Thomas
As it turns out, it’s difficult to have a wedding rehearsal without the bride. It’s even worse when you don’t know where she is or when she’ll be back—if ever.
I’ve hidden myself away in the attic of the Cotswolds house, avoiding anyone and everyone. Fielding questions as to Stella’s whereabouts from my mother and the wedding planners has been a nightmare, because there are only so many ways and times I can sayshe’ll be herebefore people start thinking she isn’t going to show. And there’s a chance she won’t. This could already be over without me even knowing.
Doesn’t mean I’m not trying to find out, though. Her phone is either off or dead, because every time I call, it goes straight to voicemail. There’s also the worse option, that she’s blocked my number, but I’m trying my best to stay positive. Do I have any reason to? No, none at all, minus the fact that I don’t think Stella would do that.
I just need an answer, a definitive yes or no. Ayes, we’re still going through with this weddingor ano, and here are the divorcepapers, goodbye!I can’t stand this limbo, but I have no idea how to break free.
In my hand, my phone buzzes with a text from Maeve.Found out Stella’s at least in the country, the message reads.I very kindly asked her assistant where she was and I got a copy of her flight itinerary in return. She landed at Heathrow a couple hours ago.
Very kindlyin Maeve’s book means there were at least three threats of bodily harm, one attempt at blackmail, and a half-assed apology when the information she wanted came through. I might normally scold her for the actions, but the woman gets stuff done. And in this case, she did exactly what I needed.
I reply with my thanks and blow out a breath, my heart lifting ever so slightly out of the despair it’s been simmering in. I want to be relieved that Stella’s made it back to this side of the pond, but if she has, then where the fuck is she? Sheknowsthis is happening today—right now—and yet she still isn’t here.
A knock on the door has my head snapping up, hope swelling in my chest at the thought it might be Stella. But it deflates like a sad clown’s balloon when Figgy pops her head in. Great. Of course she’s here. This whole second wedding is happening because of her meddling, so I should have expected it.
“I figured you’d be hiding up here,” she says, pushing the door open enough to slip inside.
I appreciate that she’s quick to close it behind her and keep my whereabouts private, but I’m in no mood to talk, especially not to her. Still, I grunt and say, “You caught me.”
She glances around the space, past the old sofa I’m sitting on and the wooden wardrobes housing various antique clothes and keepsakes. When she realizes I’m alone, her brow scrunches in confusion. “Where’s Stella?”
I could lie to her like I have to everyone else, and I probablyshould, considering the circumstances, but the idea of sayingshe’ll be here soonone more time makes me sick.
“I don’t know,” I say honestly.
But Figgy doesn’t seem to understand. “Don’t tell me you’re hiding from her too,” she teases. “Not a good look from the groom, I must say.”
“No, that’s not—” I cut short and shove a hand through my hair, pulling on the roots. “She’s not here, Figgy. Stella’s not at the house.”
Figgy frowns. “Well, is she on her way?”
Again, all I can say is “I don’t know.”
The words come out incriminatingly choked. She stares at me for a few seconds, trying to put the pieces together with the clues I’ve given her. Her frown deepens, but it’s the genuine concern written across her face that forces me to look away as my stomach sinks to hell.
“Thomas,” she says softly, stepping closer until she’s able to crouch down in front of me. “What’s going on?”
This is a glimpse of the Figgy I’ve always known, not the one who’s appeared over the past few years as the pressure to land me as a romantic partner grew and grew. It’s nice to see her again, and it makes me want to tell her the whole truth, even though this scheme with Stella was to get her off my back. Maybe I’ve underestimated her empathy and ability to understand the stakes. Deep down, I don’t think she actually wants to be with me. She’s been pushed toward the idea of me, of what I represent, of the things I could give to her.
Neither of us should be resigned to leading half lives in a loveless marriage, and even if things with Stella fall apart, I still want Figgy to find the person meant for her.
I must be taking too long to answer, because she reaches outand squeezes my knee. “You don’t have to tell me,” she murmurs. “And for what it’s worth…I’m sorry.”
My eyes lift from the floor to meet her gaze, a little stunned to hear the apology. “What?”
She blows out a breath, but to her credit, she doesn’t look away. “I won’t pretend I understand what the situation with you and Stella is, but it’s clear you really care about her. Love her, even.”
I’ve been telling myself not to use that word because it’s too soon. It might scare not just Stella off, but me too. But that’s what this is, isn’t it? This gut-twisting, heart-aching, bone-deep pull toward her can’t be anything else.
“That part, I get,” Figgy goes on with a self-deprecating chuckle. “I knew the second you brought her here that my chances of us ever being together were gone. And it hurt, which is why I told your mother my suspicions. She might have planned this whole wedding to test your relationship, but anyone can see the way you look at Stella. There’s nothing you need to prove.”
She gives my knee one last squeeze before drawing back and standing. Her posture is stiff, like this is hard for her to admit. Despite the differences we’ve had lately, I’m proud of her.
“I’m sorry for the role I played,” she declares. “I wouldreallylike to have my friend back. Shockingly, no one else will traipse through sheep shit with me just to watch the sunset.”
That drags a weak laugh out of me. “I’ll still happily do that with you.” I sober again, really letting myself look at her for the first time in ages. She’s not a bad person and never has been. She’s a woman shoved into a role that she followed to the best of her abilities, who now has to figure out how to live without a map guiding her every step. “You’re going to find your person, Figgy.”
