No Ex Before Marriage, page 10
He’s wearing a dark blue suit that fits his body to perfection, like it was made for him (which it probably was, given the flash-looking Rolex I notice on his wrist as he runs a hand through his hair).
It’s Zac – my Zac – run through some Prince Charming machine. But as different as he looks, just looking into his eyes, and hearing his voice, is like that feeling you get after a holiday, when you’ve had a great time and you don’t want to leave, but the second you walk through your door you just feel so good because you’re home.
I can’t believe he looks this good – so good – and here I am in my pyjamas. So much for questioning whether old feelings would come flooding back when I saw him. I’m drowning in them. Kat was right, 200 metres of icy cold loch water or less than two metres of ex, if it’s going to pull you under, it doesn’t make a difference.
I remember, when we were first getting together, I was absolutely petrified to kiss him. My God, I would kiss him in a heartbeat now. Well, if he wasn’t about to get married, obviously. Mustn’t forget that key detail.
‘Pops, what are you doing here?’ he asks as he slowly approaches me.
I can hear footsteps approaching, coming from behind him, and I panic.
‘We’re still married,’ I whisper quickly.
‘Zachary?’ a voice calls out. ‘Zachary? Oh…’
Her tone changes when she sees him standing here with me.
I vaguely know of Lilac Strong, just from random pictures on Instagram, TikToks and occasional Tweets I never really pay much attention to. She only really gained followers in the first place because of who her dad is, but these days she puts out a constant stream of content, largely sponsored stuff. She’s much smaller in real life than I imagined her being. She can’t be much over five foot. Zac, on the other hand, is 6’2”, so he towers above her. At 5’8” I feel like a giant, closer to Zac’s height than Lilac’s. She’s petite with a sharp, stylish bob. Her hair is dyed a soft lilac – of course – and most of what she wears has elements of different purples, as though it’s her trademark.
‘Zachary, who the hell is this?’ she snaps, her tone shifting into something much angrier. She looks me up and down and her hostile expression intensifies.
‘This is Poppy,’ he says not all that confidently.
‘Er, and who the hell is Poppy?’ she asks. ‘Someone you’re clearly used to having sneaky conversations with in the woods. And in her nightwear, no less.’
We’re cloaked by trees, but I’m not entirely sure that constitutes the woods. I’m banged to rights as far as the pyjamas go, although they are fleecy plaid ones, so not exactly sexy lingerie. This is a pretty nuclear reaction for something so seemingly innocent – imagine if she knew the truth.
‘She’s my cousin,’ Zac says, thinking fast.
‘Your cousin?’ she replies.
‘Yeah, my cousin,’ he says again.
We’re joined by none other than Sonny Strong, flanked by two burly bodyguards and his wife, Cherry Ryan.
‘What’s going on?’ Sonny asks. ‘Who’s this?’
‘It’s Zachary’s cousin,’ Lilac tells her dad.
‘What? I thought you said you didn’t have much family,’ Sonny replies. He isn’t suspicious though, he’s pleasantly surprised. ‘You’re here for the wedding?’
‘Well, it would be weird if she wasn’t,’ Zac says with a laugh, clearly tipping me off to play along.
‘Of course I am,’ I eventually say.
‘Wherever you’re staying, I’ll pay the bill, but you’re coming to stay in the castle with us,’ Sonny insists. ‘There’s always room for family.’
A rustling sound precedes Kat scrambling out of the bushes, clearly not wanting to miss out on an invitation to the wedding, but her appearing from nowhere, her pyjamas covered in bits of tree, only makes this whole thing seem even weirder.
‘Hi, hello, I’m here,’ she says, brushing herself down, steadying herself on her feet.
‘Okay, who is this?’ Lilac asks.
‘Our other cousin,’ I say quickly.
‘So, all three of you are cousins then?’ Sonny confirms.
Shit, why did I say that? I guess we have to go with it now.
‘Yep,’ Zac says.
I can tell from the subtle way he glances at me and then looks away again that he’s wondering why I said that too. Obviously, I should have pretended Kat was my sister but, funnily enough, I’ve never been in this situation before.
It’s interesting that I can still interpret the hidden meaning in Zac’s facial expressions. I panic, briefly, when I assume Lilac can do the same, but thankfully she’s not picking up on it.
‘What were you doing in that bush?’ Cherry chimes in.
‘Oh, just having a wee,’ Kat replies.
‘I’m Poppy, this is Kat,’ I say, making the introductions, because obviously Zac has never met Kat before, and Kat needs to stop talking about peeing in the bushes.
‘More family,’ Sonny says with a smile. ‘It’s bloody freezing out here. Come on, everyone back to the castle, we’ll sort these ladies a room and then we’ll do the introductions properly.’
‘Yes, definitely,’ Lilac echoes. ‘It will be good to finally meet some of Zachary’s relatives.’
I can’t put my finger on why it is exactly, but I get the impression she doesn’t quite mean that.
The boat that has been approaching for a little while finally stops next to us.
‘This is the boat we use to get back and forth,’ Sonny explains. ‘The other is a decoy.’
‘Very smart,’ I say.
‘I’m looking forward to getting to know you both,’ he says.
‘Me too,’ Lilac adds, a lot softer this time. ‘Okay, on the boat.’
I glance at Kat who looks genuinely overjoyed by all of this. We hang back a moment while the others board the boat.
‘This is a nightmare,’ I whisper to her.
‘No, this is brilliant,’ she insists. ‘We get to stay in the castle.’
‘But now we have to stay here,’ I remind her.
‘Which means you can get your papers signed easily,’ she adds.
‘But also that I have to watch my ex get married and pretend to be his cousin all week,’ I say.
‘Ohhh,’ Kat replies. ‘Okay, yeah, I guess that’s awkward. But just look at it this way: we get to stay in the castle with a movie star.’
Kat is genuinely buzzing about all of this but I can’t share her excitement. For me, this is torture. At least she’s right about one thing though, at least now it will be much easier to get Zac to sign the papers. It shouldn’t be too hard to get him on his own for a chat. Well, we are cousins, after all.
16
‘Okay, I know you’re kind of going through it, and you’re in a real mess of a situation, you’ve got a job to do and all that. But, can we just acknowledge how sick this is?’
Castle Tarness is like nothing I’ve ever seen before – not in real life, at least. The best way to describe how it looks is like every castle you’ve ever seen in epic fantasy movies and TV shows. Not like Edinburgh Castle which, gorgeous as it is, reminds me of a cross between my middle school and the prison in Bad Girls from some angles. Castle Tarness is a castle-castle, with towers, battlements, archers’ slits – the works. I’m telling you, it’s a good job we were invited inside, there would be no way on earth we would be able to get in otherwise.
It’s big – in fact, it’s huge. Imagine having your wedding in a place like this. Just hiring it out for all your family and friends, all hanging out on a private island, in an amazing castle, what an absolute dream. I had my wedding reception in a function room of a three-star hotel, so it was far from bougie, to say the least.
Inside the castle is stunning too. From what we’ve seen, which so far is only from the door we entered through, to our room, which an actual butler showed us to (total butler stereotype: older man, black suit, black tie, stiff upper lip), it’s very castle-y. A mixture of cold, exposed stone and dated soft furnishings, but it really looks the part. You wouldn’t want any of it in your living room but here it looks just right.
The butler, whose name we didn’t catch, because Sonny just called him ‘buddy’, first showed us to a small living room. Inside, there were couple of chesterfield sofas, a mahogany desk, and stone staircase, which is apparently ‘the turret staircase’, at the top of which was the door to our bedroom and another door to our bathroom. We peeped inside the bathroom first and were delighted to be greeted by a large copper bath. I can’t wait to try that later.
‘It is gorgeous in here,’ I admit, taking in the beautiful bedroom.
‘It’s the silver lining,’ she insists through a grin. I’m very much getting the feeling this Kat (like most cats) always lands on her feet. ‘Sonny is kind of hot, right?’
‘Absolutely not,’ I say quickly. ‘He’s married.’
‘Being married doesn’t change how hot someone is,’ Kat claps back. ‘You’re married and you’re still hot. Sometimes it makes people hotter.’
‘He’s, like, sixty,’ I point out. ‘At least. Maybe older. You can’t possibly fancy him.’
Kat is lying on the double bed that we’re having to share. I guess people think we’re cousins, and I suppose it’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before, during our brief friendship.
She stretches out like a starfish.
‘Have you seen that scene in Not Dead Yet 5 where he punches the train?’ she asks, biting her lip.
My face scrunches up with confusion.
‘He punches a train?’ I ask. ‘Why?’
‘To stop it,’ she says, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. ‘Anyway, come on, what’s the plan?’
‘The plan is to get Zac on his own, explain, have him sign the papers and get them sent off ASAP,’ I reply.
‘Are we staying for the wedding?’ she asks. I think that’s what she’s the most interested in.
‘Not if I can help it,’ I reply.
‘Sounds like someone is still hung up on her ex,’ Kat sings. ‘I won’t rule out sabotaging the whole thing just yet. I’ve got a few ideas for it. God, that Lilac is a bit intense, isn’t she? When she caught you and Zac together, her face went as purple as her hair.’
‘We did seem pretty suspicious, to be fair,’ I reply. ‘I can’t really blame her.’
‘She seems like the type to rip a sword from the wall and skewer you with it,’ Kat says.
There is what I would describe as far too much weaponry on the walls of the hallways for a wedding. When I think about the weddings I’ve been to over the years, my own included, I’m relieved there were no swords or bows and arrows to hand – especially at Sally’s wedding, because I spent pretty much that whole day thinking about shooting her.
‘Well, hopefully she never knows the truth,’ I reply.
‘Let’s hope not. She’s got big psycho girl energy,’ Kat says with a bit of a laugh, like it’s kind of funny, but it’s also scarily true. ‘I’ve got your back though.’
There’s a knock at the door. A woman in a traditional maid’s outfit (could easily be an Ann Summers one too) takes a step inside. She’s an older woman with a face so serious I’m starting to wonder if I’ve made her mad, despite the two of us meeting for the first time right now.
‘Dinner is served,’ she announces in a Scottish accent so strong it takes all my concentration to follow what she’s saying. ‘Mr Strong requests your company in the dining room.’
‘For Mr Strong, anything,’ Kat says with a wiggle of her eyebrows that only I can see.
‘Are you dressing for dinner?’ the maid asks.
‘We are dressed,’ Kat says with a smile. ‘But I just need to pop to the lav. Poppy is ready though.’
We’re dressed in the sense that we’re wearing one of only a few outfits we’ve got with us. Kat’s pyjama advice may not have ultimately been all that good, but I am glad she talked me into packing a dress. She said I should bring something dressy in case we needed to go to a bar, drink of bunch of drinks and have a Scotsman shag us silly until we forgot all about our problems – yes, that’s a direct quote, and I like to think she wasn’t intending for it to be the same Scotsman.
The maid pulls a face and jerks her head, signalling for me to follow her downstairs for dinner.
Well, one thing’s for sure, this is going to be interesting…
17
Is there anything more embarrassing than being the last person to walk into a room full of people? It turns out there is. It’s being the first one to arrive.
I really am the first one, and the only one too. Kat decided, just before dinner, that she couldn’t resist trying the bath – something she told me via text as I headed downstairs – but she did assure me she’d be down in time to eat.
The dining room is a tall, gorgeous room with plain stone walls but it’s so cold in here. Literally, it’s freezing, and so empty and soulless too. Don’t get me wrong, it looks rich in history, and it’s all fascinating to look at, but it doesn’t feel like a proper dining room. There’s a long wooden table that runs down the centre of the room, with a bright red runner on the top of it. The table is set with stunning silverware for far more people than I was expecting, so God knows who is coming tonight.
The focal point of the room, if you don’t count the creepy suit of armour that bizarrely somehow follows you with its eyeholes as you move around the room, is a stone fireplace, exposed on both sides. I’ve walked around it a few times now, partially for something to do but mostly to keep warm, and it really is something.
The loud creaking sound of the door snaps me from my thoughts. A tall, muscular man walks through it.
‘Hello,’ he says brightly in an east-coast American accent.
I’d guess he’s in his thirties, maybe – young-looking early forties, tops. He’s wearing jeans and a tight black T-shirt, even though it’s so cold in here. He walks with so much confidence it almost looks painful – or that could just be his gigantic thighs rubbing together while he walks.
‘Hi,’ I reply.
‘It’s cool in here, huh?’ he says.
‘It’s very chilly,’ I reply – I don’t think I could sound more English if I tried.
‘I meant cool, like rad,’ he says with a laugh. ‘But if you’re cold I can light the fire for you?’
‘Sorry, thanks,’ I say. It’s so like me to embarrass myself in front of someone so hot. And even more English of me to be apologising for basically nothing already.
I watch as he messes with the fireplace, filling it with logs before lighting it, the flames growing quite quickly.
‘Hey, check this out,’ he says.
As the man plunges his arm through the lit flame, holds it a second or two, and then pulls it back out, I can’t help but scream.
‘Oh my God,’ I blurt.
‘Cool, huh?’ he says with a laugh. Then he realises I’m understandably freaked out. ‘Shit, sorry, I was just trying to impress you. I’m Farrell, the stunt double.’
I puff air from my cheeks.
‘Do weddings usually need a stunt double?’ I ask.
‘Weddings don’t,’ he replies. ‘But movies do. I’m Sonny’s stunt double in the Not Dead Yet movies.’
I must make a face.
‘I know, I’m a lot younger than him, but everyone always says we’re a dead ringer for one another,’ he replies.
Now that I think about it, Farrell does look a bit like a younger, fitter Sonny Strong.
‘What are you, the babe of the movie?’ he asks.
I’m floored by what I think might be a compliment.
‘No, I’m the cousin of the wedding,’ I say, confusingly. ‘I’m the cousin of the groom, at the wedding. There’s a movie?’
‘Sonny will tell you all about it, don’t worry,’ he says. ‘He’ll be mad if I steal his thunder. I could fix you a drink though?’
‘That would be lovely, thank you,’ I reply. ‘I’m Poppy, by the way.’
‘Poppy. Cute name,’ he says. ‘For what it’s worth, you could definitely be in the movies. What is it you do?’
Oh, God, my shitty framing company answer. I can’t tell him that, he’s going to take it on face value, and think I’m a loser, like everyone else does.
‘Do you really think so?’ I reply, ignoring his question. ‘I don’t think I’d make a very good actress. A stunt double, perhaps. I am always tripping and falling.’
Farrell laughs.
‘That’s basically the job. Get hurt, jump off shit, set yourself on fire, on set, and at weddings, to impress beautiful ladies.’
I blush. Hopefully I can style it out as a reaction to the heat from the fire, which feels glorious. It’s really taken the harsh edge off the room.
‘So, drink?’ he says.
I think I’ve safely dodged the occupation question for now.
‘Whatever you’re having,’ I reply, because I think it makes me sound cool.
‘That’ll be a bourbon,’ he says. ‘Coming right up.’
Urgh. I really don’t like bourbon but I don’t want to look uncool, so I don’t say anything.
I watch Farrell head over to a drinks cabinet across from the fireplace. He grabs two square glasses and adds ice from a hidden freezer before splashing bourbon in to the glasses.
‘You can’t do that here, mate,’ Sonny says as he approaches us, clocking the bottle in Farrell’s hand. ‘You want a hard drink, it’s Scotch whisky. You want a soft drink, it’s Irn Bru.’
His wife Cherry laughs in a way that suggests she doesn’t actually understand what Sonny is saying, just that she knows she should laugh at her husband’s jokes.
‘Oh, honey,’ she says.
Sonny’s cockney geezer accent and Cherry’s strong Texan accent sound miles apart – which they are, obviously, but you know what I mean. It’s almost as though, without their celebrity status in common, they never would have ended up in the same room, never mind married. I have a lot of time for odd pairings though, and they’ve been together a long time so they’re clearly doing something right.
