Page 84 of The Layover
At the taxi rank, Gemma strides right past the queue, saying loudly, ‘Sorry, everyone, sorry, it’s an emergency – my best friend’s wedding, I’m not going to make it in time! Have a heart! This is desperate times! Maid of honour reporting for duty! Brother of the bride and groom’s best friend in tow! Make way!’
I don’t know what magic she has in her veins, or maybe it’s just that she can be a little bit scary when she wants to be, but nobody seems to object when the three of us cut to the front of the queue.
A guy steps forward and opens the back door of a cab, and Gemma slides on in. Francesca follows, scooting by with a yelped, ‘I’m so sorry! It really is a bit of an emergency!’
‘What the hell!’ the guy shouts.
I grab their abandoned suitcases from the kerb and the driver and I hurl them into the boot, along with my own bags.
Gemma is shouting, ‘It’s my best friend’s wedding! She will literallykill meif I miss it!’
‘You don’t understand,’ the guy yells, ‘I have to get to—’
I nudge past him too, prising his hand off the top of the door so I can pull it closed behind me as I squeeze in beside the girls.
‘Sorry, mate.’
It’s only after I pull the door closed and Gemma all but screams at our driver továmonos, giving him the address of the hotel and saying we’ll pay extra if he can get us there quickly, that I realise the guy whose taxi we just stole is the kid with silver hair. He’s got a sad-looking bouquet of tulips in hand, now.
Francesca notices too, and pulls a sympathetic face.
‘Oh, I hope his girlfriend isn’t annoyed he’s late.’
‘She’ll be more annoyed at the absolute state of him,’ Gemma says. ‘At leastwebothered to scrub up well. Now hold my phone up for the camera – I need to do my eyeshadow.’
Time until ‘I Do’
32 minutes
Chapter Thirty-nine
Francesca
We breathe a collective sigh of relief as our taxi pulls up at the venue, all piling out of the car. I’m sweating, although I can’t tell if that’s because I just spent over an hour packed into the back of a car between Gemma and Leon on a sunny Spanish morning with barely adequate aircon, or if it’s all the adrenalin for what I’m about to do.
The wedding venue is a massive villa sprawling over a beautiful cliffside overlooking the beach. It’s all white stone walls and terracotta tiles, with manicured gardens full of brightly coloured flowers and palm trees swaying gently in the ocean breeze. Even out here on the circular tiled driveway in front of a fountain, it screams luxury.
It’s the perfect place for a wedding. So completely, utterly gorgeous.
Gemma half falls out of the taxi, throws her handbag at me, and hoicks up her skirts to sprint into the hotel.
‘I’ll see you two later!’ she hollers over her shoulder, vanishing inside.
The driver gets our bags out of the boot; there’s a porter in a crisp white and gold uniform coming over to take them for us.
And this is all suddenly starting to feel veryreal.
My dress flutters around my legs and I can taste the salt in the air, feel the lovely heat of the morning sunshine on my skinthat seems to soothe my aching muscles, and somewhere inside – somewhere on the other side of this villa … is Marcus.
About to marry the wrong girl. Having feelings for me he’s tried to squash. Mistakenly rejected after the romantic night we spent together. My best friend at work, the great love of my life.
Those things all sound so …hollow, now.
But I’m here. I’ll always regret it otherwise. I have to do this.
Don’t I?
‘Er …’ I turn awkwardly to Leon, holding out Gemma’s handbag. ‘Can you make sure that gets up to Gemma’s room for her, please? I have to …’
