Page 35 of The Bad Wedding Date

“Death isn’t such a bad thing. You get to be reborn at the end of it.”

* * *

Surprisingly, with Fraser behind me and his hand resting on the small of my back, I did most of the talking as we worked the room, making a point to speak to the less scary of the bridesmaids, as well as long-distance cousins, aunts, uncles, friends of my parents, and people I didn’t even know.

An hour or more passed by. Fraser never let me stay empty-handed for long. The adrenaline made the glasses of alcohol disappear faster and faster, and I scoffed and pushed away his efforts to get me to drink more water.

I was drunk, sure, but not drunk enough to think water was vodka.

“Stop trying to ruin my buzz,” I hissed at him over my shoulder as we walked the room.

“That’s the last thing on the list of things I’m trying to do.” He leaned closer to me. “Are you ready to dance yet?”

“Unless you’re offering to be my dance partner, no.”

“I told you, I don’t dance.”

“You should. It’s almost a crime to keep that arse from shaking.”

Fraser didn’t have time to respond because walking towards us, wearing a cocky smile I wanted to knock off his face, was Tristan Neeson.

“There she is!” Tristan cried, all angular features and shaggy hair. His bow tie already hung loose, and the top button of his collar had been undone. When he came to a stop in front of us, his overpowering aftershave made me want to gag.

“Have you been hiding from me, little Lottie?”

“As much as possible.” I groaned.

“Still trying to deny the chemistry we have going on.”

“Until the day I die.”

“Your resistance is fuel for my efforts.”

“Ah, that was as creepy and borderline psychopathic as I always knew you to be.”

“You’ll cave eventually.”

“Unfortunately, I’m off the market.”

Tristan glanced at Fraser, his smile never fading. “Ah, right. The fake date guy.”

My blood ran cold, despite the gentle tensing of Fraser’s fingers against my back. “Fake date?” I croaked.

Tristan laughed. “Yeah. Like one of those Rent-A-Dude things.”

I stared at him blankly, raising a brow.

“Come on, Charlotte, you don’t date. Everyone here knows you’ve drafted this guy in to save yourself the earache of your mum. It’s no big deal. I can’t say I blame you after the hard time she continues to give you. Laurie Grant is one tough cookie to please.”

“Fraser is a real date, Tristan. Real.”

“That’s… not what people are saying.”

“Which people?”

“The bridesmaids. Some old chums of your dad’s. The old wives club. Lucas and Emmie—”

“Mysisteris saying this?”

---