Not again. No thoughts of Joe, today of all days.
Raising her voice to drown out her thoughts, Imogen waved placating hands at her parents. ‘For whatever reasons we are all here now, so let’s just get on with it. At least the scenery is gorgeous, the church is beautiful, and maybe we can find time for a proper cream tea.’
A taxi ride later and Imogen scanned the churchyard, bracing herself for the sight of friends and acquaintances all waiting to pounce.
Instead …
She blinked and dropped her knuckles from her eyes in the nick of time. Rubbing her eyes was not an option—not with the amount of make-up she had on. It must be a hallucination, but however many times she blinked the man remained there.
Solid and real—he looked just like Joe.
Hallucinating—that was what she was doing.
The hallucination headed purposefully towards them, dressed to kill in the same dark grey suit he’d worn to Leila’s wedding. Her nerves skittered, her tummy somersaulted—maybe it really was Joe.
‘Hello, Imogen.’
‘Joe. Um … what are you doing here?’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘I’m here for the wedding, of course.’
Gathering her wits together, she managed an introduction, saw her mother’s eyes scan from her face to Joe’s and braced herself again. But to her surprise Eva tugged on her husband’s arm.
‘Come on, Jonathan. Let’s get inside. Imo and her friend can follow us. I want a chance to talk to Clarissa.’
Her brain fried, scrambled and poached all at the same time—and if that wasn’t bad enough all she wanted to do was launch herself at his chest and hold on for dear life.
Once her parents were out of earshot Imogen forced her vocal cords to obey her brain’s command. ‘So you’re real?’
His eyebrows rose as his lips quirked upward. ‘Last time I checked.’
Her whole being drank him in. She noticed that his hair was longer … even spikier. There was a touch of strain about his eyes, and as he rubbed his neck in that oh, so familiar gesture she would have sworn he was nervous.
‘Is everything OK?’
‘It is now. You’re looking good.’
‘Thank you. You too.’ Hauling in breath, she asked the million-dollar question. ‘Why are you here? Really?’
‘I’m keeping my part of the bargain. You come to Leila’s wedding, I come to Steve’s—remember?’
Imogen hauled her senses into line. ‘I kind of assumed all deals were off due to unexpected complications.’
‘Nope.’ His gaze latched on to hers with a seriousness that made her tingle all over. ‘I’ve been surfing. All deals are back on.’
He’d gone surfing. Imogen’s heart skipped in the sure knowledge that he’d done that out of honour. But that didn’t change anything.
‘I’m glad,’ she said simply. ‘And I appreciate this, but I’ll be fine on my own.’
‘OK.’
A curl of disappointment rippled inside her.
‘I’ll see you in there, then,’ he continued.
‘Huh?’
‘I scored myself an invite of my own.’