How to Kill Men and Get Away With It(25)

‘Hello,’ I say to the table. ‘Nice to see you and your trousers again, Rupert.’

‘Play nicely, Kits,’ Maisie hisses in my ear.

I let my lips graze her cheek slightly. ‘Always.’ I flash her a winning smile before being pulled into another hug by Ben, who squeezes himself a little bit too tightly against me for it to be okay.

‘Looking stunning as ever, Kitty,’ he says, and I just about hold myself back from grabbing a butter knife and disembowelling him there and then.

Smiling prettily, I shake hands with James, Hen’s dad – nice to see you again, blah, blah, blah, and kiss her mum, Laurelle, on her cheek, way too much perfume.

Everyone is already a few glasses of champers deep and are having vapid conversations about vapid people and things. My attention begins to wander and, while Maisie and the rest of the table chat, I scan the other tables and the rest of the grounds. Desperately seeking … someone.

I’m no believer in fate or sky fairies or any of that bollocks, but a lot of spiritual people believe that there is no such thing as coincidence. And that’s something I’m coming round to more and more. Because while everyone else continues their inane small talk, I see him for the first time. Sitting on a temporary low-wall structure – which I’m guessing is to stop drunken rich people from jumping into the fountain later. He’s fiddling with a piece of paper while chewing the skin around his thumbnail. I can see that the dark-blue-but-not-quite-navy suit he’s wearing is expensive, but not bespoke like every other man’s here. He’s wearing black-framed glasses, which between thumb nibbles, he pushes back up his nose. His hair is sort of messy – but styled to look that way – too dark to be blond, but too light to be brown. His face is stubbly and he keeps rubbing it furiously between the thumb and glasses ritual. I’m concerned the friction might start a fire.

There’s a good few metres between us but I can tell he’s hot. Really hot. And there’s something about his fidgety energy, the way he’s constantly moving, that makes me unable to take my eyes off him.

Suddenly he looks up and catches me staring.

Embarrassed, I quickly move my eyes away but when I glance back, seconds later, he’s still watching me. He gives me an awkward little wave and I can’t decide if he’s mocking me or not. I decide to brave it and wave back.

Maisie notices. Of course she does. Now she’s all loved-up, she wants everyone else to be as well. This girl has a heart the size of the fucking moon. I really hope Rupert Red-Pants makes her happy.

‘Go and talk to him,’ she says.

‘I’m terrible at that stuff.’

‘No. You think you’re terrible at that stuff. Just think of it like you’re writing an Insta caption. What would you say?’

‘Someone hose me down because my fanny-flutters have started a fire?’

‘Yeah. Don’t say that. Just say hi. Ask him what he’s doing here.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Kits. What’s the worst that can happen?’

A billion thoughts whizz through my head at once, from my falling face-first into his lap, to his asking me to grab him a glass of Champagne because the other waitress is taking too long. I give Maisie The Look. The one that means I don’t want to do something.

‘I’ve not seen that face since you wouldn’t go down that water slide in Dubai. And that was fine, wasn’t it?’

‘Maze, my bikini top came off, everyone saw my tits and I very narrowly avoided getting my own episode of Banged Up Abroad. But yeah, apart from that, it was great.’

She gives me a kiss on the cheek. ‘I love you. Now go and talk to him before he vanishes and you spend the rest of your life regretting it.’

Urgh. So dramatic, but I adore her. I take a deep breath, stand up and begin walking towards him.

‘And keep your tits in this time!’ she shouts after me.

I take it all back. She’s an arse.

Still, I make my way over to him, my heels sinking into the mud where sprinklers have clearly been doing overtime to keep the grass green and luscious. Of course I have to look like a toddler taking its first steps when I finally see a man I fancy. I think I style it out though.

‘Is this seat taken?’ I indicate the wall next to him.

He looks momentarily baffled, like he can’t quite work out why I’m talking to him. But then he smiles and I feel my insides go liquidy, but in a good way, as he pats the wall.

‘Haha, no, sit down, please.’

I perch there, feeling the pressure to say something that’s flirty but not cheesy and not overtly sexual. It’s really not as easy as you’d think.

‘Are you here for the awards?’ I ask in the end, my tongue feeling like a thick slab of meat in my mouth.

His eyes meet mine. Dazzling green. I remember something about green eyes being the rarest of colours. ‘Yes. Did you think I was one of the waitstaff?’ he asks. ‘Were you going to ask me to get you a drink?’

I must look horrified and he lets me suffer for the tiniest of moments before he lets out a laugh. ‘I’m teasing you. Sorry. Yes, I’m here for the awards.’ There’s a beat of silence as we look at each other. ‘I’m meant to be doing a speech actually.’ He suddenly stares down at the sheet of paper in his hands like it’s a snake. A bad one. ‘Public speaking isn’t really my thing. Don’t tell anyone, but I’m nervous as fuck.’