Page 8 of Always the Bridesmaid

‘You’re finally here! I hope the flight was okay and Charlie looked after you,’ Jess says, casting her eyes, playfully questioning, in Charlie’s direction.

I glance across my shoulder to Charlie, where he is taking my luggage out of the trunk of his car.

Perhaps my initial perception of him has been a little harsh.

On the journey here, I rehearsed asking Jess whether this is really the same Charlie she has spoken of on the phone to me, singing his praises. But now that I’m here, I decide to simply smile obligingly and tell her, ‘The perfect gentleman.’

‘Good lad,’ Jess says, light-heartedly patting Charlie on the shoulder as he kisses her cheek.

‘Good day, ma’am,’ he says, James Bond like. ‘Good to see you. Is the big man inside?’

Jess nods and steps to the side. Charlie gestures for me to walk into the house ahead of him.

‘Let’s go and say hi to everyone, then I’ll show you guys to your room,’ Jess says.

The vestibule of the house has retained antique wood paneling and large, grey-beige slate tiles, which might be cold in winter but today are helping retain some cool in the unseasonable – even for July – summer heat. Craning my neck, I look up to see a large cast-iron chandelier, which I remember from my virtual tour of the property in advance of negotiating a deal for the wedding party.

‘This place is sweet,’ Charlie says as we step into one of four lounge-living spaces. He has left our luggage in the vestibule and turns in circles, unburdened, appreciating the space.

The ornate coving and ceiling artwork feel vintage but I can tell they have recently been painted white – the fresh paint smell still lingers subtly in the air. Two mocha-colored leather sofas and two tall, checked, wing-back chairs hold court in the space, each turned to face an extravagant open fireplace that would be wonderfully cozy and romantic on a cold winter’s night. Cow-skin rugs cover large swathes of the dark wood flooring and stag antlers decorate alcoves either side of the fireplace.

‘Fitting,’ Charlie says, pointing out the deer décor.

I follow his pointed finger.

‘They’re stags,’ he explains, as if I’m clueless. ‘Jake’s a stag,’ he adds in a tone of voice that sounds like Homer Simpson: doh.

‘I’m American, not stupid,’ I snipe under my breath, thankfully quietly enough for Jess not to hear; unfortunately, not sufficiently quiet for Charlie to miss it, which I can tell from his smirking lips.

We follow Jess through a vast, modernized kitchen-dining space, which was presumably separate rooms at one time and now, with the use of archways and pillars beneath the tall ceilings, is open plan and twice the width of the large lounge area we have just left.

The kitchen, by contrast to the lounge, is bright and modern. High gloss white cupboards serve as a contrast to the shiny black tiles on the floor. An island I would aspire to own, with stools around all four sides and pans hanging like in a celebrity chef kitchen above the oven centerpiece, steals the show.

In the dining area of the space, there is a large wood table with two benches down the length of one long side and eight wood seats down the other side. The table has been set with crockery, cutlery and glasses. I suspect Becky will have taken the lead in dressing the table, knowing that I have arranged for outside caterers to provide a private dining experience for the group this evening.

Bi-folding glass doors lead out to pristine grey decking and before we head outside, I can already hear the animated chatter and laughter of my friends by the pool, buoying my mood further.

Jess, who is usually more reserved in expressing her excitement, announces to the group, ‘The Matron of Honor has finally arrived!’

‘And Sarah is here too,’ Charlie adds with a grin.

Whilst he receives some chuckles from the others around the pool, most of whom stand to come over and welcome us, I find him utterly annoying.

Why does he feel the need to spoil the moment for Jess and me?

Brushing away thoughts of my irritating-as-hell ride from the airport (grateful that I no longer have to provide day-care services to a man-child who acts like a pre-pubescent teenager), I accept the warm embraces of Becky and Izzy, both wearing fancy two-piece swimwear. I squeal when Jake, fresh out of the pool, shakes his hair like a dog with wet fur in my direction, then hugs me, wetting through my lower half with his saturated swim shorts.

‘You’re trouble, Jake Harrington,’ I tell him with a playful scowl, one hand perched on my hip.

Drew is next in line to give me a hug. ‘I owe you one.’

‘You do!’ I say, giving him a mock look of disapproval. ‘Just so you know, I like the new Lady D bag from Dior, in peony pink.’

I receive a thick chortle from Drew in return.

From his reclined position on a sun lounger, Brooks holds up a bottled light beer and says, ‘We can finally get the party started. I’d get up, Sarah, but this hair of the dog hasn’t kicked in just yet.’

‘I take it the stag was a good night, then?’

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