Page 106 of Take My Breath Away
Epilogue
SIX MONTHS LATER
JAMES
“You do realise the newlyweds are about to commit murder?” I whisper into Perry’s ear, snaking my arm around his shoulders to pull him in closer.
The wedding guests, including us, begin cheering, whistling and applauding as a very smiley Elliot and Freddie plunge a long and lethal looking silver knife into the elaborate tiered cake, festooned with delicate pale pink flowers and glossy stems and leaves — all made from sugarpaste.
Perry snorts. “It’s a cake. It’s meant to be sliced up and eaten.”
True enough, but Perry’s almost cavalier acceptance that his amazing creations will end up as nothing more than crumbs and scraps of spare icing never fails to surprise me.
Itisan amazing creation. It’s also incredible, fantastic, brilliant and so many other superlatives, all of them too limp and insipid to describe Perry’s artistry and talent.
“It’s a triumph. Every time you finish a commission, I think you can’t possibly do any better. But you do. Every time.” I place a soft kiss on his cheek, which has gone the same colour as the roses festooning the wedding cake he’s made for Elliot and Freddie, and a thrill of pride races through me.
Perry did this, Perry. My Perry,I want to stand up and crow because I want the world to know what a talented and amazing, incredible man he is. Ah, those weak words, again, that don’t do justice to who he is.
The cake’s soon whipped away out of sight, for the hotel’s kitchen staff to slice it up into dainty portions. Even though I’ve just eaten to bursting, my mouth waters knowing how good it’ll taste.
The wedding planner invites us all to move into the courtyard garden, where more champagne will be waiting for us, and I guide Perry out, my hand resting on the small of his back.
Snagging a couple of flutes from a roving waitress, I hand one to him.
“To us.” We chink glasses. “It’s been a rollercoaster.” I smile into his eyes, as warm as molten chocolate.
“Yes, it has been.” Neither of us are talking about Elliot and Freddie’s wonderful wedding day. “How can so much have happened in just six months?”
My stomach clenches. Six months since I raced to Victoria station, my only thought to stop him from boarding the Brighton-bound train. I’d succeeded, but it’d been a near thing. My eyes start to well up, and a heavy weight presses against my chest. I’m on the point of crying, for what might have been and for what is, and I don’t give a damn who sees.
Perry rests his palm against my cheek, and I press into his warmth. “You have a habit of rescuing me,” he says, stroking his thumb backwards and forwards.
“Somebody has to, because you’re no bloody good on your own.” My pathetic attempt at flippancy is belied by the catch in my voice.
“My Knight in Shining Armour. But you’re only half right. I’m okay on my own, but why would I want to be just okay when I can be the best version of myself? That’s all down to you, James. You’ve made me the best version of me.”
He leans in and brushes his lips over mine. It’s barely even a kiss, but I swear it’s both the sweetest and most intimate moment we’ve shared.
“Perry, I—”
“Oh! I’m sorry.” The pretty young woman who’s bumped into me is looking suitably embarrassed. “Too many of these,” she’s says, holding up her almost empty champagne flute. “I’m more used to Sainsbury’s cava.”
Her laugh’s bright and cheery, and I can’t help but smile. I don’t really mind that my words have been knocked away, because what I have to say is for Perry and me alone.
“Can I get you another?” I ask.
She nods her head, cheeks dimpling as she smiles.
“Yes, please. Do you mind me asking,” she says, turning to Perry, “but I understand you made the wedding cake. Is that true?”
“Yes, I did.” Perry, already pink cheeked, is now going red.
I produce a business card — I just happen to have one or two on me — from the inside pocket of my suit and hand it over to the woman. Perry’s climbing the scale to crimson.
“Thank you,” she says, taking it. “Do you think I can have a quick word? Just a couple of minutes? Ah, sorry.” A flush of embarrassment colours her face. “Maybe this isn’t—”
“Not at all.” I hand her a fresh glass of champagne.
