Page 43 of Wedding Crasher

Emily flushed the loo and sat down on the seat to get her breath back. Was it possible to actually die of morning sickness? She certainly felt like it at least five times a day. And it wasn’t just mornings either. It was morning, noon and night sickness. Was she being punished? If she wasn’t, she felt as if she should be. Tom had slipped straight into overprotective husband gear as soon as she’d told him about the baby. The kitchen cupboard brimmed with ginger biscuits, and he ran her a warm bath each evening with the lavender-scented oil he’d picked out especially to help her sleep. His thoughtfulness only added to Emily’s burden of guilt as her salty tears slid into the lavender bath water each night. Theoretically, there was a slim chance that the baby could be Tom’s, but her mind wouldn’t permit that thought in amongst the self-flagellation and recriminations. She’d slept with another man. How dare she try and comfort herself with maybes?

She deserved to suffer daily for what she’d done, and what the hell was going to happen when Dan found out that she was pregnant? It wouldn’t take a genius to work out that it might be his. Would he tell Tom, come over all paternal and insist on blood tests and such like? Fresh waves of horror washed over her every time she thought about it. God, it would make perfect fodder for theJeremy KyleShow.

How could she have been so stupid? She could see it now, Jeremy sitting on his top step and pouring scorn on her pitiful excuses as the entire audience bayed for her tainted, slattern blood.

God, she could kill for a glass of wine.

Marla lay in bed just after midnight, Rupert spooned around her, warm and deeply asleep less than ten minutes since he’d orgasmed. He’d taken good care of her tonight, bringing her an unasked-for takeaway from the Chinese restaurant on the High Street, and rubbing her shoulders as he listened to the whole sorry tale of her disastrous day. She knew that he had his faults and that Jonny couldn’t stand the sight of him, but she appreciated the pressure-free nature of their relationship. He was a warm body against hers, and he had a sharp sense of humour that made her laugh. He wasn’t her soul mate, but then she wasn’t searching for that. Hell, she didn’t even believe in all that. They enjoyed each other’s company both in and out of the bedroom, and for Marla at least, that was enough.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Melanie held the small envelope over the kettle and winced as the steam scalded her fingertips. It always looked easier than this in the movies, she thought, as she finally managed to open the damn thing and extract the note.

She stopped and sighed at the sight of Gabe’s bold, slanted handwriting, even though she already knew perfectly well that it was from him. But the dreamy smile slid from her face as she scanned the missive.

Dear Marla,

Something to help make your July 4th go with a bang, and to say I hope we can enjoy a less explosive friendship from here on in.

Yours,

Gabe

X

Melanie read it twice more. Her heart thumped with adrenalin from her own audacious detective work, as well as annoyance at Gabe’s blind determination to smooth things over with that woman.

Why couldn’t he just let it be? Dora had unknowingly become the fall guy for last weekend’s debacle, and Melanie had learned a valuable lesson. She needed to be less obvious with her meddling.

Gabe had gone off to some undertaking convention for the day and left her in charge, making her all glowy inside with the knowledge that he trusted her. She’d even managed a mechanical smile earlier when Gabe had asked her to run a package over to the chapel at some point during the day. She sat down again at reception and poked the offensive parcel with her toe, hard enough to put a little rip in the pretty paper Gabe had used to wrap it. Bad luck if Marla’s gift looked a little shabby and hastily put together by the time it arrived. A surreptitious glance under the ripped corner of paper revealed the contents of the box. Fireworks. Melanie all but growled with anger as she slid the little note back into its envelope, but didn’t re-attach it to the parcel. Instead she placed it on the desk in front of her, tapping it with one finger and trying to decide if she had the guts to bin it.

A tiny scream of temper escaped as she recalled his sign-off again.

Yours, Gabe. X

He wasn’t Marla’s.

He washers. Or at least, he should be.

Bugger. Shereallydidn’t want to deliver the parcel, which was why it was still sitting under her desk at gone half past four.

Hope we can enjoy a less explosive friendship.

Pah. He wasn’t that witty with the notes he left for Melanie.

Do this please, Melanie, orRing so and so please, Melanie, was about the sum of it. Although actually, a couple of weeks back he had left one note where he’d signed-off with an x under his name, a much-handled Post-it note that now resided in her bedside table for nightly stroking purposes.

She scowled at the fireworks. It was a great big box to lug about. What did Gabe think she was, a packhorse? She wanted to be the one who received his thoughtful gifts and notes, not just the delivery girl to someone else who clearly didn’t want or deserve his attention.

Much as she’d like to go and fling the box in the nearest canal, there was no way out of the fact that she had to take them to the chapel. Gabe was sure to mention them to Marla, and then where would she be? She’d just have to tough it out, because, well, love was just like that sometimes.

Outside the window, the owner of a small open-top sports car revved his engine as he made a meal of parking. She recognised the driver and huffed again. Great. Another man hanging on to Marla’s irresistible coat tails. Melanie had originally been thrilled that the feckless guy from the newspaper had arrived on the scene. Surely he would stamp on any buds of friendship between Marla and Gabe? She was doing everything she could at this end to subtly nurture the ‘us and them’ mentality between the funeral parlour and the chapel, but Rupert had so far proved himself too much of a fop to be much use as an accomplice.

She watched him unfurl his gangly limbs out of the car with a sour taste in her mouth. The man oozed wealth and self-satisfaction in his Ray-Bans and white Ralph Lauren jeans.

A zing of irritation flashed through her as he reached down into the back of the car and emerged with a bunch of flowers. Marla bloody Jacobs should just be done with it and erect a sign outside the chapel telling lovesick gift-givers to form an orderly queue. And then the brilliant idea struck her.

Quick as a flash, she hopped around the desk and flung the front door open just as Rupert rounded the bonnet of his car.

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