Confetti Hearts (Confetti Hitched, #1)(56)

“I’ve got Cameron, a waiter who lives in. He’s going out with my niece Isla who’s doing me a favour by waitressing. They’ll clean up tonight.”

“Can we help?” Joe asks.

Dougal immediately shakes his head. “That’s very kind of you, but no. I’m only sitting behind the bar until everyone goes to bed. Yours is the only party in the hotel tonight. I can get an earlyish night, and then I’ll be cooking your breakfast tomorrow if the chef can’t get in.”

“Okay, we’ll go up,” I say quickly. I hand Joe his plate and he looks at me in bemusement.

“How much do you think I can eat?”

“Not enough. You survive on party favours.”

“Not true at all.”

“I bet if I look in your fridge, I’ll find a packet of sugared almonds and a slice of wedding cake.”

He rolls his eyes and then immediately winces.

“Enough. Let’s go upstairs. You need bed,” I command.

“Okay. But only because I want to.”

“Of course.”

We nod goodnight to Dougal who seems to be fighting a smile and make our way up the stairs. DABBA is currently massacring “Waterloo”.

“I thought they couldn’t hit any more wrong notes after the last song, but I live to be wrong. They’ve succeeded,” I observe.

He chuckles and I eye his face worriedly. His nose is swollen, and a bruise is already starting to come up on his forehead. I let us into the room and taking the plate of food from him, I push him gently to the bathroom. “Go and shower and get warm,” I instruct. “I’ll put some more logs on the fire.”

It’s a sign that he’s not feeling well that he does as he’s told. I’ve never met anyone like Joe for his charming wilfulness. He’s like a pretty cat stepping daintily through life, forging his own path.

The shower starts, and I move around the room switching the lamps on and drawing the duvet back on the bed. It’s a nice room, and I know Joe will get a kick out of being in a turret room with its huge four-poster bed made up with white linens and a squashy duvet. I could have done without the lime-green tartan wallpaper though. It hurts the eyes. The designer has obviously never suffered from a hangover.

My phone rings and I look down at the display and curse softly. Rafferty. Clicking to answer the call, I whisper, “Make it quick.”

There’s a startled pause and then Joe’s best friend’s voice comes through with that ever-present note of amusement running through it. “Not possible, I’m afraid. I do have my sexual reputation to uphold.”

“Joe’s in the shower.”

“Wow. You’re a quick worker, Lachlan.”

I sigh. “He drove his car into a snow drift, so he’s getting warm.”

“Is he okay?” he asks immediately.

I want to smile. I’d been jealous as fuck over Rafferty when I first met Joe. Joe had mentioned him so many times I’d felt incredibly threatened. But then I’d met him and been immediately reassured. The two of them are very close, and unholy partners in their ability to find trouble, but there’s no spark of lust—just a bone-deep friendship. And for that, I love him.

“He’s fine. As recalcitrant as usual.”

“That’s my boy. Anyway, I’m ringing to give you a warning, Lachlan.”

“How very godfatherish of you. Will I be finding a horse’s head in my bed?”

“No, because I don’t get on well with snow. But make no mistake I would travel up there and shove one under your duvet if you mess this up and hurt him again.” He pauses. “Obviously not a real one, though. I like horses, although I’m not a very good rider. Once, I—”

“Thank you for the warning,” I interject. “I’m suitably scared.”

“You should be. I may be sunny, but I’m extremely fierce when I care about someone.”

“Joe is very lucky to have you.”

“I’m not so sure he’ll think the same when he finds out it was me who gave you Erica’s contact details and helped you with this insane plot. Let’s try and keep that between ourselves.”

“I will. Thank you,” I say fervently. “I love him, and I won’t waste this chance.”

“Make sure you don’t. I’m rooting for you, Lachlan. I know you’ll get him back.”

I end the call, but soon the warmth from his affirmation is replaced by anxiousness. What will I do if Joe doesn’t want me? I push the thought away. I need to forge ahead with my mission.

The shower switches off and I look nervously at the bathroom door. He’s going to be very cross when he finds out the full extent of my deception. I hardly recognise who I am at the moment. My commitment to truth has certainly taken a bashing since I sat alone drinking whisky and contemplating the divorce papers in front of me. My plan had been formed in that desperately sad moment when I was missing Joe so badly it hurt, and it had taken every inch of my persuasive skills to drag Rafferty and Erica along with me. Even so, none of us had anticipated the spanner that Joe would throw into the works. I shake my head. I don’t know why. The man could unsettle the dead.

Feeling antsy, I throw a log on the fire, watching the sparks fly up the chimney. Then I pace to the window. The loch has become a shapeless mass and snowflakes fall, lit briefly by a lamp on the balcony. The table and chairs there are already covered.