Confetti Hearts (Confetti Hitched, #1)(42)

Sensing some sort of imminent explosion, I cry, “Let’s all go to the bar.” A pang of memory comes of Lachlan lying in bed one Sunday, laughing about the fact that according to him, I had fifteen different ways of saying that phrase.

I push the memory away, along with the hollow feeling in my chest, and usher my charges into the hotel. The warmth inside is almost like a blow. My fingers tingle as they heat up to body temperature once more. Dougal is waiting to greet the guests, assuring them in his usual calm way that their luggage will be delivered to their rooms.

“We are now serving drinks in the bar,” he says with the ease of someone who recognises the need for this lot to get drunk as soon as possible.

I wink at him and gesture the group into the bar. A fire roars in the hearth of the huge stone fireplace, and fairy lights glisten in the garlands draped over the beams, a relic from the Christmas holidays. The scent of fresh coffee, the low hum of the guests talking, and the sound of Andy Williams crooning “Can’t Get Used to Losing You” all add to the welcoming atmosphere.

Erica’s father Simon turns from where he’s sitting talking to Erica and Ryan. His cheeks are rosy, so he’s obviously been drinking, and he shoots his wife a cautious look. She doesn’t see it, because she’s too busy telling Violet where she went wrong since drawing breath this morning. Ryan leaps over to hug his parents.

Simon approaches Noah and pats his hand. “Good to see you, son,” he says. “Let me introduce you to everyone.”

The wedding guests nod and smile at us. They’re a mixed bunch of ages, the women a bright splash of colour in their wedding finery and the men looking smart in their morning suits. One man has his back to the room, as he says something to the barman.

Something about his wide shoulders and broad back twangs a chord of recognition.

My eyes narrow. Could it be? I shake my head.

Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll be imagining seeing him everywhere soon.

Erica’s dad gestures at the man. “And last, but by no means least, this is Lachlan.”

The man turns, and I see the smiling countenance of my husband.

My stomach drops like I’m in a freefalling lift.

“Oh, we’ve met,” I say darkly.





Chapter

Ten





Joe



For a seemingly endless few moments, we stare at each other —me, in horrified astonishment, but Lachlan’s expression is harder to read. It’s like nothing I’ve seen on his face before. His grey eyes scan me from my wind-mussed hair to the tips of my polished shoes, drinking me down like he’s spent the last few months lost at sea and I’m a cool drink waiting on a sandy shore. He also doesn’t seem surprised to see me.

My heart thumps and, as I take a sharp breath, his expression shutters. The practiced smile he gives me is one he wears as easily as a business suit.

“Hello, darling,” he drawls, sitting relaxed on his stool. I contemplate shoving him off it but restrain myself.

“You know each other?” Noah asks, his gaze bouncing from Lachlan to me.

“You could say that,” I say grimly.

“Lachlan is Joe’s husband,” Erica informs the group.

How does she know him? How the hell is this even happening?

Lachlan smiles at me and for a split second I consider punching said husband, the memory of the last time we’d talked very vivid, but then I become aware of our fascinated audience.

“Lachlan.” I clear my throat. “What are you doing here?”

He bites his lip, caution in his eyes. “I’m attending the wedding.”

“You’re what?” The words erupt like a gunshot and Erica jumps beside me. “Well, that’s certainly a surprise,” I add faintly.

Lachlan watches me, his eyes dark and mysterious. I want to run around the room screaming and then throw myself in the snow and scream some more. Alternatively, I want to kick the cheating bastard really fucking hard. My foot twitches, but just in time, I remember the golden no-divorce rule. Jed would fucking kill me if I aired my dirty laundry at a wedding, let alone assaulted my spouse in front of witnesses.

At that thought, I make myself smile. Lachlan’s eyes widen, so it’s obviously not quite as welcoming as I’d wish.

“You can kiss him, Joe,” Ryan urges, his kind face smiling. “You’re with friends here. No homophobes at this wedding.”

I look at Frances and wonder if I should contest that. Instead, I make myself move forward and hug Lachlan. For a second he’s rigid against me, and then his arms band around me, and I realise I’ve just made a massive error. I haven’t been this close to him in months, and now I can smell the scent of his cologne and feel his big body’s heat. I melt into him, and then I make myself remember the kiss. It’s more than enough to make me stiffen and pull away but not before I lean close and whisper into his ear. “Play along with me.”

He shudders and then turns his head. “Play along with what?” he says hoarsely.

“You’ll see. You owe me,” I say through gritted teeth and see him wince with satisfaction.

“How wonderful,” I cry, turning back to the group. I clasp his hand and offer him what I hope is a lovesick gaze. “My little sausage is here,” I declare, fluttering my lashes more than a fairy-tale princess.