Page 35 of Not My Little Drummer Boy
It only underscored what I’ve learned about myself these past few days. I’ve changed. Now there’s no way I would jump into bed with a stranger just because he was pretty. I need to know and like the man first. So if I’m planning to try and fuck Pierre’s dark presence out of my life, Teddy is the perfect place to start. He’s shown me a lot of the man inside that attractive packaging, and I like every bit of it. All I have to do is convince him I’m completely fine with being his wedding-week conquest before he’s released back into the wild—and the pack of women waiting to pounce.
“All done,” Daphne says with a satisfied smile. I step off the stool and pause for a moment in front of the massive mirror that dominates the parlour’s far wall. Haley’s designer nailed it; the plunginghalter neck in lustrous emerald satin is exactly the dress I might have chosen for myself.
Sam appears beside my reflection. “The colour’s perfect on you, Rache. You look incredible.”
“So do you.” I turn to face her properly. “Look at yourself.” She ducks with that shy smile, the one that always surprises me for someone so confident in other parts of her life. She should smile at how she looks. Her dress of deepest green, a shade darker than my own, makes her peachy skin luminous and accentuates her mop of dark curls. The cut shows off her curves beautifully.
“The perfect bridesmaid trio,” Liv announces, slipping her arm around my waist from the other side. She’s right—we do look good together. Liv’s porcelain skin and platinum pixie cut are ethereal against her pale moss-green dress, like she’s just stepped out of a fairy ring.
“Thank you all so much. How lucky am I to have the three of you as my friends?” Haley bounces on her toes, trying and failing to corral all three of us into a group hug, and we dissolve into giggles. “I wouldn’t want to do this without you, you know.”
“We know,” Sam laughs, steadying Haley as she wobbles. “We expect you to do the same when our turn comes. Even if I want to have an underwater ceremony or Rachel decides to get married in a haunted castle.”
My stomach lurches at the wordmarried. Even though my head says it’s just as well Pierre and I didn’t make it to the altar, my heart mourns the future I’d envisaged for myself as someone’s one and only. I catch the quick look of reproach that passes from Haley to Sam. For two months they’ve tip-toed around the minefield, and now Sam has just stomped straight through it.
Sam winces, the laugh dying in her throat. “Right. Sorry.”
I come to her rescue, forcing a smile. Strangely, Sam’s blunder makes me realise it’s getting easier. The stab of hurt is still there, but smaller now. I can keep the mask in place without it slipping.
“Actually,” I hear myself say before I can second-guess it, “I’m starting to think I’ll get my turn after all. And Scotland’s knee-deep in haunted castles.”
Sam’s eyes brighten with something that looks like relief, and she laughs. “See, I knew you’d appreciate my gothic taste.”
“Christmas wedding at a haunted castle?” Haley suggests, keeping it playful. “I’m picturing mistletoe over medieval arches.”
“Perfect. And you’re absolutely my wedding planner.”
The lightness in Haley’s eyes tells me everything. She’s been walking on eggshells around me since the breakup—they all have. Time to let them know they don’t have to.
“You can all stop worrying about me now. I mean it. We’ve got a wedding to enjoy.”
“And another challenge,” Haley adds, mischief bright in her eyes. “You didn’t think I’d give you a day off, did you?
The manor house kitchen’s broad central worktop groans under more bottles than the back bar of a Mayfair members’ club on New Year’s Eve. Martini glasses, champagne flutes and highballs line up beside shakers, strainers, barspoons and shot measures. Ice buckets,citrus wedges, fresh herbs, cordials, tonics, ginger beer, syrups and bitters round out the arsenal.
We’ve split off into our pairs, each huddled in an allotted corner. Phones confiscated—challenge rule number one is no googling—we’re relying on trial, and plenty of error, to conjure the perfect Christmas cocktail. Luckily, Teddy and I have years of clubbing for inspiration. The execution is another matter.
“That better?” Teddy asks. My vision swims as I meet his brown eyes over the rim of my glass. Fumes of pure alcohol scorch my nose, and even a sip burns all the way down.
“No, it’s fucking awful,” I splutter, swiping my hand across my mouth. I snatch up the ginger beer and take a long swig to chase the taste away. “Try again. I told you, use the measure.” I push the metal jigger at him.
“Yes, boss,” he laughs. “But you gotta admit that’s dead boring.”
Teddy flips the bottle of vodka in his hand as effortlessly as he twirls a drumstick. He pulls a clean glass towards him, and this time, instead of adding the vodka with a flamboyant slosh, he carefully measures it, passing it in front of me so I note it’s perfect before he pours it in neatly.
Who’d have known Teddy fancies himself a showman when it comes to making cocktails? For the last hour, he’s been carrying on like he’s auditioning forDrink Masters. But this isn’t a performance sport; in half an hour we need to serve Loreena and Tommy a Christmas cocktail worthy of first place—and that last monstrosity is not it.
“We’ve only got time for boring. If I’d known letting you be in charge meant you’d morph into Tom Cruise…”
“I know. You’re regretting giving me the job. You like to be in charge.” His eyes darken and his voice lowers. “Always. Everywhere.”
That ball of heat low in my belly pulses at his dangerous tone. I think I’m a little drunk from all the sampling, but not so drunk I can’t read the invitation in his words. I swallow hard.Focus Rachel. Time for Teddy later.
“I like to win,” I say.
“And I’d let you.” He licks at his lips. Those lips I know taste so damn good, and fuck it if I don’t crave having them all over me. I blink the thought away.
“Teddy,” I huff in frustration. “Not now. Come on,” I plead.
