Sam hastily grabbed his things from where they were strewn around the hotel room and shoved them into his brown overnight bag. Thankfully, he didn’t have a lot of stuff—the honeymoon was planned for summer, rather than immediately after the wedding. He fumbled to get his bow tie off, felt immediately better when he hid it out of sight at the bottom of his bag. He grabbed his phone off the bedside table last, then hesitated. What was he doing? This was crazy. It would be the end of him and Jessica; there would be no going back after this. And he’d be kissing goodbye to his job; no way would he have a future at the firm after jilting the boss’s daughter. He glanced again at the wedding rings on the dressing table, and felt his chest tighten.

  No. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t walk down the aisle without Tom there to coach him through it. It was an awful, terrible thing to do, to leave her like this. But he was an awful, terrible person, and it was better Jessica knew that now—better to get out of her life while it was still possible, rather than let her down later, like his dad had done to his mum.

  So, with slightly trembling fingers from the adrenaline pumping around his body, he unlocked his phone and typed out a text.

  I can’t do this. I’m so sorry. It’s for the best.

  He sent it, then practically sprinted from the room, leaving the rings on the dresser. Jessica could sell them, get the money back, pay off the hotel bill. He grimaced. It wouldn’t make up for what he was doing. He knew that, but it didn’t stop him, didn’t make him turn back. He took the stairs all the way down to the ground floor—the lift was too risky.

  He hurtled into the hotel lobby, barely thinking, blood pumping in his head, urging him to get out of there. That was his one thought. Get out. He kept his head down, staring at the Art Deco flooring, looking away from the circular red sofa in the middle of the reception area, in case anyone he knew was sitting there. Fuck, he was still wearing his tux. He fumbled in his bag—feeling a rush of guilt as he remembered that Jessica had bought it for him—and got out a jacket to shove over the top, hiding the evidence.

  It was halfway across the reception hall, right next to the red sofa, that Sam heard her voice. He was surprised at how instantly he recognized it, how tuned in he was to it. He jerked to a stop. Stayed still, frozen, like somehow just by moving he’d be calling attention to himself.

  “Everything is set up and ready,” Cassie was saying. “So Josh will be more than capable of handling things from here.” He risked a furtive glance around, saw her to his left, on the other side of the sofa, near a gigantic indoor plant. She had her back to him, and was standing with two men—an older man with a receding hairline, and a wiry redheaded man.

  “And I’m happy to do it,” the redhead said. “Cassie’s talked me through the whole thing.”

  Cassie was bailing, then. Just like him. Though in her case, it was understandable. He carried on moving, slowly now, aware of each step he took. The lobby had been bustling when he and Jessica had checked in yesterday—where were all the people to hide behind when you needed them?

  “Well, I’m not happy for you to leave.” Presumably that was the older man, though Sam didn’t look over his shoulder to check. “These are very important guests—the bride’s father owns a London law firm. We can’t have anything going wrong here.” Sam winced at the reminder of what he was leaving behind, of how he’d managed to completely fuck himself over.

  “My aim isn’t to let things go wrong, funnily enough.” The redhead’s voice had turned dry. “And I’m a total hit at weddings, trust me. You can count on me, sir.” There was a touch of irony in the “sir.”

  “You can’t leave, Cassie.” The voice was final. “You are the events manager, and this is an event. Besides, you were the one who brought these clients in—and that’s something that hasn’t gone unnoticed up top.”

  “Fine,” Cassie said, her voice weary. Sam wanted to turn, to check her expression. But he didn’t give in to the urge. The glass double doors were right there in front of him, and soon he’d be outside, free. “Look, I’ll come back in a minute, but I just need to take a beat. Please. It’s my brother’s…It was someone close to my brother, getting married and I…”

  “Cassie, I’ve been lenient with you over the last few months, because I know you’ve had this bereavement, but there comes a time when you have to stop using that as an excuse.”

  Jesus, the guy was a dick. Sam felt a protective surge toward Cassie, and his stride faltered, half of him wanting to go back and tell this guy that something like this wasn’t an excuse, that he clearly had no idea what he was talking about, that he should give Cassie a fucking break. There were plenty of times growing up, when Tom hadn’t been nearby and someone had been teasing Cassie, when he’d stepped in to do just that.

  An elderly couple came in through the glass double doors at that moment, and Sam stepped aside to let them past, unable to get out while they were walking, excruciatingly slowly, into the building. His body twitched. He didn’t hear Cassie’s response, but presumed she’d made one, because he heard the guy saying, in an annoyingly nasal voice, “Glad that’s settled. You can have five minutes, no more.”

  As the elderly couple let the doors swing shut behind them, Sam risked a glance behind him. Cassie wasn’t with the two men anymore, and Sam felt his shoulders relax—she’d gone. But then, “Sam?”

  His head whipped around automatically, toward the sound of his name. Somehow, Cassie had gotten behind him, on the other side of where she was supposed to be, and was coming his way. Walking right toward him.

  Shit. Shit!

  But there was no point in pretending he hadn’t seen her. “Hey, Cass. How are you? You’ve, err, done a great job with everything so far.” He tried very hard to make his voice casual, like it was no big deal to be caught by her, like he was just stepping out for a sec. Breezy, breezy. But he could hear that it didn’t work: the words sounded too strained, and he felt hot under his double jackets as she leveled a look at him. He couldn’t help glancing behind him—had Jessica gotten the message yet? Would she come down and look for him? Jesus, he needed to get out of here. What had he been thinking, lingering like that?

  “Sam.” She said his name pointedly, then frowned. She opened her mouth, clearly trying to think of something to say—this was the first time they’d seen each other in months, after all. Then she closed it, glancing between his face and the bag in his hand. Then toward the exit. She narrowed her eyes, and the brown that was usually so warm turned hard. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m…Nothing, I’m…” But he found himself floundering, unable to think when she was looking at him like that, disapproval and hurt etched across her face. His palms prickled with heat. Fuck, why couldn’t he think of an excuse? What was a reason he’d be rushing out of the hotel, bag in hand, still in his tux?

  “Are you leaving?” Of course she’d immediately think the worst of him, wouldn’t she? But then, maybe she was right to do so, because he was doing the worst thing, wasn’t he? And besides, she’d always seen through him. He’d never been able to bullshit her, the way he could with other people. So it made sense that she’d understand immediately what he was doing, what he was thinking. It didn’t stop him from trying to deny it, though.

  “No,” he said quickly, “I’m just—”

  “You are,” Cassie said, her tone biting. “You’re leaving Jessica. Now? Are you seriously running out on her on the day of your wedding?” Her voice was too loud. Jesus. The dick and the redhead would hear her, would alert the whole bloody hotel if she kept on like this. He acted on instinct and grabbed her by the shoulder, holding firm when she tried to shake him off, and pulled her through the double doors and out onto the pavement.

  He ignored her noises of protest, kept a grip on her as he marched away from the white pillars of the hotel building, out of sight and to safety.

  “Get off me!” She managed to shake his hand off, her eyes flashing.

  He pulled his hand through his hair and found he couldn’t even find the energy to lie to her. Everyone would find out soon enough, anyway.

  “I can’t go through with it,” he said flatly.

  She stared at him, as if waiting for him to say something more. “Are you serious? You’re just going to bail? On your wedding day? What kind of a person does that?”

  “I can’t do it.” His voice had a pleading, panicky edge to it now—he needed her to understand. Even though he knew she wouldn’t—of course she wouldn’t, how could she? How could anyone? But already the decision felt irreversible, and he knew he couldn’t—wouldn’t—go back on it.

  Her brown eyes were kindling, burning coal at their center. He thought, yet again, of what she’d said to him, the night he went to Linda’s. If you hadn’t been so stupid, so selfish, then Tom might still be alive. And she was right, wasn’t she? It was all his fault. He’d partied too hard, lost track of what was important, and let his best mate down. He could’ve been there to stop the fall, and he hadn’t been. So Cassie was right to look at him like that. And when everyone else found out that he’d left Jessica, they’d look at him like that, and they’d be right in their assessment of him too.

  She looked for a moment like she might tell him that he had to do it, fight with him to make him stay. But then she shook her head, and the fire in her eyes went dull, sparked out. “People always said you were like Tom,” she said, her voice low now, barely more than a whisper. “You and him, the brave boys, off doing adventures. The double act.”

  He remembered it—everyone in their village used to say it, or a version of it, then everyone at secondary school, all their teachers. Linda, his mum, even Claire. At university too, they were the crazy ones, pulling stunts no one else would dream of.

  “But they were wrong. You’re nothing like Tom. He was brilliant and brave and kind, and you…” She spat out the last word, her shoulders heaving. “You’re a coward and you always have been.”

  He winced, but didn’t contradict her. She was right—he was a coward. He’d been a coward all those years ago, when he’d turned from her, run from her, because he didn’t like what she was making him feel, didn’t want to risk falling for her, didn’t want to risk ruining things with Tom, didn’t want to risk hurting her if they’d gone any further. He was a coward still, unable to face up to what had happened to Tom, to his part in it. Unable to go through with a wedding he’d agreed to. And he could find nothing, right then, to defend any of it. So all he could do was watch as Cassie turned from him and walked away, just like she had five years ago, her blond hair swishing in the ponytail, her shoulders high. That frailty he’d seen upstairs seemed gone now, chased away by her anger with him.

  You’re a coward.

  Yes, he was. Just like his dad had been. He was nothing, and the best thing he could do right now was to make sure he didn’t drag anyone else down with him.

  Chapter Twelve

  Robert peered down his angular nose at Cassie, to where she was sitting at her desk, flipping through her diary. A paper diary, one that Josh had given her as a Christmas present, because he knew how much she liked having a real one, rather than relying on her computer. A paper diary made with recycled paper, no less, proving how well he knew her.

  “I’m just not sure what we can do,” Cassie was saying. “We already have the Tapestry Room booked out on that date. The other rooms are too small for this size of event, and we can’t—”

  “That’s not the answer I want to hear, Cassie.” Robert’s voice was clipped, and he leaned in closer to her. She smelled mint, something that wouldn’t usually have been unpleasant, but that felt too sharp when coming off him. Especially when combined with the slightly damp smell he’d brought into work today—understandable, maybe, given the characteristic misty rain of early April, but not exactly nice. His dark eyes watched her from over the top of the computer screen—this close, she could very clearly see the receding hairline that he tried so hard to hide with expensive haircuts and products.

  Not the answer I want to hear. Right, so she was just magically supposed to conjure up an extra events room, was she? And anyway, it was his fault they were in this mess in the first place—he’d gotten the dates mixed up, told a client that the hotel could definitely host their fiftieth wedding anniversary here, when the events spaces were all booked out. Not that she’d ever say any of that out loud, of course.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Cassie saw Josh glance at her from his desk on the other side of the cramped little office, but she didn’t dare return the look. Cassie took a breath, trying for calm, even as she felt her stomach curdle with anxiety. She looked through the events list for that date again, but there was no changing what she’d seen the first time—they were fully booked.

  “I’m sorry, Robert,” she tried again. “We could host them on the eleventh, I think?” She flipped through her diary.

  “That’s not good enough,” he snapped, then turned away to pace the short length of the room. She and Josh were the only two full-time members of the events team, and as such shared a tiny little office, which was surprisingly depressing, given the fact it was housed in a five-star hotel. It had none of the 1920s Art Deco theme of the main hotel, with its plain white walls and beige, slightly frayed carpet, and was on the basement floor, so natural light was limited. In the three years she’d been working here, Cassie had tried to make the office a little nicer, buying a couple of cactus plants, which Josh had named Rosie and Jim, and some paintings for the wall, but she couldn’t deny that she much preferred the more active parts of her role, when she was actually at the events, rather than being stuck in here.

  “We’ll have to move the Spaldings’ birthday event,” Robert continued.

  Cassie frowned. “But the Spaldings have their party here every year.”

  “Exactly. So they’ll be more amenable to moving it.”

  “But—”

  “Enough, Cassie. I’ve made the decision. We cannot lose this anniversary gig—the client is a property developer in London, and if it goes well it could be very good for us. It’s just good business sense.” He leveled a look at her, before turning to slide from the room. “Make it happen,” he called out behind him, before he let the door shut.

  Cassie groaned. “What are we going to do?”

  Josh shrugged. “Not much we can do. Don’t let it get to you—it’s his fuck-up, not yours. See if the Spaldings will move—hopefully they will.”

  “Easier said than done,” Cassie muttered. “It’s just not fair on the Spaldings. And they’re coming all the way from Scotland.”

  “Yeah, but, again—not your fault.”

  “They’ll think it’s my fault, because Robert will leave me to explain, no doubt.”

  “I’ll explain,” Josh said easily. Cassie opened her mouth to say something, but the phone started ringing, and Josh answered in his smooth customer voice. The thing was, it was all very well for Josh to say things like that—he was only doing this temporarily, working here in order to be able to afford his part-time master’s in graphic design, after which he’d no doubt ditch events and go after his dream job. But for Cassie, this was her career. It mattered to her what the guests thought of her and how the events went.

  “Cassie?” She glanced over to see Josh gesturing to the phone in his hand. “It’s Linda for you.”

  Cassie frowned. Linda was calling her at work? A knot of anxiety tightened in her gut as she picked up her office phone. “Hey, Linda. Is everything OK?” It was hard to keep the panic out of her voice; she couldn’t help but jump to the worst conclusion whenever anyone rang her these days.

  “Hello, Cassie love, yes, I’m fine. I’m sorry to worry you. I tried you on your mobile but I couldn’t get through.”

  “Oh, sorry. I have it on silent at work.”

  “Sensible,” Linda conceded. “So, how are you, everything OK your end?” Linda’s voice was too bright, and Cassie knew that this question was just filler—Linda wouldn’t call her at work without reason.

  “What’s wrong, Linda?” she asked firmly. “Has something happened?”

  “Well, it’s just…” Linda paused, and Cassie felt her grip tighten on the phone. It couldn’t be that terrible, she told herself. Linda didn’t sound devastated, just on edge. She tried to breathe, felt Josh glancing at her from his side of the room. Maybe he, too, was remembering the last time she’d gotten a call like this. “It’s just, I thought you should know—”

  “Thought I should know what?” Cassie didn’t mean to snap, but she couldn’t help it.

  “Yes, sorry. It’s the pub.”

  “The pub? What about the pub?”

  “It’s…I’m going to have to sell it.”

  “Sell it?” Cassie asked incredulously, in a way that made Josh look over at her. She gestured at him to indicate she’d fill him in afterward.

  This wasn’t what she’d expected. Linda loved that pub. It was her baby. She’d never imagined her selling it—and she hadn’t wanted to. That pub, more than Claire’s house, held so many memories for her. Memories of her childhood—and of Tom.

  “Yes, well, sorry, I’m not explaining this very well.” Linda sounded flustered, she realized, and Linda never sounded flustered. “We had some broken pipes, and the pub flooded.”

  “Flooded?” Cassie repeatedly dumbly.

  “Yes. Last week. It was all a bit of a nightmare—the ground floor was quite literally underwater, and I had to put my wellies on to wade into the kitchen and make sure all the power was off.” Linda laughed, as if trying to make light of it, but Cassie heard the brittleness to it.

  “Last week?” Cassie said, realizing she sounded a bit like an echo. “You should’ve told me! I was off yesterday—I would have come down to help.”

  “I know you would have, darling,” Linda said softly. “But I wanted to get my own thoughts in gear before I burdened you with them.”

 

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