Page 21 of The Moon Also Rises
“The Moon is beautiful only when the mind is seeking beauty and the heart is loving.”
Debasish Mridha
Chapter Seven
Jake
It’s everything I would want, I think, as I drive up the winding driveway towards a grand sandstone stately home. On either side of the road, rolling green fields stretch as far as the eye can see, interrupted only by trees and fences. A very late blessing of spring blossom decorates the trees that line the last stretch of driveway and under a bright blue sky, cloudy pink petals fall all around us. Several land on the hire car’s window screen and many of them stick to the glass, almost like they want to taunt me. They slightly hamper our view of the house itself which is a vast property built in Stuart style with a flat roof, perfectly symmetrical windows stretching out over two wings on either side of the main building and a Palladian-style terrace that looks out over the expansive grounds.
“Wow,” Rami says as if to rub salt in my wounds. He sees it too. He sees how beautiful it is. And how it’s not my wedding.
“I mean, it’s okay…”
“Okay? This is like driving into the set of a BBC Austen adaption.”
“Wow, you really have been gone from the UK for an age. Didn’t you getBridgertonin the US?”
I feel Rami’s eyes on me. “Jake, I hope you’re not going to snap at me every time you feel a teeny bit jealous of Lionel and Luigi. It will make today twice as long, and half as fun.”
I switch on the window screen spray and wipers at full blast, shoving away the blossom petals, possibly a little aggressively.
“It’s just a bit extra, isn’t it? This venue, the black-tie dress code. No doubt they’ve probably got a string quartet welcoming guests and a hamper of white doves to be released after the ceremony. It’s just so over the top, it’s so…”
“You,” Rami says, and I feel his eyes on me. But I don’t turn to look at him. I spray the window screen spray again.
“Bastard blossom,” I mutter.
“It’s exactly what you would want, isn’t it? If you were to get married?” Rami continues because apparently, he likes to cause me emotional distress.
When I turn quickly to look at him, I instantly regret it. Although his words feel taunting, his expression is not. His eyes are darker than usual but not in a threatening way, rather in a warm and searching way, and his mouth is stretched into a soft and very sympathetic smile. He has what can only be described as a kind expression on his face.
“It’s not what—” I begin to protest.
“It’s okay to want that. It’s always okay to want things, even if they’re currently out of reach.” He shifts in his seat.
I open my mouth to disagree, that being my default mode for most of our drive here, but I suddenly don’t want to. His words bring me a gentle wave of peace, a light sprinkling of ease, so I choose not to bat them away.
“That’s sort of comforting,” I mutter.
“You’re welcome,” he says.
“I didn’t actually thank you,” I point out.
“No, but you will have to at some point today and I am so looking forward to it,” Rami replies, and all that kindness has been replaced by a sneering facetiousness. It’s frustrating that both looks suit his dark, handsome features so well.
“I don’t suppose they want us to park in front of the front door,” I say returning to the task in hand.
“Best not. Ah, look, there’s a sign for the car park there.” Rami points to a wooden sign in the shape of an arrow withCar Parkwritten on it in looping calligraphy. Under the words is a crest with two Ls in it.
“Really? They have their own fucking crest?” I bite out.
Rami chuckles into his fist as I tut another three times, all the while we follow the road that takes us around to the rear of the property, thehugeproperty.
“How on Earth could they afford this place?” I think out loud. Being Lionel’s boss for five out of the last seven years means I know exactly what his salary has been recently, and I have a fair idea of what he’s earning at his current role, which is managing a luxury hostel near King’s Cross. My conclusion is that Fashion PR must be a lot more lucrative than I imagined. Or maybe Luigi comes from money. That would be the cherry on top of this shit sandwich.
“Maybe he knows the owner? Did Lionel contact you about maybe using one of Status’ venues?” Rami asks.
I feel heat in my cheeks. “Not exactly. Lionel and I… We haven’t talked very much over the last few years.”
