Page 51 of Always the Bridesmaid

As if that needs more explanation, she pouts her lips and smooches the air.

My skin flushes with panic and embarrassment.

‘A moment?’ I scoff. ‘Charlie and me? Ha. As if. Absolutely not!’

‘Me thinks thou doth protest too much,’ Izzy teases.

‘I can’t protest enough,’ I quip, reaching for the glass in Izzy’s hand as a mode of distraction. ‘This is mine.’

‘Oh.’ She falls back in her chair, giggling uncontrollably, the way a grown woman can generally only manage when heavily inebriated.

As I sip my drink, I feel a presence behind me. My stomach sinks as I see the figure move into my peripheral vision. I die a thousand times when that figure turns out to be Charlie.

Did he hear? What is wrong with me? Why do I keep being such a dick when it comes to this man?

Now I have yet another reason to apologize to Charlie. I am so sick of being a disappointment this week. I can’t remember a time when I have had to repeatedly apologize to someone like this. And actually, it isn’t his fault at all; it is entirely my own.

I’m pleased when a member of the hotel staff announces the arrival of the minibus I have pre-ordered to take us back to the house.

I’ll be able to speak to Charlie, one on one, in our bedroom, where there are no eavesdroppers. I’ll apologize for everything I’ve said and done in the last week and then tomorrow we can part ways on a positive note.

It’s entirely possible that we will never see each other again.

That thought makes me irrationally sad, given my constant struggles with him.

Bizarre.

In the minibus, Charlie sits on the backseat with Brooks and Drew, who is wrapped around a very tired-looking Becky. If the early weeks of pregnancy feel anything like I imagine – shattering and maybe sickly too – Becky has coped remarkably well this week. Much better than me, in fact!

I sit at the front of the minibus next to Izzy, who almost immediately lays her head on my shoulder and falls asleep before the driver has even pulled away from the hotel.

There is nothing like watching someone sleep, listening to their slow heavy breaths, to make a person feel sleepy themselves. And gosh, do I feel sleepy. It has been a long, long week.

It wasn’t a long ride back but I have a feeling I drifted because by the time we arrive at the house, I’m feeling groggy.

Nevertheless, I hand off Izzy to Brooks, check with the driver to ensure the payment has already been settled in advance, then say I will make a round of soft drinks and herbal teas to help everyone come morning.

The whole group – with the exception of Izzy and Charlie – enjoys drinks in the kitchen.

I’m not sure where Charlie is but I am desperate to catch him before he goes to sleep. I don’t want to end the day on an argument. I want to wake up tomorrow feeling like we can at least go our separate ways without hating each other.

Taking my mint tea with me, I say my goodnights and head upstairs to our bedroom. I tap gently on the door with my knuckle, something I haven’t yet done whether or not I thought Charlie was in the room. I wait but there is no response and so I creep in using the torchlight on my phone.

Doing my best to gather my pajamas and other bits, I move quietly, barefoot, into the ensuite and turn on the low lighting of the bulbs around the sink mirror. Only now do I look to the sofa bed to find that Charlie isn’t here. His blankets are folded on the bottom of the chaise longue, unused.

I suppose he’s decided to sleep in a more comfortable bed for the evening, most likely having moved to Jake and Jess’s room.

Very disappointed, I decide that tomorrow morning will have to do. I finish my ablutions, change into my nightwear, and crawl into bed, feeling the full weight of my body sink into the mattress as I drift into a deep and necessary slumber.

The next morning, I’ve enjoyed such a deep sleep that on waking it takes me a few seconds to remember where I am. After a full body stretch, I reach to the side table, pick up my phone and see that it’s already nearly nine. I can’t believe it. I never sleep in this late.

After a quick shower and an application of my daily anti-aging skin serums, I slip into a linen jumpsuit and head downstairs.

Despite my lying in, only Edmond, Amy and Becky are awake. They are seated on stools around the island in the kitchen, each of them holding a hot drink and a pastry.

I pour myself a coffee from the machine and go to sit with them.

In the middle of the island is a plate stacked full of various pastries – pains au chocolat, pains aux raisin, cinnamon swirls and croissants. I, of course, recognize the medley of pastries that I purchased and put away into the freezer for this very purpose at the end of the long week.

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