‘I own a suit. Do you own a dress? That would be the bigger question, wouldn’t it?’
Crap. That was certainly a flaw in her plan. No matter, Kylie could lend her something.
‘And it’s soon, like, two weeks on Saturday. Only, we’ll have to go in your car because mine’s on its last legs. Are you free?’
‘I’ll check my diary.’
She hadn’t even considered the fact he might have plans. But with whom? To do what?
He must have interpreted her face correctly. ‘I was messing with you. I’m free.’ He finished his cappuccino then gave her a long look. ‘A wedding, with people. You know there’ll be photographers there, right?’
Of course she knew; why else had she thrown out the previous invitation she’d received? Worse … the wedding was taking place in Lake George, which was somewhere on the wrong side of Canberra, but now it had turned into a two-bird-one-stone kind of deal: personal growth and winning Tom over to her way of thinking. It was a win-win situation. She hoped.
‘I’m ready.’
‘Okay, then. I’ll be your plus one.’
CHAPTER
18
Hannah smoothed her hand over the black dress she’d borrowed from Kylie. Her friend had insisted on doing her makeup, so she had almost as much stuff plastered to her face as she did her body: eyeshadow, eyeliner, a ridiculous quantity of matte lipstick. She’d drawn the line at fake eyelashes, despite Kylie’s twenty-minute monologue on their total awesomeness. There was only so much awesome she could pack into one day.
But as she watched Tom let himself out of his dusty four-wheel drive, she realised she needed room for more, because—holy dooley—he looked amazing. A suit the colour of charcoal turned his pale hair into winter sunlight and he’d wrapped a woolly grass-green scarf around his neck, which told her the temperatures up at Ironbark must have been chilly that morning. He looked a little drawn—a long night with the colicky horse that was plaguing Josh, perhaps—or maybe that was her eyes still stinging from all the gunk Kylie had slathered on her. Any unattached female at this wedding would go weak at the knees at the sight of him, which was fine. The less attention Hannah had focused on her, the better.
His eyes met hers and stayed there as he walked up the flagstone path to the door. A rush of heat flooded her cheeks for some dicky reason, which she decided to blame on the uncomfortable bra she was wearing. Why was she just now working out that today did not have the feel of some hey-let’s-be-friends outing?
Today had the feel of a date. And she’d been the one doing the inviting.
Her pie graphs and evaluation charts and scientific enquiry into the procreation of the human race seemed to have taken a back seat, so what was she actually doing?
‘Hi,’ Tom said. ‘Wow. I’d take a photo, but this face isn’t insured.’
She swatted him with the clutch Kylie had also lent her. ‘Too much? Too little? What do you think?’
He sent a gaze over her that made her feel she was standing too close to a campfire, starting from her painted toenails in their (borrowed) peep-toe velvet heels to the top of her tousled updo. ‘Too beautiful,’ he said, a twist of a smile on his face.
She sucked in a breath and tried to ignore how the sincerity of his comment made her feel. She had planned this event, damn it. This was her strategy, not his, and if he thought she looked okay, then that was good. A two-hour drive, a wedding that she would bail from at the first polite moment after one too many glasses of champagne, and then he’d be a big step closer to having his proof that she was okay and totally fine living (and parenting) in the big bad world.
The wedding venue at the little winery outside of Lake George must have been a chapel at some point in its history, because the stone building had vaulted ceilings and stained glass windows. By the time they found a park and worked their way to the front steps it was packed with people. A lucky traffic snarl-up had added half an hour to their trip, so the pre-vow get-together had abated by the time they arrived.
Tom took her hand as they walked through the small foyer and found seats in the back row. A string quartet on a raised dais played a frivolous waltz as the guests waited for the wedding party. Hannah braced herself and looked up, straight into the eyes of a woman who had turned her head to check out the late arrivals.
Holy cow. Marci bloody Funder, one of the mean girls herself.
She pulled Tom’s hand further towards her so she could clutch it on her knee, deciding she’d much rather spend the thirty-minute wedding ceremony staring at Tom’s Adam’s apple than checking out who else from that wretched semester at uni had been invited.
‘Are you okay?’ he murmured in her ear.
‘I might have misjudged this,’ she whispered back.
He pulled his hand away, but just for a second before his arm curled around her back and snuggled her into his side. He brought his other hand over to squeeze her knee. ‘We’ve got this, brat. You and me against anyone who says different.’
Hannah gave Marci a nod. ‘One of the mean girls is here, looking this way. Just look adoringly at me, will you, Tom? Nothing will piss her off more than me having a better-looking plus one than her.’
He did better than that. He leant over and pressed a kiss into her neck that made her toes curl up like pug tails. ‘That is so shallow, Cody.’
‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Shallow and totally working—she just went green. Keep them coming.’
