Page 19 of Going Overboard

It was a buffet of sorts. Everyone went up, a table or two at a time, to help themselves to the hog roast, potatoes, salad, bread – all sorts. I thought, by getting a smallish plate, I could eat it as quickly as possible and make my excuses, but Neil very kindly said he would get me mine, so that I could continue hiding from Todd, which I guess is my number one priority. If I can get to the end of the day without him seeing me – or at least without the two of us having to interact – then I might come out of this relatively unscathed. Well, publicly unscathed, I’m sure when I’m alone in bed tonight I’ll have a different take.

Well, at least I’ve eaten – although I have had a couple more cocktails, so I’m definitely what you would call more than tipsy. Now it’s time for the wedding tradition of going to reception to report your stolen car. What do you mean that’s not tradition?

I’m inside the hotel now, walking past where the toilets are. As I pass the gents, a man walks out and… it’s him! It’s Ryan! The not valet.

I halt my horses, stopping dead on the spot, almost bumping into him.

‘You!’ I say, pointing at him just in case there was any question mark around who I’m talking to. ‘You stole my car!’

‘Me?’ he says with a chuckle, pointing at himself.

He isn’t wearing his jacket now, so no name badge, but I know it’s him. Deep brown eyes, muscular frame, tall, handsome – which I am loath to admit, now I know he’s a car thief.

‘Yes, you!’

‘I didn’t steal your car,’ he corrects me. ‘You gave me your keys.’

‘Because I thought you were the valet…’

‘Why? Because I’m a man?’ he asks accusingly. I think he’s joking around, but I’ve no time for it.

‘What the fuck?’ I blurt. ‘No, because you were standing next to a sign that said “wedding parking” and it had an arrow pointing at you.’

He laughs at me. I want to punch him.

‘It was pointing towards the wedding parking,’ he replies, talking to me like I’m an idiot.

Am I an idiot? No, because…

‘But your jacket had a name badge on!’

‘I’m part of the wedding,’ he replies. ‘A groomsman. We all have our names on our jackets. It’s what Al wanted.’

‘I didn’t see a name badge on Al’s jacket,’ I tell him, because I would have noticed that, surely?

‘How many Als could you see when you were talking to him?’ he jokes – obviously implying I’m drunk.

‘I’m not drunk, I’m serious,’ I snap. ‘I didn’t see a name badge on Al.’

I fold my arms like a pissed-off bouncer, refusing to let any of his bullshit in.

‘It’s Al,’ he says with a shrug. ‘We’re lucky he still has a shirt on at this point. He hasn’t been wearing his jacket, none of us have, it’s too warm today.’

I mean, that’s a good point, Al does love to take his top off for virtually no reason.

‘So… why did you take my keys?’ I ask after a few seconds of bemused silence – unless you count the volumes his smug grin and his stupid dimples speak.

‘Because I’ve just always really wanted to drive a Fiat 500,’ he says, deadpan. Then his grin returns. ‘To help you out, obviously. I knew you were with the wedding so I figured I could get them to you later. They’re in my room, for safekeeping.’

‘I want them back now,’ I insist.

‘Are you sure?’ he checks. ‘It’s not like you’ll be driving anytime soon, is it?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You’re pickled,’ he says with a snort.

‘I am not… pickled,’ I protest. ‘And I’m not planning on driving, I just don’t trust you.’

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