Page 5 of The Bad Wedding Date

I studied his face for a moment, wondering how he got what I was feeling after so little time talking. I didn’t know what to say to that without sounding like the brat I had no desire to be.

“It’s a real shame we can’t choose what families we’re born into,” he added. “Maybe then it wouldn’t feel like we had to conform so much. We’d just feel a part of something naturally.”

“I should feel sorry for you.”

“Why?”

“Because you sound like you’ve had entirely too much experience of dealing with families and their shit for me not to.”

My bus stop stranger laughed softly, turning to me with those eyes that connected with mine on a familiar level I hadn’t expected. “We all have someone we’re trying to defy, right? I’m guessing yours is that Henry VIII mother of yours with a key to the Bloody Tower?”

“Got it in one,” I chuckled. “I try to rebel as much as I can, but it’s not always easy to say no to someone who has as much…spiritas her.”

“As long as you’re rebelling for the right reasons.”

“What counts as a ‘right reason’?”

“Freedom, I guess.” He raised a brow, never taking his eyes off mine. “Is that what you’re searching for?”

“It’s the only thing that matters, isn’t it?”

“Then, rebel away.”

The beat of my heart rose to a gallop. Whoever this guy was, he had that thing going on—a supreme confidence in who he was, and no fear about talking to anyone or showing that confidence off. There wasn’t a whisker out of place, a speck of dust on his suit, or a slight bend in any of his teeth. His jaw was strong, and his perfectly angular nose had my eyes drifting down to his plump lips. He should have had me swooning but, actually, he irritated me. Everything about him seemed perfect, and it was a stark reminder that everyone around me seemed to have that going for them except me in my too tight dress, too small shoes, and those few extra pounds I carried around on those big old hips of mine.

Who did this guy think he was to plonk himself down next to me, smelling all edible and looking so fine, only to start dissecting my family, my pet peeves, and my motives? Who did he think he was to turn me into a jittery mess with just one smile and a half-decent conversation?

A bicycle rode past us both, pulling my attention away from his gaze, and I allowed myself a moment of calm without feeling any guilt for it.

“People make you feel like an arsehole for rebelling,” I said without much thought. “People make you feel an arsehole for doing anything these days, actually.”

“Yeah, well, people are dicks.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

“We tend to overthink the things we don’t want to do, though. Like you with this wedding…the build-up is always worse than the thing we’re trying to avoid. Maybe it won’t be so bad once you get there.”

“I guess all I really have to do is make it through the ceremony without hurting anyone. After that, I can escape back to the outside world for some fresh air and a few glasses of whatever free alcohol they’re serving up.”

“Free alcohol? Mind if I tag along?”

I turned back to him with wide eyes.

“Joking,” he said quietly, his charming smile disarming me.

What a shame,I thought to myself.He would have been the perfect upgrade from Jonah. The thought of turning up to Emelia Grant’s and Lucas Williamson’s wedding withthisguy on my arm had a truck-load of scenarios playing out in my mind.

My mother’s incredulous face.

Emmie’s wrath.

My father’s indifference.

And all the guests who knew me to be the one thing my mother and father didn’t have control of in this usually grey, giant city of power. There I was, fantasising about this perfect stranger spending the night with me in a fairy tale daydream, and I didn’t even know his name.

I chose to blame my lack of recent sex and all the novels I’d ever read for that creative little mind of mine. People didn’t meet at bus stops in real life—not anymore. The world was too dark, too sinister. Today, future husbands and wives were found on dating apps, where lies about your life and over-filtered photographs got you the attention you so desperately craved. Nobody cared about the soul-deep stuff anymore. We were cattle in a huge market, for sale based on the meat we carried and the way we pranced around on the stage that was the Internet.

I studied my bus stop stranger, trying to imagine what his moniker could be. I couldn’t imagine him being named something as ordinary as a Chris, but I didn’t exactly imagine him with a smarmy name like my ex-boyfriend Penn, either.

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