‘Good,’ declared Jackson, collapsing onto an elaborate brocade armchair beside me. ‘Because it’s the bride or the groom who’s meant to be a runaway, not the Groom’s Woman.’
‘Not going anywhere,’ I assured him, swiping the phone out of Mel’s hand. I tapped the icon that emptied the basket and showed them both the screen. ‘I promise I’m here for the wedding, and the post-wedding breakfast the next day. In fact, I might just be the very last guest to check out. How’s that?’
Their laughter went a long way to assuage the guilt I felt about wanting to go home, but nothing was going to silence the niggling concern that something was wrong until I got to see Rhys again.
It was a gorgeous wedding. Jackson and Lars looked equally handsome in their matching ivory suits. They exchanged their vows before a magnificent floor-to-ceiling stained-glass window, which threw jewelled fractals over them as they declared their love and promises to be there for each other for the rest of their days.
There were very few dry eyes in the house when the celebrant finally declared them husband and husband. Mine certainly weren’t.
After being caught out in the bar the night before, I was determined to be the very best Groom’s Woman imaginable. I circulated among the guests, introducing people to each other, ensured the catering staff were doing everything Jackson and Lars wanted, and that everything ran smoothly.
When they took to the floor for their perfectly rehearsed version of ‘(I’ve Had) The Time of My Life’, thankfully minus the lift, I filmed the guests and their reactions, knowing the videographer would be able to splice it into his recording.
I did double duty on the dance floor, because by that point I knew Mel was just about done and had secretly kicked off her shoes. I did two rounds of the floor with both of Lars’s uncles, neither of whom could speak a word of English, and then did even more with Jackson’s slightly geeky nephew, who appeared to have taken quite a shine to me.
‘Cutting in now, Neil, I’m afraid,’ Jackson said, rescuing me from his nephew’s slightly sweaty-handed grip.
He swirled me around three times, edging us closer and closer to the arched entrance to the room with each rotation.
‘Thank you for taking Neil under your wing. He’s at that awkward, gangly teenage phase.’
‘He’s very sweet. Reminds me of you in many ways,’ I teased.
‘The nerd gene runs deep in my family,’ he said, shooting a huge beam at his new husband, who was deep in conversation with someone’s grandmother. Lars grinned back and gave him a thumbs-up.
One more rotation and Jackson had swept me clean out of the room and into the medieval foyer of the castle. He released me from his arms, and I saw that Mel was already there, waiting.
In her hands was something that looked very much like my coat.
‘Are you going somewhere?’ I asked, confused.
She shook her head, the curls bouncing with the movement.
‘No. You are.’
I looked from her to Jackson and there was an expression of shared mischief in their eyes.
‘Your taxi is ticking over outside. I’ve put your suitcase in the back,’ said Steve, striding up to join us and throwing his arm around his wife’s shoulders.
‘What’s going on here? I don’t understand.’
‘You’re leaving. You’re booked on the ten-thirty flight home. It’s going to be tight for time, so you’d better get a wiggle on,’ said Jackson.
‘But my things . . .’ I began.
‘All packed,’ Mel said with a satisfied smirk.
‘My hotel bill . . .’
‘Settled,’ Jackson said. He stepped closer and enveloped me in a hug. ‘You’re done, Harker. You’re off the clock. Go fly back home to your man and set your mind at rest.’
I looked from one friend to the other, wondering how I got so lucky to deserve these people in my life.
‘I can’t believe you’ve done this for me.’
‘I can’t believe you’re not in the taxi; the meter is running, you know,’ joked Steve, earning himself an elbow jab in the ribs from his wife.
‘I was such a bad friend to you both. I neglected you. I shut you out.’