Page 95 of Paper Roses

His voice fades into the distance, and we all stand still for a second. Then Mal stirs. “I’ll take your card if I can, Jed.”

I blink. “For the wedding or psychiatric services?”

He tuts. “The wedding, of course.” He strikes an elegant pose. “When I started out as a young model with cheekbones to die for and a face that made grown men weep?—”

“I’m sure I’ve shed a tear or two myself,” Cadan mutters.

“I said to myself,” Mal continues. “Malachi Booth, you should ignore Dior and Zegna, what you really want is a wedding planner with beautiful eyes and superior forearms.”

“Are you booking a wedding planner or flirting?” Cadan asks wryly.

Mal pouts. “Can’t I do both?”

He smiles affectionately at him. “Always.”

“Will you be wanting to get married on a farm too?” I ask.

“Maybe, but we do make vodka on this one, and my husbandalwaysshovels his own shit.”

“A glowing recommendation,” Cadan says sweetly. “I may need to add that to my CV.”

“Then count me in,” I say, handing him a card from my holder. “I must go and rescue my husband.”

“You go very well together,” Mal says. I look at him, and he raises his eyebrows. “I can always tell.”

“Yes, that’s been very ably demonstrated,” I say, and Cadan snorts.

There’s the sound of running footsteps, and I look up as my nephew appears again.

“Whatnow?” I groan. “Do you want to smear more faecal matter over the bride, or has an asteroid landed on the groom?”

“That’s not a common occurrence in Cornwall, but I’m holding out hope,” Mal muses.

Grant grimaces. “It’s worse than that, Jed.”

“Worse than the groom being flattened? What is it?”

“Does anyone own a black-and-white cow?”

Mal brightens. “Oh, that’s Coco Chanel. I raised her, you know. I’ve taught her everything she knows.”

“Words to strike fear in the hearts of man,” Cadan offers.

“She even opens doors. She’sveryclever.”

Grant brightens. “That’s so cute. She should have her own Instagram account.”

“Well, now that you mention it, I?—”

“Grant,” I interrupt wearily. “What about the black-and-white cow?”

“Oh, it’s in the kitchen eating the wedding cake.”

I stir in my uncomfortable seat in the hospital waiting room. “I don’t think this has ever happened to me before,” I muse.

Artie leans into my side, and I sling my arm over his shoulder, enjoying how he immediately nestles close. “Really? I would have thought you’d have seen most things after the years you’ve been in the industry.”

“I’ve had my share of disasters, and before this, I’d have said the worst was the pirate wedding when the rum ran out and the sea got rough.” He starts to laugh, and I grin at him. “But this is the first time I’ve had a bride say the best man’s name at the altar rather than the groom’s.”

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