Someone Like You (The Ever After Agency #4)

Chapter 31

31

GABY

The time between arriving at Aunt Christine and Uncle Marv’s and the ceremony zips by at the speed of light. Channelling my inner wedding planner, a new-found set of skills I’ll be happy to shelve after today, I’ve barely had time to catch my breath.

Any time I hear, ‘You’ll need to check with Gaby’, I beeline in the direction of the voice and issue a (gentle) command, make a decision, or give praise. Never underestimate how much adults love being told they’ve done a good job.

At T-minus thirty minutes, I go up to Monica’s room to check on the bride. ‘It’s only me,’ I say, knocking on the door as I open it. ‘Oh, Monica ,’ I sigh, taking in the sight of my cousin in all her bridal glory.

She’s standing by the window, her hair in an elaborate up-do, her makeup flawless, and wearing the most gorgeous bias-cut, fishtailed, ivory-silk gown I’ve ever seen.

If she were in a romcom, this shot would be on the poster. She is a stunning bride.

‘Aww, thank you, Gaby,’ she drawls – underneath it all, still her .

‘Not bad, huh?’ says her maid of honour and best friend, Nicole. I’ve known Nicole since she was a sassy ten-year-old. Now she’s a sassy twenty-six-year-old with a degree in aeronautical engineering who moonlights as a makeup artist.

She circles Monica with a critical eye once more, then flashes me a smile. ‘You know, my kit’s still out if you’d like a touch-up,’ she says, nodding towards the en suite.

‘Oh.’ My gaze swings to the floor-length mirror by the bed. I don’t look bad , but it was probably na?ve of me to do my makeup and expect it to still be in place hours later. ‘If you’re sure you have time,’ I reply.

‘Always time for touch-ups,’ she says, directing me into the bathroom where – ironically – she tells me to sit on the toilet, reminding me of Mom.

I’m really going to miss her when we go – and Dad. It’s now the part of the trip where the reality of departing begins to intrude on the joy of being here.

Issy might be feeling that too – the back-to-real-life feeling. Although, it’s unclear when she’s planning on going home to face the music. As far as I can tell, Jon is still calling several times a day and she’s still avoiding him.

And I can hardly compare my real life with hers. I’ve got a new role and close friends and a city I love to go back to. She has Douchebag and an impending divorce.

‘So, who’s that smoking-hot guy you brought as your date?’ asks Nicole.

For a split-second, I don’t know who she’s talking about, but then I do. Raff – who is looking particularly sexy today. And it’s not just the suit. He’s styled his hair the way he was shown and because we had such a frantic morning, he didn’t shave today. The stubble makes him look edgier and even more handsome.

I don’t answer right away, so Monica does for me. ‘That’s Raff, Gaby’s best friend. They’re not-so-secretly in love with each other but pretending not to be. The rest of us are waiting on a Christmas miracle.’

I stare at her, gobsmacked.

‘Even Brian said so,’ she adds smugly.

‘Don’t you have something bridal to do?’ I ask her, my eyes narrowed.

‘Nup.’ She holds her arms out. ‘I’m fully bride-ified. Besides, if I go out there before Dad comes to walk me down the aisle, Mom will…’ She flaps her hand. ‘You know… be Mom .’

‘True,’ I say, even though there’s not really an aisle. They’ll be married on the first landing of the staircase while we all look on from the outrageously large foyer.

‘So, what’s stopping you?’ Nicole asks me, recapturing my attention.

‘He’s met someone,’ I reply.

Nicole lifts my chin with her forefinger and scrutinises her work. She picks up another brush and blends along my cheekbones.

‘And where’s she, the gal he’s dating?’

‘ She is in St Moritz, skiing with her rich-as-fuck parents and her hot fuckboy of a brother.’

Nicole blinks at me and steps back, then trades a look with Monica before her eyes land back on me.

‘Later, when we’re drunk, I want to hear how you know the hot brother is a fuckboy, but for now, I’ll say this: she’s there and you’re here. If he wanted to be with her, he’d be with her. But he’s not.’

‘Because he’s here,’ Monica chimes in.

‘Did you two rehearse this? Is this a shitty wedding version of Who’s on First ?’

‘You’re being evasive,’ says Monica, her brows arched.

I exhale loudly through my nose and look up at Nicole, then circle my face with a finger. ‘How’s this? All done? ’

‘All done,’ she says with a self-satisfied smile. She spins me around by my knees to face the mirror. ‘Now you’re as hot as your non-boyfriend.’

‘Hotter,’ says the bride.

I’m about to protest, but a laugh tumbles out of my mouth instead. ‘Okay, okay,’ I say, standing and smoothing out my silk slip dress.

I angle my face in the mirror, checking out Nicole’s incredible work. In a matter of minutes, she has evened out my complexion, given me a smoky eye, and made my cheekbones pop. I tousle my hair, zhuzhing it to give it more of a sexy, bed-hair look.

I’ll admit it: compared with how I normally look, I am hot.

I pull my shoulders back and lift my chin, meeting my own gaze steadily in the mirror. I may not be a tall, buxom heiress but I’ve got professional-level makeup, a good hair day, and proximity on my side.

Raff had better look out. I may give my family that Christmas miracle after all.

The ceremony was short and (very) sweet, which made many guests dab at their eyes with tissues and Aunt Christine keen as if she were at a funeral.

Immediately after the bride and groom kissed, I switched back into wedding-planner mode, ably assisted by Issy. Now the formal photos have been taken, the buffet’s been served, and enough wine has been poured that the makeshift dancefloor is wall-to-wall people dancing to Maroon 5’s ‘Moves Like Jagger’ – including Dad, who (sadly) dances exactly like Mick Jagger. You wouldn’t know from his freestyle moves that the man’s salsa skills are next level.

I watch the dancefloor for a few more moments, loving seeing everyone enjoying themselves, then seek out Raff. It’s been go, go, go since we got here and he and I keep missing each other.

He’s in the den chatting with a co-worker of Monica’s I met earlier, a plucky, round-faced girl with a lithe dancer’s body and a lusty look on her face. She’s twirling a lock of her hair with one hand and touching Raff’s forearm with the other. Everything about her screams, ‘Let’s get out of here and get naked.’

Before the night of the Forty Under Forty party, I would never have considered myself a jealous person. Now, envy seems to have made itself at home. I should start charging it rent.

‘Hey, guys,’ I say – casual, friendly, breezy .

Dancer gal, whose name I’ve forgotten, glowers at me. I’m clearly cutting her grass, but she doesn’t know she’s third in line behind me.

‘Hello, Gabs,’ says Raff, leaning down to kiss my cheek. His breath smells like toasted honey, which must be from the sparkling wine – his glass is almost empty. ‘I was just telling—’ He stops short. ‘I’m so sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.’

Dancer gal does not like that. She looks between us, frowning, and says, ‘It’s Heidi.’

‘Sorry, Heidi ,’ continues Raff, seemingly none the wiser that she’s calculating how to extricate herself from this conversation. ‘Anyway, I was telling Heidi here about how you practically pulled off this entire wedding by yours?—’

‘Excuse me,’ says Heidi, interrupting. ‘I need the bathroom.’

She pushes past me, huffing as she leaves.

‘That was a bit rude,’ says Raff, looking perplexed. He seriously has no idea.

‘Come on, you beautiful idiot,’ I say, taking his hand. ‘I want to dance.’

‘All right, but why am I an idiot?’ he asks, trailing behind me.

One dance turns into five – Raff may be sexy, but there’s room for improvement on his dancing skills – and then the DJ announces that it’s time to cut the cake.

Two of the college-student waiters wheel it in on a butcher’s block they appropriated from the kitchen, draped in a white tablecloth.

There’s a chorus of ooh from the wedding guests, which isn’t surprising. It’s spectacular , especially now the roses have been added, and with the way the silver glitter and edible paint picks up the light, it looks luminescent.

‘Before we cut the cake,’ says Brian, stepping forward, Monica’s hand resting on the crook of his arm, ‘my wife and I’ – the ooh turns into an aww and the newlyweds beam at each other – ‘would like to thank a few people…’

He mentions his parents, who only made it to Seattle a few hours ago and appear weary but happy, and his brother who arrived late last night from Idaho to be his best man. He also gives a special mention to Bear, who was an admirable stand-in ring bearer. Bear lifts his head at the sound of his name, dropping it back onto his paws when he realises there’s no treat on offer, sending a ripple of laughter around the room.

Brian then gives a shout-out to my parents and Issy for their help yesterday and this morning, and profusely thanks Aunt Christine and Uncle Marv for being such wonderful, generous in-laws and for welcoming him into their family.

‘Now I can say I have parents in Wichita and Seattle.’

‘Oh!’ Aunt Christine howls. She buries her head into Uncle Marv’s shoulder, breaking into another bout of sobbing, and he pats her on the back.

‘And my turn,’ says Monica. She turns to Nicole and gives a speech about friendship and how having Nicole as a friend is like having a sister. ‘Ditto, queen,’ Nicole replies, blotting under her eyes with the pads of her ring fingers.

‘And to two very special people,’ says Monica, ‘one I’ve known my whole life and one I’ve only just met but already love… To my cousin, Gaby – we absolutely would not be here today if you hadn’t taken over and bossed us around and made this wedding happen. You really gave Seattle weather the finger and I love you to death.’

I grin and blow her a kiss as laughter fills the room.

‘And to Raff – in just a few days, you’ve become part of our family. You are such a great guy and, seriously, this cake is beyond . It’s absolutely gorgeous, and we know it’s going to be delicious. We’re both so grateful.’

I look up at Raff and our eyes meet, both of us swelling with pride, but also basking in the intense love and gratitude coming our way.

But Monica isn’t finished.

‘We are so glad Gaby brought you into our lives,’ she says. ‘And if everyone could please raise your glasses… To Gaby and Raff.’

‘To Gaby and Raff,’ forty-five people say together.

Then the room shifts off-kilter and I suddenly feel queasy.

Why did she phrase it like that? That I ‘brought Raff into their lives’. That makes it sound like I brought my boyfriend home to meet the family.

It was fine when she and Nicole were teasing me earlier because that was merely joking around, but she made it a toast. In front of everyone .

But didn’t I start drinking the Kool-Aid too?

Standing in Monica’s en suite, hadn’t I looked myself in the eye and, bolstered by a smoky eye and assurances that everyone sees it – something between me and Raff – hadn’t I told myself I would…

I would what ?

What had I actually thought I would do?

Confess my love to him over the Dungeness crab cakes? Seduce him with my mediocre dance moves? There are professional dancers at this wedding!

Or did I think I’d slip under the comforter later tonight and wait for him to finish brushing his teeth?

Surprise, Raff! I’m naked, hopped up on wedding cake, and horny!

I am such a frigging idiot.

Well-wishers crowd around, patting me on the back and offering to buy me a drink – ‘hilarious’ when it’s an open bar. I smile and say, ‘Thank you,’ a dozen times, edging towards the living room door so I can make my escape.

When I make it to the doorway, I take several deep, gulping breaths, then turn and scan the cavernous room. The music has resumed, with half the guests back to boogeying, and the other half spooning cake into their mouths, moaning in ecstasy and wearing oh-my-god-how-good-is-this-cake? expressions.

I spy Raff and – wouldn’t you know it – Heidi has taken hold of his hand and is dragging him towards the centre of the dancefloor. I’d bet my left arm he still doesn’t get that she’s into him.

He starts off laughing, protesting weakly, but when she tries to place his hand on her hip, his countenance shifts dramatically. I can tell that he gets it now. He gets it, and Heidi is making him uncomfortable.

He steps away, his polite way of telling her to get lost, but she ignores his protests, tugging on his hand and gyrating like a classically trained exotic dancer.

Raff stands stock still, his eyes darting in all directions, panicked. He’s looking for an out , I think, which is confirmed when his gaze meets mine and he mouths, ‘Help.’

Help is on the way, Rafferty !

I charge back onto the dancefloor, mumbling apologies for jostling other guests as I go, and march right up to Raff.

‘Hi, babe! Sorry to leave you all alone while I was in the bathroom,’ I say loudly for Heidi’s benefit.

She finally stops dancing, but did she just ‘hey!’ me, as if she has some claim on Raff? Wasn’t she there for the part where my cousin made a speech and practically welcomed him to the family?

Well, screw you, Heidi!

I reach up and lock my hands behind Raff’s neck and pull his head towards me, landing the kind of kiss that can only be described as a keep-your-hands-off-my-man kiss.

And the most surprising thing is not the eruption of whoops from inebriated wedding guests around us, nor the, ‘You go, girl,’ Issy shouts across the room, nor the blood rushing in my ears.

The most surprising thing is that Raff kisses me back.