‘Thank you for inviting me,’ she went on. ‘Now, let’s stop talking and crack on. I hear this one’s a favourite of the bride.’
Alice pumped one delicate fist in the air. I smiled – I’d make a rock chick of her yet.
The drummer counted four beats with his sticks and then the band launched into ‘It’s Too Late for Love’.
This was unreal.
Alice tore her attention from the stage and whipped her head towards me. ‘Thank you,’ she mouthed.
I started to nod, but stopped myself. I couldn’t accept credit – Marcie’s appearance had nothing to do with me. Had it been Lucy, Gav or Mike?
That didn’t feel right either. None of them would have been able to keep it secret long enough, especially with the amount of wine they’d necked.
I tried to concentrate on the music. Marcie’s voice soared over the guitars; sweet and controlled, but always a hair’s breadth from running wild and breaking free. It’s why I always held my breath when I listened to her. And here she was, singing a few feet from me. Her shoeless feet planted on the makeshift stage, her raven hair shining like vinyl.
But the thought kept circling back, catching like a hangnail – who had pulled off the impossible and brought her here?
Every pair of eyes was on Marcie, but I suddenly had the eeriest feeling that someone was staring at me.
I turned away from the stage and scanned the edge of the room. A man in a tuxedo was walking towards me.
My heart almost stopped.
I knew that gait; that fluid movement. I would have known it anywhere.
It was Nick.
Hope fluttered in my chest.
He’d come.
The music receded and all I could hear was my pulse beating in my ears.
I blinked twice, terrified that he was a product of too much champagne. But he was still there when I opened my eyes again.
My heart knocked against my ribs and I found myself walking towards him, as if drawn by a string.
‘Oh my God,’ I breathed. ‘You’re here. And you brought Marcie.’
He nodded. ‘Yeah, I was staying with friends in Paris, but then I had a couple of interesting phone calls. One was from Lucy.’
‘And the other one?’
‘The other one confused me.’
‘Will you let me explain?’
He nodded and I closed my eyes. I had so much to tell him. So many feelings to express. But where to start?
I took a deep breath. ‘I know you’re leaving the country and that you and Marcie have a sort of thing.’
He grabbed my forearm. ‘Hang on a sec. What do you mean, “a sort of thing”?’
His hand was warm and his skin unbearably soft; I had to lower my gaze to the parquet floor. ‘I saw you,’ I whispered.
He tipped my chin up and forced me to look at him. ‘Zoë, what are you talking about?’
I swallowed. ‘You care about her – Marcie, I mean.’
