Page 96 of Paper Roses

Artie purses his lips in thought. “Does that mean Claire’s legally married to Francis now?”

“Since we now know they’ve been sleeping together for two years, that might have been a better outcome.”

“Too bad about the outcome for the father of the groom.”

We both look towards the door where they’d steered the aforementioned father for an X-ray of his injured hand. We’d driven him here while his wife stayed behind to oversee the end of the party.

“I think it’s broken,” I say gloomily. “But at least he signed all the cheques before he punched Francis.”

Artie grimaces. “Well, look on the bright side. When Francis fell on top of the cake, it covered up the damage Coco Chanel had done.”

“I’m quite relieved about that,” I confide. “I wasn’t comfortable about anyone eating it after the cow had a nibble. I was going to hide it when the guests were all too half-cut to remember they even had a cake.”

“At least that’s been taken care of by now. Mal was opening bottles of their farm vodka and booking tours by the time we left.”

“That man,” I say admiringly.

“I liked him and Cadan,” he offers. “They were good fun, and Mal was very interesting.”

“Please don’t let him mentor you. You’ll have taken over the world by lunchtime.” I eye him. “Interested in the modelling offer? I saw him slip you his card.” I hold my breath, but release it in a rush when he immediately shakes his head.

“Not in a million years.”

“He’s right, though.” I examine his fine-drawn features in the bright hospital lights. This close, I can see the spray of freckles on his nose. The sight always makes me want to kiss them one by one. “You are beautiful.”

He flushes, and the pleasure in his eyes makes me want to beat my chest in satisfaction.

He shifts position, distracting me, and I note how his eyes are drawn tight.

“Is your back hurting, sweetheart?” I ask.

He directs a startled gaze at me, and I bite my lip. Endearments keep falling out of me lately. They join my brains that appear to be dribbling away at the same rate. “Just a bit,” he finally says in a low voice. “It’s been a long day.”

It has. We left home in the early hours and were at the farm for seven o’clock this morning, organising the florist and checking the arrangements, and we’ve barely stopped all day. I can feel the tiredness tug at my own bones, and they’re older than his.

“I’ll say.” I nudge him. “It’s nice that they had such a beautiful setting for the complete annihilation of their relationship, though.”

Ever soft-hearted, his brow furrows. “Do you think they’ll be okay? The groom must be brokenhearted.”

“They’ll be fine. Maybe not together, though. As we left for the hospital, I saw him disappear into the shrubbery with the head bridesmaid.”

“Ouf, that’s not good.”

“I don’t think he was brokenhearted. His pride was damaged, and she’s probably done him a favour. No one likes to be second best in someone’s heart.”

“No. It’s not nice.”

His face is distracted, his attention a mile away, and I swallow, worry seizing me. This has happened a few times lately, and it’s like the sun going in, leaving me in a cold, shady place that I’m starting to realise was my life after Mick’s death. Since I’ve been with Artie, my life has been full of laughter and warmth, and I don’t want it to go away.

I suddenly wonder with a sinking feeling if he’s talking about feeling second best to Mick. I open my mouth to tell him that could never happen and that no one has ever had my attention like this. But then he stirs and winces again, and I shelve my thoughts. “Turn around.”

“Why?”

“I’m going to solve your little problem.”

“Here?” He directs a scandalised look at me that makes me smile.

“I’m going to massage your shoulders. Not whatever your dirty mind just conjured up, Arthur Walker. I’m actuallyscandalised.”

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