Page 13 of The Bad Wedding Date

“And you’d still be better than seventy-five percent of the guests at this wedding.”

His lips curled at the edges. “I can’t decide if you’re brave or stupid.”

“A little bit of one, a lot of the other?”

Fraser continued to search my eyes for something he couldn’t seem to find, and I knew he was struggling to make his mind up. Either that, or he was trying to think of a way to let me down gently. I could only imagine how I looked through his eyes—half a woman, dressed in ridiculous clothes, making pleas and bargains with men she’d literally found on the street. I heard everything I’d said to him play back in mind. I knew how it sounded. It was a ridiculous idea born from the mind of a weak woman who should know and do better. Yet there I stood, desperate for him to say yes, not caring about tomorrow.

He stepped forward, placing his hand on my cheek, making me soak in the scent of his aftershave that made my stomach flutter as I stared back at him.

“Only a fool would turn down a crazy woman like you,” he said, his voice barely a noise.

My heart pounded in my chest, stupid and naive. Reckless and open. “Is that a yes?”

“I have to make some calls.”

Fraser released me at once, turning and walking away without so much as a solid answer, leaving me to stare after him with my lips parted and my legs practically shaking…

Wondering if he’d ever come back or if I’d just scared him away forever.

* * *

After fifteen minutes of waiting, I had my answer.

Fraser hadn’t returned, and the sound of my own voice begging him to spend time with me played repeatedly in my mind, haunting every second of those fifteen minutes.

Is that a yes?What an idiot.

“What are you doing out here? All guests should be seated by now. You need to go inside the ceremony room,” a pretty, short lady with chin-length, streaked hair said as she rushed towards me, waving a hand towards the double doors I waited beside. “The wedding is about to start.”

“I was told to wait here.”

“By whom?”

“My mother. Laurie Grant.”

The woman came to a stop, tugging down the lapels of her too-tight blazer. I cast a glance at the gold badge pinned above her left breast and realised she was, in fact, the wedding coordinator of The Savoy for that day. I had a feeling they had many at their disposal for such events, as well as almost a dozen butlers on hand to fulfil their every desire.

“Ah,” she said with a smile. “You must be Lottie.”

“Charlotte,” I corrected.

The two of us waited in awkward silence until we heard the fuss of the bridal party arriving. The clip-clopping of heels on the marble floor. The shrill sound of grown women too giddy. The rustling of expensive fabrics and the distinct sound of my mother barking orders to whoever got in her way.

I saw my father first. He turned the corner, and when our eyes locked, he smiled warmly, making me feel a temporary moment of relief before the rest of the party followed him closely behind.

“Thereshe is!” my mother cried, marching towards me on Louboutins, wearing a floaty gold dress made of the finest silks and organza she could find, and showing off her greatest asset: her toned calves. A touch of class while letting all those around her know she still had it.

“Darling, I knew you wouldn’t let me down,” she cooed, gripping my biceps and tilting her head so her gigantic hat didn’t smack against my forehead. “And look at you… in adress!” She stepped back to glance down and give it an inspection. “It looks like a regular high street extravaganza. Was the blush lace number I had sent you not good enough?”

“It didn’t quite fit,” I lied.

“Hmm. I suppose you have put a little weight on since I last saw you. Never mind. I’ll tell the designer you’re pregnant or something.” My face fell, and I was just about to start a very anger-fuelled argument when she laughed, mocking me. “It’s a joke, Lottie. What? You’re the only one allowed to be humorous around here?”

I bit my tongue so hard, I thought I was going to chew the damn thing off, but Mum simply spun around and stepped out of the way to reveal my sister standing there in the most gorgeous bridal gown I’d ever seen in my life.

Emelia Grant looked divine in a fishtail dress that accentuated her flawless curves. The Bardot style hugged her arms and revealed her ivory neckline, which was adorned with the largest diamond drop necklace imaginable. Her brown hair had been swept back in an up-do I couldn’t see because of the glorious veil that covered her hair and trickled down her back in a loving caress.

She’d been transformed into a real-life princess.

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