Wedding Night

“Oh yes,” I say, still preoccupied. “She’d know about that. She works for a pharmaceutical company. She meets scientists all the time.”

“What exactly does she do?”

“Recruitment.”

“Recruitment?” I look up to see that his eyes have lit up. “We need a new head of HR! This is perfect!”

“What?”

“She could head up HR, keep the good ideas coming, get involved with the estate.…” I can see his mind working hard. “This is just what Ben needed! A wife who can be a business partner too. A helpmate. Someone to stand at his side and—”

“Stop right there!” I plant a hand on the table. “You’re not poaching my sister to go and play a game of Happy Families in Staffordshire.”

“Why not?” demands Lorcan. “What’s your problem with it?”

“My problem is it’s nonsense! It’s ridiculous!”

Lorcan stares at me silently for a moment, and I feel the briefest of shivers under his gaze.

“You really take the biscuit,” he says at last. “How do you know you’re not ruining your sister’s great love? How do you know this isn’t her chance for a fantastically happy life?”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” I shake my head impatiently. I’m not even going to answer that question, it’s so stupid.

“I think Ben and Lottie have every chance of being happy,” he says firmly. “And I, for one, am going to encourage them.”

“You can’t switch sides!” I glare at him in fury.

“I was never on your side,” retorts Lorcan. “Your side is the nutty side.”

“The nutty side.” Noah picks up on this and decides it’s hilarious. “The nutty side!” He falls about in laughter. “Mummy’s on the nutty side!”

I glare at Lorcan, stirring my coffee viciously. Traitor.

“Morning, everyone.”

I look up to see Richard approaching the table. He looks about as cheery as the rest of us, i.e., suicidal.

“Morning,” I say. “Did you sleep well?”

“Terribly.” He scowls and pours himself some coffee, then glances at my phone. “So, have they done it yet?”

“For God’s sake!” I take out some of my resentment on him. “You’re obsessed!”

“You can talk,” mutters Lorcan.

“Why do you keep asking if they’ve done it?” says Noah alertly.

“Well, aren’t you obsessed too?” counters Richard.

“No, I’m not obsessed. And, no, they haven’t done it.” I put him out of his misery.

“Done what?” asks Noah.

“Put the sausage in the cupcake,” says Lorcan, draining his coffee.

“Lorcan!” I snap. “Don’t say things like that!”

Noah has exploded with laughter. “Put the sausage in the cupcake!” he crows. “The sausage in the cupcake!”

Great. I glare at Lorcan, who stares back, unmoved. And, anyway, cupcake? I’ve never heard it called that.

“I suppose you think it’s funny.” Richard turns his ire on Lorcan. “I suppose this is all a joke to you.”

“Oh, give it a break, Sir Lancelot.” Lorcan loses his patience. “Isn’t it time to butt out? You must want to give up by now. No woman is worth this rigmarole.”

“Lottie would be worth ten times this ‘rigmarole,’ as you put it.” Richard juts his chin at Lorcan. “And I’m not giving up when I’m only six hours away from seeing her. I’ve worked it out exactly.” He takes a piece of toast from the rack. “Six hours.”

“Sorry.” I put a hand on his. “But you should know. It’ll be more than that. They’re not at the hotel anymore. They’re at the guest house.”

Richard stares at me, wide-eyed with horror. “Bugger,” he says at last.

“I know.”

“They’ll shag there, for definite.”

“They might not,” I say, to convince myself as much as him. “And mind your language, please. Little pitchers.” I gesture at Noah.

“They will.” Richard is hunched with gloom. “That place is Lottie’s fantasyland. It’s her yellow brick road. Of course she’ll—” He stops himself, just in time. “Put the sausage in the muffin.”

“Cupcake,” corrects Lorcan.

“Shut up!” I say, exasperated.

As we’re all sitting there silently, a waitress approaches the table with a coloring book for Noah, and he accepts it with delight.