Page 73 of How to Kill Your Rival

‘He’s going to get it filthy,’ Roman says.

‘Roman,’ Maggie says.

Roman looks at his bride.

‘Fucking marry me already.’

Roman blushes and smiles. ‘Your wish is my command, my love.’

Maggie says her vows to Roman, and she means every word. The pure devotion in her voice has Roman’s jaw clenching as he battles the rush of emotion.

I’m a mess. Whatever walls I had around my emotions, my claiming of James must have decimated them. I cry when Maggie says I do. I blub when they kiss.

And when Maggie rushes over and thrusts her bouquet in my hands, I don’t know whether to scold her, laugh, or cry more.

So I do all three.

* * *

We walk back up to the estate in the drizzle, Maggie and Roman leading the rabble, hand in hand. Dad, Priscilla, and Eleanor walk slowly together, discussing chemotherapy, Eleanor knowing all about it from her husband, who passed, while Coffin tails them. Fraser is two steps behind Dad, not exactly hovering, but ready to leap in if he needs a stronger arm than Priscilla’s.

James walks beside me.

‘Eleanor is a force to be reckoned with,’ I say.

‘I like her,’ James says.

‘Me too. Hell, even Coffin likes her.’

‘Coffin is in love with her,’ he says. ‘He hasn’t taken that beady eye off her.’

‘He brought her his favourite thimble,’ Fraser says from slightly ahead of us, without turning around.

‘He what?’ I ask.

‘Dropped it in her coat pocket a few minutes ago,’ Fraser says. ‘The one he stole from Mrs Cairns.’

I glance at Eleanor. Then look at Maggie and Roman ahead of us, hands together, Gaston between their feet, carrying the muddy veil in his mouth. He trips over it every three steps, but continues nonetheless.

James’ hand gently skims my spine as we near the house, and my breath catches.

I lean into it when I’m sure no one is watching.

Between the wedding and the drizzle, the loch and the vows, I’m feeling what I can only imagine is a little bit romantic. It’s been a long time since I allowed myself to feel anything like that.

It’s scary.

The last time I let anyone in, I regretted it deeply.

Taking a breath, I remind myself that this is James. And he deserves a chance to be judged on his own merits, not someone else’s sins.

The estate comes into view at the top of the hill, the spires and the dark stone and Coffin, who perches on the gate to welcome us home.

James nods at the bouquet I still carry.

‘What shall we do with that?’

‘Calm down, one step at a time,’ I say while hip-checking him.