Page 33 of The Moon Also Rises
“We do?” I say, my eyes involuntarily searching for Rami.
“Yes, and the way he smiles at you. It reminds me of the way Luigi looks at me. That’s another thing I must thank you for, Jake. I never would have met Luigi had it not been for you.”
“I’m not sure that’s true,” I begin, my eyes back on Lionel.
“Oh, it is. And it’s a really good story, in fact. The day I met Luigi I was actually on my way to your work. It was not long after you’d started your new role. You’d not replied to my calls and texts, so I just decided I was going to show up to try clear the air, and honestly, I also maybe wanted to see if you wanted to try again, have a real relationship. But do you know what happened?”
I shake my head, feeling a little dizzy.
Lionel continues, “I got on the Tube going the wrong way – silly country bumpkin that I am – and when I realised, I rushed for the doors but they closed on me and my jacket got caught in them. And can you guess who stepped up to help me get free?”
“Luigi,” I say with a tight jaw.
“Yes, we started talking and didn’t stop. Before I knew it I was ten stops away from your work, and I had swapped numbers with…”
“Luigi,” I say again, and I really hope Lionel doesn’t see the speck of spittle that flies out of my mouth.
“Isn’t it funny how life turns out?” he asks.
“Isn’t it?” I look away because I can’t take another second of his dazzling warm smile. When my eyes find Rami, leaning against the back of a chair and watching me, his forehead pushed forward, it’s like feeling my anchor go down and I can stop swimming. I’m not here alone. He’s not who everyone thinks he is to me, but maybe I can also pretend he really is here for me. No matter how devastating it is to hear Lionel was on his way to maybe try and start a relationship with me, Luigi did us both a favour by meeting him that day. There’s no doubt in my mind Lionel will be much, much happier with Luigi than with me. This should bring me some comfort.
“Maybe you and Rami will get married one day,” Lionel says beside me, no doubt watching me looking at my fake boyfriend.
I’m about to laugh at the suggestion but then Rami’s lips move to make two letters:O.K?I nod at him and find myself returning the smile he gives me.
“Maybe,” I say to Lionel because I know he wants to think it and it’s the least I can give him in this moment.
“Oh, butterknives, I need to go. Jake, thank you for this chat. I can’t wait to have a drink with you later. With my husband! Argh! Can you believe it?”
“I’m starting to,” I say honestly and reach for his arm, squeezing it through his tuxedo jacket. “Go be despicably happy, Lionel. You deserve it.”
There is next to no time between when Lionel leaves my side and Rami is there. And I’m grateful for it. There’s too much going on in my head for me to process it all and if Rami is there annoying me, making silly, pointless small talk, and handily standing by my side looking very aesthetically pleasing, I can push my conversation with Lionel to one side and hopefully get through this day.
And if that fails, there’s always champagne.
Chapter Ten
Rami
Jake's even cuter when he doesn't talk, which is exactly how he is for many minutes after we return to the terrace from the bar. This leads me to chat briefly with fellow guests as the string quartet plays Vivaldi’s Spring and we all comment on the same things: the wonderful weather, the stunning location, the happy couple.
What starts to make Jake look a little less cute is when he begins hunting down drink after drink and I am eventually forced to excuse myself from a conversation with Luigi’s aunt and uncle so I can try to lead Jake away from another server who walks by with a tray, but I’m not quick enough. A few minutes later Jake gives me a look that is anything but cute when I swap his fourth glass of champagne for my glass of sparkling water, but I stand by this decision. We’re barely one hour into a wedding that hasn’t even officially started yet and he’s already swaying on his feet.
“God, you’re so boringly sober,” he says but downs the glass of water.
“Are you pissed off I don’t drink now?”
“No, not really. I’m secretly jealous. I have a lot of respect and admiration for sober people. My sister’s partner is sober and is the life and soul of the party. I wish I could do that.” He sulks.
“Jake, you could do that. Easily.”
“Well, not today,” he says as everyone’s head turns to one of the Tom Ford clones tapping his glass with a teaspoon.
“Ladies, gentlemen and non-binary finery,” he calls out in a Town Crier-esque voice. “The ceremony is about to begin. Please take your seats in the orangery.”
“Orangery? Of course, they’re getting married in a fucking orangery,” Jake mutters as he hands me back the now empty glass and sets off, dragging me behind him because somehow we’re holding hands again.
A tall and spacious Victorian greenhouse, the orangery immediately reminds me of the glasshouse in Kew Botanical Gardens which we would visit about once a year with my parents when we would go to see our cousins in West London. With a row of orange trees down each side, the central area has been cleared for rows of chairs, all of which face a small stage which is also framed with two orange trees, which like all the others, are in blossom. The sharp, floral scent fills the warm air, and the lush green leaves and pure white petals contrast beautifully with the bright blue sky that persists through the glass roof overhead.
