Page 60 of The Duke Who Saved Christmas
I ran my fingers through my hair and linked them at the back of my head, dropping my forehead down close to the table.
I’d spent three hours trying to fix the veil problem and I’d come up short every single time.
I couldn’t believe that out of all the veils in this entire world, none of them were even remotely close to what my sister wanted. That none of them combined roses and acorns.
The only ones that could came from China and the delivery times were the least questionable thing about that.
I’d had brides who’d ordered dresses to keep costs down. It’d ended up costing them a hell of a lot more than they’d initially saved, let me tell you.
I’d tried to call in everything from desperate requests to favours with people I knew in the industry, and even my one last hope from an atelier in Paris was likely to go up in smoke. Marie had been honest that she wasn’t sure she had a veil that could work, nor could she find one, but at least she’d been honest with me.
I was running on empty.
Empty of food.
Empty of wine.
Empty of ideas.
Empty of hope.
And I was hurting. Hurting for my sister. Her veil had been her one big secret for the wedding that she’d known Julian would love, and she’d even chosen her plainer dress with the intricate veil in mind, and I’d never felt more useless as a wedding planner or a sister than I did right now.
I sighed, letting my forehead fall right to the table.
Sticky pub tables weren’t usually a place I chose to collapse in tired exhaustion, so that said a lot.
A glass clinked against the table close to my ear, and I slowly turned my head to one side in the direction of the noise, peering up with one eye.
Thomas.
“Forgive me if I’m overstepping,” he said in a low voice that did unfortunately nice things to my lady bits. “But you look like you might need this.”
I slid my gaze towards the glass—the round base, the thin stem, the nice full top of white wine. “If I didn’t feel like my world was ending, I’d be offended by that.”
“You didn’t snipe at me. It must be bad.”
I swung my attention back to him as I sat up. “The night is still young. Don’t get cocky.”
His lips drew up into a smile, and his blue eyes shone with a quiet amusement that warmed me in a very irritating way. “Here.” He rested two fingers on the base of the glass and slid it over to me. “I covered it. It’s yours.”
“Thank you,” I said softly, reaching for it.
My fingertips brushed against his, and a little tingle danced across my skin.
I pretended nothing happened, that I didn’t just feel that zingy zing zing of something, and slid the glass closer to me. “Seriously, thank you,” I said again. “It’s been a long afternoon. I didn’t even drive here. I just… started walking… and ended up here.”
He glanced at the two empty wine glasses on the table. “I did get confirmation of that before I bought your third.”
“How noble of you, Your Grace,” I drawled.
“There it is.” He chuckled, flashing me a grin. “I’m assuming you haven’t been stood up—it’d be a miracle if you charmed anyone enough to agree to go out with you.”
“If you hadn’t just bought me more wine, I’d throw it all over you,” I muttered. “They were small wines, thank you very much. And no, I did not waste my time trying to charm a no-good, lying arsehat to agree to go out with me.”
“Then who hurt you, Sylvie?”
“The HGV driver who used his phone on a motorway today.”
