He must have been watching me subtly, since I haven’t noticed at all.
“Thanks,” I reply and hold my glass up all over again, like an idiot. I’m definitely drunk.
The glow of flattery is ten million times better than the stab of maybe I’ll never get a day like this of my own, so I grab hold of it with both hands. The conversation we have is a light one about Georgie and Kieran and how well Ant used to get on with Kieran at school. Some of his stories make me laugh. Another glass of De Chante makes me laugh a lot more.
It’s when I’m laughing at the fact Georgie and Kieran once had a play fight with her mum’s tomato sauces that Ant puts his hand on my knee and leans in, just a bit. At that one single contact I know for sure I’m fucked. It’s when he leans in further and whispers in my ear that it’s time for bed, that I know I’m going to be fucked.
“Are you coming to my room?” he asks, just like that. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Um, yeah. Sure,” I reply, even though it feels like anything but the most natural thing in the world. The thought should be crazy. I’ve only ever been with Jack, so what the hell am I doing?
What I’ve been doing all day is pining over a guy who left me with little more than a wave goodbye as he walked away to another woman, so maybe it’s time for a change. Maybe it’ll help me forget him. Who knows? It’s got to be worth a shot.
I feel higher than a kite on tottery legs as the stranger called Ant and I climb the elegant Hanley Hall staircase together and he takes his room key from his pocket. I lean against the door frame as he opens the door, and he stares at me dead straight, with serious eyes.
“You’re not too wrecked to know what you’re doing, are you?” he asks. “There’s no way I’d ever take advantage.”
I grin, because I’m not lying. Jack and Susie and my dreams of a big white wedding that might never happen can go fuck themselves tonight.
“I’m sure,” I tell him. “Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.”
“I’m glad about that,” he says, and steps aside to let me pass.
His hotel room is another league from mine. I always take a standard one at wedding venues, but his is on a par with Georgie and Kieran’s four poster room. It has one of its own.
The room is huge, with a massive TV on the wall and a big, beautiful table. His suitcase is in the corner, still unpacked, but there is a laptop on the table with paperwork all around it, so it’s clear he’s been working rather than settling in for a night of luxury in this place. I haven’t even asked him yet what he does for a living, since it hasn’t come up in conversation, but I don’t get the chance. He’s already up behind me, his arms sliding around my waist.
“You’re a beautiful thing, you know that? I hope you do.”
I don’t know that, but the way he says it is so genuine it makes my heart sing. The full-length mirror next to the dresser is in clear view, and I look at us together, him pressed up close behind me. My dress feels tight, like a glove in dark blue satin, and my hair is still pinned up nicely, makeup still fresh, even after drinking. I consider myself pretty ordinary after the Susie ordeal, but the look in his eyes tells me I’m anything but.
I meet his eyes in the mirror and he smiles. The grey in his hair seems more pronounced by the darkness of mine.
“Look at you,” he says. “You’re beautiful. I haven’t been able to keep my eyes off you all day.”
My heart is beating like crazy, head spinning from the drink. It feels nice. Amazing.
His hand slides up from my waist to my neck, tickling my collarbone on the way. It gives me tingly goosebumps on my arms.
“You’re pretty hot yourself,” I laugh, and he spins me around to face him.
I noticed the green of his eyes before, but not like this. He’s consuming, and there’s something else. Something deeper. Something I can’t really place.
“Is this the kind of thing you like to do?” he asks me. “Getting fucked by pretty hot guys in hotel rooms?”
“Definitely not, no. I don’t usually fuck guests after a wedding, but for you I’ll make an exception.”
“Good call,” he says and kisses me.
He doesn’t bother with gentle. No peck and then a brush of the lips or anything like that. It’s all in, hot and heavy, and I’m as hungry for him as his mouth is for me. I’m nervous as hell, but the buzz of champagne is enough that I wrap my arms up around him and let myself go. I kiss him back, and feel desperate, my body moving to a rhythm against his. It’s definitely not the romantic, all loving sway of the couple on the dance floor earlier. It’s far more primal than that.