Page 52 of Commitment Issues
They pull apart but don’t pull away. They’re close and talking, their heads bowed towards each other so the words they have to say are for them and them alone. They’re an island amidst the sea of activity and noise flowing all around them, and oblivious to everything and everybody.
I stare, transfixed, as Gavin’s face, tight with raw emotion, tilts into Elliot’s. An icy hand grips my heart. He’s going to kiss Elliot, and Elliot’s going to let him, all those years together rushing back like a wave crashing on a beach. Gavin wants Elliot back. How can I blame him? He’s back to reclaim his rightful place and Elliot’s going to let him take it.
I want to turn and run but I’m rooted to the spot waiting for the kiss that never comes, because Elliot’s shaking his head as he eases Gavin from him.
Turning away, and turning towards me, Elliot smiles, bright and beautiful, as he strides across, leaving Gavin to stare at his retreating back.
* * *
“Just one more photo, please,” the photographer says, back at the villa, as she clicks away before finally letting us go.
“Thank God that’s over.” Elliot grabs a couple of glasses of champagne from one of the waiters.
“The photos or the ceremony?”
“Both.” He takes a sip of his drink and sighs. “I don’t know who was more nervous, me or Andrew.”
“You didn’t look nervous. You seemed as cool as a cucumber. Have you done it before? The best man thing, I mean?”
He grins. “I certainly have. Three same-sex marriages, and four times for straight couples, including my brother. But they were all in the UK, so I could understand what was going on, unlike here. I seem to be everybody’s choice. If my business ever goes under, I’ll have a new career already mapped out. Normally I just breeze through them, but not understanding a word of French I was worried I’d end up married to Andrew.” He shudders but he’s still smiling. “Fortunately the two of them are fluent and every time I had to do something the celebrant, or whatever they’re called here, waggled his impressive eyebrows at me.”
“Hmm, are you sure he wasn’t hitting on you?”
“He’s really not my type, honey.” He laughs as he says it, but our gazes catch and hold.
And what is his type? I might look smart and suave in my suit, but it’s not me. I’m a hard-up student, which has got to be as far from Elliot’s type as it’s possible to get.
We’re saved from a protracted awkward silence when Elliot’s commandeered to carry out some further best man duties.
“Won’t be long. I hope,” he says, as he’s hustled away.
More champagne’s poured and I close my eyes as I savour the small bubbles bursting on my tongue. God, but it’s good, and I doubt I’ll ever have the chance to drink anything so exquisite again.
“Freddie.”
I open my eyes to see a beaming Andrew standing in front of me, the champagne flute in his big fist looking far too delicate.
“Congratulations. It was a lovely ceremony, and I should also say thank you for your hospitality.”Given the circumstances.
Our eyes lock for a second and I know Andrew understands the unspoken thought.
“I’m just glad Elliot’s not here on his own. You’re both doing such a good job,” he says, lowering his voice as his eyebrows raise slightly, “that nobody could possibly guess. He looks better than I’ve seen him for a long while. Looser and more relaxed. And I’d like to see that continue.” He hesitates, a small and sudden awkwardness falling over him when he’s the least awkward man I’ve ever come across. He licks his lips. “Freddie, I know it’s not my business, but stick around him. Please?”
“What? Of course I’m going to stick around. I mean, we’ve come here as a couple, well, claiming to be, so—”
“That’s not what I—ah, here he comes.”
A second later Elliot’s by my side.
“It’s hard work being a best man. Next time you do this, remind me to bill you for my time.”
“You got off easy, I was the one signing my life away, remember?”
They both laugh and fill the air around us with easy chat and, although I join in, I’m really thinking about what Andrew’s just said, and what he was about to. But I’ve got no time to dwell on it, as we’re called forward for the waiting wedding breakfast.
