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I noticed him at the church ceremony earlier, and again during the wedding speeches. He’s been on one of the far tables all evening, chatting happily with a group of Georgie’s friends.
“You’ve done a fantastic job,” he tells me as he sits down. “I’ve been to many weddings, but let me tell you, this one was truly exceptional.”
So, he knows I’m the wedding planner.
I’m tipsy enough to spin to face him with a smile. He’s hotter up close than he was at a distance, and at a distance was plenty hot enough. His tux is so smart it must have come from a designer, like he’s dressed for a red-carpet event and not a wedding venue in Worcester. His dark hair is styled casually but not casually, both at once – so he definitely knows what he’s doing on the appearance front. His hair has plenty of grey amongst its darkness, and it suits him. A lot. His stubble matches, and there is no doubt he’ll make an absolutely gorgeous silver fox one day in the not-so-distant future. But above all that are his eyes – striking green. Just looking into them makes me smile.
He really does look red carpet worthy. I’d feel like a princess walking down any carpet with him. That’s what the prosecco tells me, anyway.
“Thanks,” I say, and it sounds a pathetic response to such a glowing compliment, so I raise my glass to him. “That means a lot.”
He must notice that I’m a little tipsy, and hence not quite as professional as I should be, but he doesn’t seem fazed by it. In fact, he finishes up his drink and calls the barmaid over. He’s drinking mineral water and orders another, as well as a drink for me. Only it’s not a refill of prosecco he orders.
“A bottle of De Chante for the incredible wedding planner, please.”
I know De Chante champagne costs a fortune. It’s one of the options on my planning list, but barely anyone ever takes it.
“A bottle? My God, thank you, but you’ll have to help me drink it!” I look at his glass of water. “I guess you’re driving, though?”
“Nah, I’m not driving, I’ve got a room booked upstairs. I don’t drink alcohol actually, but I’m sure you’ll manage the De Chante, or take it home with you. You deserve it.”
The barmaid asks me if I’d like the bottle opened. I really shouldn’t, but the words come out of my mouth regardless.
“Yes, please.”
The barmaid uncorks the bottle. She pours me a glass and I raise it to the very generous stranger by my side like a grateful, drunk fool. I should have a few sips and retreat to my room with the bottle like a sensible professional, but I don’t want to. It’s not just hating the thought of being alone tonight that keeps me sitting there, it’s also him – the guy on the barstool. He’s so relaxed in his tux, naturally owning the space and my attention, even though I don’t even know his name. That’s something I need to remedy.
“Cass,” I tell him, and hold out a hand.
“Ant,” he says back and takes it in a firm handshake. “I’m one of Kieran’s friends from high school.”
That surprises me, seeing as he’s been with friends of Georgie’s all evening.
“Ah, okay, I thought you were here with the Chandley sisters.”
He shakes his head. “No, I barely know anyone here. They seemed the most interesting contenders for the day. Until I saw you.”
The music is still playing from the stage, so I think I’ve misheard him.
“Sorry?”
“Until I saw you,” he says with ease. “I’ve been watching you all day. You’ve been so in control. Vibrant. Alive. I love those qualities in people.”
