‘Right. Should we get settled?’ he suggests.
‘Let’s do it,’ JJ says excitedly.
‘This place is stunning,’ Cordelia says as she climbs the stairs. ‘I can’t believe we get it for the week.’
‘It’s only going to make the wedding even more special, Tink,’ Andy replies.
I feel almost annoyed that I have, in a roundabout way, facilitated this. What cruel and unusual torture for myself.
We all head upstairs to choose our rooms. Jake and I are last, so we just get whichever room is left. I’m hoping and praying for a twin but no such luck.
‘This is cute, but definitely not the master,’ I overhear Cordelia call out from her room.
‘I’m pretty sure this one is,’ Jake replies.
Light floods in through two large windows. The view is gardens, trees and fields with horses in. The bed is huge – king-sized at least – dressed in white linen with a plaid throw over the top.
It boasts two armchairs, two windows, two dressers – peeking into the en suite, I can even see two sinks. There is, however, only one bed.
Jake is zipping around, checking everything out. I suppose he’s looking at it through different eyes. This isn’t his digs for the week, it’s his potential bedroom for the foreseeable. I’d be made up with it too.
Jake closes the door for a moment, giving us some privacy. Just me, him and our one bed.
‘So,’ I say softly. ‘This is fine, right? We can share…’
‘The room? Sure,’ he replies.
‘And we are supposed to be engaged,’ I continue, as if he doesn’t know. ‘Which means people will assume we sleep in the same bed, so that’s all normal, normal, normal.’
Which is exactly what I don’t sound – normal, normal, normal.
Jake nods again, calm as ever.
‘Sounds right,’ he says.
‘And if we don’t,’ I continue, like I’m building up steam, ‘and someone finds out, then the whole thing falls apart. JJ would kill me for messing this up.’
‘She looks like she could,’ he jokes.
‘She absolutely could,’ I reply.
Then I fall silent. I’m being weird. Weird, weird, weird. And Jake can tell.
‘I can sleep on the floor,’ he says simply.
The words land with a jarring mix of relief and disappointment, if I’m being totally honest. Which is absurd, because I don’t want to share a bed with him. I don’t. I was freaking out at the thought. I just… don’t want him to sleep on the floor either. That’s it.
‘You don’t have to do that,’ I say quickly.
‘I do,’ he says, like it’s obvious. ‘You’re uncomfortable.’
‘I’m not—’ I start, then stop.
I guess I am, but I’m not uncomfortable with him. I’m uncomfortable with the situation.
‘Whit,’ he says quietly, ‘I don’t want you feeling awkward. I’ll take the floor. No one will know.’
‘You can’t sleep on the floor for a whole week,’ I point out.