Page 14 of Hard
‘But I wasn’t talking about the bride,’ Joe says quite suddenly. ‘I meant Amelia, her sister. It goes without saying the bride is the star of the show, and while both my daughters are stunners, I’ve always thought Amelia’s something special.’
And I’ve always thought parents weren’t supposed to favour one child over the other, I manage not to say.
‘Aye, she looks bonny, too.’
‘And ripe for the plucking.’
Who the fuck says that about their own daughter? I keep my expression impassive, watching as Joe mentally plays back his words. ‘That is,’ he blusters, ‘what I mean to say was some lucky man will pluck her up soon—snatch her from the marriage market.’
Amelia’s gaze catches mine from across the room where she sits to her sister’s right. And the look she’s giving me? Fucking blatant. And while I wouldn’t say it to Joe, I reckon Amelia has beenpluckedplenty.
And as for any kind of snatch... yeah, I’m not going there.Not even remotely,I think, remembering how at dinner last week, she’d opened her legs wide under the table, sliding me a similar look.
Confidence is one thing, but desperation is never sexy.
Never degrade another man’s daughter. Not as a father of a daughter yourself.
I mentally berate myself as Agnes’s words fill my head, and I sigh heavily. It’s been a while since I degraded any girl. In fact, these days, I’m lucky to get five minutes alone to degrade myself. You’d think in a house the size of mine I’d be able to grab a few minutes alone with my hand, but no.
And as for relationships, divorce definitely has a way of making you think twice.Hell, twenty times. And casual is just a myth constructed by people who want to fool themselves. Look at Mac and Will, my best mates. Their religion was a casual fuck and now look at them. Fiancées. Wives. Babies. Not that there’s anything wrong with those things. And they’ve both chosen well. I, on the other hand, must’ve been dropped on my head as a baby because my choices have not been so stellar. And now that I’m responsible for a whole other person, I’m mindful of my past and how the choices I make in my life impact her life.
Bottom line? Despite Will’s assertions that weddings are the perfect pulling ground, half-drunk bridesmaids aren’t on my to-do list.
And neither is Amelia.
Realising Joe is still waiting for an answer, I grab at the first thing I notice. ‘Cameras at the ready. It looks like it’s time for the first dance.’
A vaguely familiar face walks to the edge of the dance floor with an acoustic guitar in hand. Despite the decent cut of his suit, the fella looks in need of a wash and a shave. He’d give Scooby Doo’s mate a run for his money on the grooming front.
As the familiar strains of a recent chart-topping song beginning to play, Joe excuses himself, bustling away as a smattering ofoohsandahhssound from tables nearby as the bride and groom take to the dance floor.
The ginger begins to sing a soft ballad about love and the passing of time. Of dancing in the night-time. Of growing old together. It’s a song I’ve heard play on the radio—one Sorcha has hummed along to on the way to school. The sentiment is very pretty, the words sugary fake.
‘It’s a beautiful song, isn’t it?’ I turn to the husky voice to the right of me. Dark hair, pale skin, and the bluest eyes. I can literally feel the smile creeping across my face.
‘Hello, Paisley.’
‘Oh, it is you!’ She begins to laugh softly, the smile almost immediately slipping from her face. I follow her gaze as she looks over her shoulder to where a cherubic looking blonde holds up both thumbs, her face a rictus of manic grin.
‘Friend of yours?’ I ask as she turns back.
‘Yes.’ Her expression twists, her nose scrunched like a wee rabbit. ‘And my boss, and she doesn’t know about us.’
‘Us?’ I repeat, the connotations fizzing low in my belly.
‘About the other day, I mean.’
‘When I caught you looking at cock?’ It’s not like me to be so crass. I mean, I’m a bloke and probably as crass as the next one, but around women, I’m usually a little better behaved. But she laughs anyway, looping one arm around the front of her waist.
‘All in a day’s work,’ she responds. ‘But I meant about interviewing you. By mistake. I didn’t tell her.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yeah. I mean, Antonio showed up not long after you.’
‘Mission accomplished, then?’ The fizzing turns to a tightening.
‘I booked him for Barcelona, if that’s what you’re asking. But I don’t think that’s what you are asking.’ I give her a very bland non-answer in the guise of a shrug. ‘Though I have wondered why you came over to the table? Why you sat down even, Mr... ?’
