Page 5 of Paper Roses

I spin around and my heart lifts at the sight of the pretty face in front of me. “Artie,” I gasp.

He’s wearing a dark grey suit that clings to his narrow shoulders. There’s a quizzical look on his gorgeous face, which is heart-shaped with high cheekbones and a full, bee-stung mouth. His hair is wavy and dark and his eyes a very pale blue like the sky on a summer morning.

He gives his usual gentle smile. “Sorry I wasn’t here to help you with the wedding.”

“It’s fine,” I say quickly. “You know you can take time off whenever you like.”

He frowns. “Not when it’s leaving you in the lurch.”

He looks his usual calm self, but on closer inspection there appears to be signs of strain around his lips. “You okay?” I ask,all my protective impulses rising to the fore. Something about him makes me want to look after him.

A flush rises on his cheeks, making his pale blue eyes even more distinctive. “I’m fine, thank you,” he says quietly.

As I become aware that the two bridesmaids are observing us as if we’re on centre court at Wimbledon, a muted scream sounds from the bathroom.

“What onearth?” Artie gasps. “What is going on in there?”

“It’s the dress,” Heather says wearily.

“Does Esme not like her dress?” Artie pauses. “Is that thedesignerin there with her?” he asks in a high, alarmed voice.

I bite my lip to hide my smile. “No.” I wink at him. “That’s her new mother-in-law.”

“What?”

Heather huffs. “I’m going in,” she says in a tone I last heard in a black-and-white war film. Having met Esme’s mother-in-law on numerous occasions, I don’t think it’s too wide of the mark.

She hands Artie her small bouquet. “Hold this, please.”

He takes it obligingly and almost immediately sneezes.

I remove it from his hands and set it on a nearby table. “He’s allergic to flower pollen,” I tell Heather.

She takes a deep breath and opens the door an inch. “Esme, are you okay?” she calls.

“I’ve always thought you were a bitch,” comes a shout. “You’re notworthyof my son.”

Heather slams the door quickly. “I’m pretty sure that wasn’t aimed at me.” We all nod. “But I’m not going in there to find out.” She points at me. “When Esme asked me to be chief bridesmaid, she said my duties were organising the hen do and making a toast. Not Jake Gyllenhaaling the door of a bathroom inRoad Housewhile she threatens her mother-in-law.”

“Of course,” I say solemnly. “Jake couldneverwithstand the rigours of bridesmaiding. Not even with all the muscles revealed by his open shirts.”

Artie snorts.

“Absolutely,” Heather says with a nod. “So you’re going to sort this out, and Polly and I are going to drink our own and several other people’s body weight in wedding cocktails before they close the bar. And then I’m probably going to shag the best man.”

I nod and hand her my card. “Please do call on me in case the shag turns marital.”

She grins and takes the card. “Polly,” she says, gesturing in the direction of the bar like an army commander in lilac lace. Her friend nods quickly and falls in behind her obediently, leaving me and Artie standing in sudden silence.

He leans close as he puts his ear to the door, and I suck in a breath at the feel of his arm against mine and the warm scent of his amber and patchouli cologne. His hand rests against the door, and I look at the long, slender fingers with their neat nails.

“It’s gone quiet.”

“Pardon?”

He looks at me curiously. “Are you okay? You seem a bit distracted.”

Abit? He thankfully has no idea of the fact that he’s causing my distraction, and if I have my way, he never will.

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