Page 65 of Midnight Wishes

‘Morning.’ Abby’s voice was tinged with amusement.

‘Pancakes?’ Erik offered, slightly sheepish.

She’d walked in on them half clothed before. But today, Erik’s bare chest and grey joggers made him look alarmingly like the brother she’d just walked out on.

It could have been her morning.

If she hadn’t run away.

‘No. Thanks.’ Sarah tried to inject some energy into her voice. Tried to make it sound less lifeless than she felt. She was pretty sure she failed. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’

Alone in her room, she contemplated a shower, weighing the pros—washing away the vestiges of her night with Alex—against the cons—washing away the vestiges of her night with Alex. Instead, paralysed by indecision, she curled up in her bed and inhaled his shirt like the pathetic mess she was.

That was where Abby found her half an hour later.

‘Hey.’ She slipped in without knocking, as was their usual way. At least, as was Abby’s way. Sarah had started announcing herself early into Erik’s living there. ‘I thought I’d give you a minute before I checked on you. What’s wrong?’

Sarah considered denying it. But there was no way her face hadn’t turned stricken at the sight of them. No way she didn’t look a mess right then.

‘Remember my casual thing?’

Abby crossed to sit on the bed. ‘Not so casual anymore?’

Pretending to be his girlfriend hadn’t been difficult. Not when it was second nature for her body to curve into his. When his lips on her throat were like a magnetic strip finding its pair. Physical intimacy had never been their problem. But the aftermath had left her more confused about her growing feelings than ever.

Sarah nodded glumly.

‘Want to talk about why that doesn’t seem to be a good thing?’

For the first time, Sarah considered coming clean. Not immediately. Abby should have been prepping for her bachelorette party, not managing her friend’s emotions, and she certainly wasn’t going to add to any wedding stress by admitting she was sleeping with the best man. But maybe…maybe after the wedding, when she told Abby about Barcelona, after she and Alex were done, maybe she’d stop lying to her best friend.

‘Not now. Today’s aboutyou. Keep the merlot coming after our massage, and I’ll be grand.’

‘Sarah…’ Green eyes scrunched in front of her.

‘I’m fine, hun.’Just feeling catastrophically stupid.‘All I need right now is a pretty masseuse to work out my kinks, then to eat my body weight in pizza and the cinnamon cookies Zoe’s gran made.’ She’d figure out how to face Alex when their parties converged later. ‘Now, are you getting changed before we go, or are you planning to spend the whole day looking like it’s the morning after your booty call?’

Abby frowned, plucking the large white button down away from her skin, then looked pointedly at Sarah’s own oversized men’s t-shirt. ‘Areyou?’

All life’s problemscould be solved with a good pair of hands and the perfect amount of alcohol, Sarah decided, as they made their way back to the flat after mind-meltingly good hot stone massages. While she hadn’t yet decided what to do about Alex, at least she’d stopped worrying about it entirely after her second Bellini.

The spa had been a treat just for her and Abby—a way to get the bride-to-be out of the flat long enough for Zoe to decorate for the main event.

A smile spread across Abby’s face as she took in the life-sized Dread Pirate Roberts cutout, the enormous rat piñata hanging from the ceiling—stuffed with lube samples and condoms, Zoe had assured Sarah—‘Iocane’(rum)-infused punch, and ‘Miracle Pill’ party favours. Sarah doubted the aphrodisiac chocolate worked, but as long as it was delicious, what was the harm either way?

Phase one of the party consisted of a stack of pizza boxes the height of a small child, two cases of wine, and a pile of gifts that were opened to reveal an assortment of lingerie and other personal items that would have made Sarah’s formerly prudish friend blush only a few months before. As it was, one of Sarah’s gifts—lovingly selected after Abby had been a little too forthcoming on a recent girls’ night—drew forth an embarrassed squeak from the bachelorette, as she took in the straps and buckles, and a ripple of laughter from the assembled guests.

Phase two saw their party joining up with Erik’s at a jazz lounge where Abby could indulge her desire to dance without subjecting her fiancé’s sensitivities to the thunderous bass of a club. While he had occasionally joined them for a night out—armed with ear plugs and anti-anxiety meds—her friend had decided it was too cruel to make him suffer through the end of his bachelor party.

The bachelor in question now fell onto the plush sofa beside Sarah, shirt rumpled and eyes shining with joy.

‘Where’s your wife-to-be?’ Sarah asked. ‘You two have been surgically attached since we arrived.’ That wasn’t too different from their usual state, but it did amuse Sarah that this was the first time since they’d arrived that she was seeing Erik’s mouth. From the moment he’d seen his future bride, his lips had walked a near continuous path between her lips, her neck, her shoulders. She sometimes wondered if they truly forgot they were in public.

‘Bathroom,’ Erik said, before the soft tilt of his lips expanded into a wide smile. ‘Wife,’ he murmured, voice only just audible over the soft jazz playing around them. One hand scrubbed over his face. ‘Fuck, that feels good to say. This time next week, she’s going to be mywife.’

‘Have you two found a place to live yet?’ They’d discussed it after the wedding date was set. Sarah had enough commissions scheduled in the coming months to safely afford the full rent on their flat, and when their lease was up at the end of December, she’d find somewhere smaller.

Erik took a long sip of his drink and shook his head. ‘It doesn’t feel right to saddle you with the last four months of the lease.’

---