Confetti Hearts (Confetti Hitched, #1)(43)

Lachlan looks a little dazed and then grimaces. “Sausage? Really?” he whispers. “Must you?”

“Yes, I’m afraid I must,” I say sweetly. I turn to Erica who seems rather nervous for some reason. “This is just the most wonderful surprise.” I smile so hard my face aches.

She seems to relax. “Really?”

I’m lying. A truly good surprise would have been a room filled with cheesecake and me as the only occupant. But I make myself nod. “Oh yes. So wonderful to see my little lambkin.”

“Oh god,” Lachlan says.

I almost laugh, but at this point it would be hysterics, so I restrain myself because I have a code-red emergency on my hands.

Erica regards us. “You do look very good together,” she muses, her eyes starry. “You’re both so handsome.”

“Would you mind terribly if I just have a quick word with my husband?” I ask.

“Well, really. My daughter is getting married,” Frances says as if I’ve missed that memo.

Erica tuts. “Mummy, I’ve not even got my dress on yet. Of course, they can.” She pats me on the hand her face beaming. “Take as long as you like, lovely.” She turns back to her mother. “Let’s go and start getting ready. I’ll ask for some cocktails to be sent up to the suite for you.”

Frances huffs. “If we can actually get served in this hotel. I really think there would have been more staff if you’d got married in the Amazonian rainforest.”

“Probably. And at least there, some of the wildlife might have eaten you,” Ryan’s mum says, smiling sweetly at Frances as they move away.

Lachlan stiffens. His gaze meets mine and his eyes are alight with mirth. I make my own eyes into lasers, and he shifts uncomfortably.

“Well, we won’t be a few minutes,” I say. “Come along, my dearest darling.”

He slides off the stool and rises to his full height, which is several inches taller than everyone else. Several of the women give him approving glances. He’s dressed in a dark grey suit with a blindingly white shirt. Mrs Ward is obviously still doing his laundry, but even that sobering thought doesn’t stop my traitorous mouth going dry.

I stalk out of the room and feel him following me into the corridor. Looking around, I spot a door and open it. It leads into a small sitting room looking out onto the patio. I pull him in and slam the door before rounding on him. He makes a startled sound.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I hiss.

He hesitates for a moment before saying, “I’m here for the wedding.”

“I call bullshit. I never saw your name on the list. Bride or groom?” I snap.

“Neither. That would be illegal, as I’m already married.”

“You are not funny. Bride or groom?” I say through gritted teeth.

“Bride,” he says rather tentatively.

I fold my arms. “So, you’re friends with Erica?”

“Oh, you know how it is.”

“I don’t which is why I asked the fucking question.” He looks shifty which is a very odd expression on such a forthright man.

“You know the bride so well that she invited you to a very exclusive wedding where the guests are only close friends and family,” I say slowly, suspicion dawning as I recall that Lachlan didn’t seem at all surprised to see me. “And yet despite this hitherto hidden friendship, Erica was still looking at us like we’re Taylor and Burton on a good day? Like we’re happily married.” His face changes and realisation hits me like a smack in the face. “Oh my god, she thinks that because you told her that. You fooled her.”

“No. It wasn’t like that. I —”

“How could you, Lachlan? Why are you even here?”

“You refused to talk to me.” His words are suddenly loud and impassioned and I stare at him. “I rang you over and over, but you put the phone down. I sent letters but you ripped them up.”

“How do you know that?”

He shoots me a wry glance. “You sent the pieces back to me.”

Ah, that must have been after one too many cocktails.

He carries on with a dogged persistence. “I needed to see you, and this was the only way.”

The hurt in his eyes enrages me. “Stop talking,” I hiss. He shuts his mouth with a snap, and I turn away, running my hands through my hair. “This is a fucking disaster.”

“Joe.”

“No. Please don’t talk to me. I don’t want to speak to you for any longer than I have to.” His eyes are bruised with unhappiness, but I harden my heart. “I can’t air our marriage problems at someone else’s fucking wedding. A wedding I’m organising.”

“No, I have to tell you something. She doesn’t —”

“We need to think,” I say, talking over him. I pace the room as he sits down and watches me.

“Joe, you might need to know that—”

“Shut up.”

He closes his mouth while my mind races frantically. I run through every scenario I can think of but there seems to be only one obvious answer. I walk back to him. “Right. I think I have a cunning plan.”

“I had more faith in Baldrick saying that.”

I glare at him. “This is the best I can come up with, short of you allowing me to murder you and stuff you in the hotel shrubbery.”