe to answer, stalking out of the large living room and into the hall. Instinctively, I head towards the ballroom—the last place I saw Rebekka.
‘Hello?’ I hold the phone to my ear as I walk past family portraits and the gilded landscapes lining the walls.
‘Merry Christmas, Rian!’ Anthony’s voice booms through the phone, and with those three words I can tell he’s been drinking—a lot.
‘Merry Christmas, man.’ I reach the ballroom. It’s eerily quiet and empty in comparison to the last time I was in it—a bit like myself.
‘You having a good day?’ Anthony asks. Christmas music echoes through the phone. He sounds like he’s in a bar.
‘The usual.’ It’s hard to muster up any enthusiasm, but I try, for the sake of twenty-five years of friendship. ‘At my parents’ drinking with the brothers. What about you?’
I wince, preparing myself. As much as I hate the thought of Rebekka being miserable, imagining the two of them snuggling up on the couch like Killian and Avery are kills me equally as much. Imagining him touching her. Imagining them sharing the same bed.
My stomach twists.
I’m certain my friend will be putting on a good show of being a devoted husband in front of his parents and his in-laws, or whoever else is at the De Courcy manor today. It sickens me, knowing he’s been shagging his PA, and fuck knows who else all year. It’s bullshit. Utter bullshit.
‘Oh, I’m working this year,’ Anthony announces smugly.
‘Working?’ I splutter. ‘It’s Christmas Day.’
‘Yeah, not in Dubai, it isn’t. I’m closing a deal with one of the banks here. It couldn’t wait. Hang on a second, Ri.’ A muffling sound follows, then, ‘Two more sex on the beach, please.’
Yeah, sounds like my friend is doing a lot of work today.
More rustling follows then, ‘Sorry, I’m back now.’
‘I’m surprised you got that one by your mother.’ No more than my own parents, Marianne De Courcy is a very traditional woman.
‘Oh, they decided to go skiing for three weeks, so that got me off the hook. Nothing worse than stuffy family dinners, playing happy families and all that bullshit, right?’
‘Hmm…’ I happen to like family dinners and all that bullshit. Mainly because my brothers are my best friends, and even though my nieces and nephews make a lot of fucking noise, they’re kind of fun to hang out with. ‘So, how’s Rebekka enjoying the sun?’ Something deep inside screamed at me to ask, even though I’m not sure I’m ready for the answer.
‘Rebekka?’ Anthony scoffs. ‘I’m pretty sure she’s enjoying twenty-four degrees of the penthouse’s finest underfloor heating, unless she got off her ass and built herself a fire. I’m here with Sorcha—I’mworking, remember.’ His low laughter drifts across the miles.
I knew he was an asshole, but this is a brand new all-time low, even for him.
Rage rises in my ribcage, swirling like a fucking riptide. ‘You what?’
‘Ah, come on, Rian, you know what it’s like.’ He chortles again.
‘Actually, I don’t. Fucking hell, Anthony. It’s Christmas Day, for fuck’s sake.’ I pace the ballroom, my shoes thwacking off the marble floor then bouncing off the walls. ‘A holy day, and you’re away with your fucking mistress,’ I spit.
