Confetti Hearts (Confetti Hitched, #1)(3)

I wander into the lounge. It’s chilly, and I hurry to switch on the fire. The flames leap up, warming my face, and I grab a throw and wrap it around me. The wind howls outside, sending rain tapping against the glass, and I nestle deeper into the throw. A year ago, I’d have cuddled into Lachlan who never minded how cold my feet get, but now it’s just me and my blanket.

On the table is an arrangement of photos of me and Lachlan together. In my favourite one, we’re standing with our arms wrapped around each other. I’m smiling like crazy, happiness written all over my face. I pick up the frame, and Lachlan’s handsome, craggy face stares out at me. His wavy, dark hair is ruffled, and he offers his crooked smile at the camera. As I set down the frame, the firelight catches on my gaudy wedding ring, making the diamonds twinkle, and I exclaim in sudden disgust.

“Why the hell is this crap still everywhere?” I say.

Humphrey observes me unblinking from his perch on the sofa.

Seized with determination, I grab all the pictures. With their frames clacking together, I march into the kitchen and stack them on the work surface. Then I dart into the bedroom and seize all the photos in there. They go onto the pile until it’s teetering unsteadily.

By the time I’m done retrieving every photo of me and Lachlan, I’m sweating beneath my blanket. “Time to let go,” I say.

I open the small pantry door and shove them all onto the bottom shelf. I hesitate for a second, and then before I can second-guess myself, I pull off my ring. It slides easily from my finger, and my breath saws in and out of my chest. Tears fill my eyes as I stare down at the ring in my palm. For something so precious to me, it seems extraordinarily light. A few seconds pass and then I say, “Fuck it,” viciously. I set the ring on the stack of photo frames, slam the cupboard door shut, and march off for a shower.

An hour later, dressed in my grey Armani suit with a white shirt and blue tie, I walk into the kitchen. I open the pantry door and pull out the stack of photos. I wander around the flat, setting them all back in their places and then finally work the ring back onto my finger.

“And you can shut up,” I say to Humphrey who’s watching me from the kitchen windowsill. He sniffs and turns back to his early morning contemplation of the birds outside, counting up his methods of disembowelling them. No wonder he and Lachlan got on.





Past





Two Years Ago





Chapter

One





Wedding One



Joe



“I’m so sorry, Joe.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I croak. “This happens to me a lot.”

I’m crammed into a tiny bathroom cubicle, holding up one end of a massive meringue wedding dress. Lena the bridesmaid holds the other end while the bride sits on the loo.

Daisy stares at me from her porcelain perch. “This happens a lot?”

“Oh, almost every day,” I say airily. “I’d bet most gay men have never had this experience. I’ll be the envy of the gay choir.”

She snorts and Lena shifts in her cramped position in the bathroom stall. “Joe’s a wedding planner, so I’m presuming this is part of his job description, but I really do think the bridesmaid’s charter needs updating. I saw mention of hen nights, crappy dresses, and bridal blues, but absolutely zip about holding a wedding dress while the happy woman pees.”

Daisy chuckles. “This will be just like all those times I’ve held your hair back when you were drunk.”

“I’m just coming at it from the opposite end.”

They grin at each other, and I shift from foot to foot.

“It’s very warm in here,” I observe. “I hope I don’t faint, because that would make this whole thing very awkward.”

“It can get more awkward?” Lena says incredulously.

Daisy sighs. “I’m so sorry but I can’t go now.”

“Performance anxiety,” Lena says. “I do hope your bridegroom doesn’t suffer from the same thing.”

I twist to face the wall as best I can, trying to avoid leaving the skin of my nose on the door hinges. “I’ll try to give you some privacy,” I wheeze.

There’s a rustling and the cubicle teeters slightly as we struggle to make room for the dress and three adults. Much cursing follows and Lena has poked me in the ribs with her elbow four times before Daisy says cheerfully, “Okay. I’m done. You can open the door now, Joe.”

“I think I might have to scrape my face off it first,” I mumble, and both women cackle unsympathetically.

With a great deal of groaning, we stumble out of the stall, and Lena and I immediately spin into action, smoothing the dress’s massive skirt and checking Daisy’s hair. Giving us a drunken, sunny smile, she spins out of the bathroom, the door banging closed behind her.

“She has zero chance of avoiding performance issues with Mark,” Lena says conversationally as she washes her hands.

I do the same. “Come again?”

She jerks her head at the door. “Mark, the groom. He’s a terrible shag.”

I stare at her. “And you’d know that because you’ve shagged him?”

“Well, I’d hardly have read about it in The Telegraph, darling. Most of the wedding party had him before he met Daisy.” She grins at me and saunters blithely out of the bathroom.