Page 23 of The Bad Wedding Date

6

Charlotte

The room cleared out as soon as the bottles of wine ran dry, and the master of ceremonies told everyone to wait in the next function room while they reorganised this one for the evening event. Fraser and I stayed behind, the two of us facing each other with our knees almost touching like we had been for the last couple of hours as we talked about small, unimportant things.

A server came by our table to clear things away, and the side-glances he slid our way made it clear enough that he wanted us gone.

“Shall we get out of here?” Fraser asked.

With a nod, I let him lead me. Now the crowds had dispersed, Fraser clearly didn’t feel the need to be so touchy-feely. I’d been hoping he would reach for my hand and guide me around. Instead, he stepped back and, with a sweep of his arm, gestured for me to follow him through into another area, which was apparently called the Parlour Room. The actor had exited the stage and turned his character off.

It made me feel foolish for having fallen into his gaze so easily.

Fake date, Charlotte. It’s not real. Don’t let the wine make you forget.

“Can you excuse me a moment? I have to use the bathroom,” I said.

Fraser turned by the pop-up bar and flashed me another stomach-clenching smile as he tucked his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “Can I get you a drink while you’re gone?”

“Whatever you think will make this entire thing more tolerable.”

He huffed out a laugh, shook his head and turned to get the drinks, leaving me to wander through the crowd with my head down. I didn’t need to see the faces of the people who judged me.

Thankfully, the bathroom was empty, so I did my thing, enjoying the sound of silence ringing in my ears. If Fraser hadn’t been out there waiting, I would have made a point of staying inside that toilet cubicle a few hours longer.

Instead, I rushed through the process and stood in front of the sink, taking in my reflection staring back when I washed my hands. There I was, seeing myself, just like he’d told me to. My blue eyes hid under the wispy ends of my caramel, pushed-aside fringe. My cheeks were flushed from the thoughts of Fraser, but despite the idea of him naked, I still managed to look pissed off with the world. Sadness swam over my eyes, and I had no idea how to get rid of it.

I didn’t want people to see me this way.

It wasn’t fitting for a woman like me who had a good life away from all this. A life I’d built by myself.

Coming from the family I had meant that the line of genetics had been strong. My mother was stunning, and I saw certain parts of her in me whenever I studied myself like this. The slight, constant tan to my skin. The sharp cheekbones and bow lips. I liked the natural shape of my brows, too, and the way my lashes curved upwards without much effort. But looking like my mother only made me want to rebel against her even more. I needed to prove that beauty and bitchiness didn’t always have to go hand in hand. I just didn’t know how to go about that, exactly. Especially not whilst in the middle of this world. It made the good parts of me turn sour, and I hated that, which was why I avoided it whenever possible.

I liked who I was when away from this life. My smile rose freely among ordinary people. My eyes rarely narrowed in contempt, and I’d become addicted to the euphoria that flowed through my body whenever I knew I’d helped someone without asking for anything in return. Especially someone who had once served our country in the war but could no longer do the simplest of tasks. Or some older lady who had raised eight children and left her memory down the road along the way.

ThatCharlotte Grant had purpose.

With a deep breath, I dried off my hands and gave myself one last inspection in the mirror.

Mother had been right. This dress did nothing for me, and now with Fraser on my arm, I suddenly wished I’d paid a little more attention to the clothes on my back. I imagined stepping through the doorway wearing a slinky, soft dress that hugged my every curve and looking up to see Fraser’s eyes popping.

Dusting my fingertips over the material around my waist, I twisted to the side to get a look at myself. Maybe I could make this work? Maybe there was a chance he could find me attractive, despite my dress looking like it belonged to a sixty-seven-year-old lady.

I guess I had been spending too much time with the older generation.

The door to the bathroom swung open in a hurry, and two of my sister’s bridesmaids came rushing through, giggling and stumbling over each other until they came to an abrupt stop at the sight of me checking myself out. There was an awkward standoff of silence before I let my hands fall, and I reached for my purse, which only made them laugh without reservation and run into their stalls.

I couldn’t even be bothered to roll my eyes or shake my head.

When I stepped back out into the luxurious corridor, I was forced to a halt when a small body slammed into my legs.

“Oomph,” fell out of me, and I quickly reached down to steady the pair of arms that were wrapped around my legs. A smile came to my face before I bent down to the same eye level as the young girl with blonde pigtails swaying from side to side. She couldn’t have been older than four, yet from what I could see, she was alone, drifting along the corridor in her pretty aqua dress—her ivory cardigan hanging off one shoulder.

The girl swayed and batted her eyelashes at me.

“Hey. Are you lost?” I asked gently. “Where are your parents?”

“Don’t care,” she said too sweetly for an obvious little rebel.

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