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“Wow. Pass the aloe vera.”
“Oh, stop.” I nudged my heel into his thigh again, shifting to sit up a little straighter. “I just… It’s all very lovely, and the castle is wonderful, and I truly hope I can explore and pick your grandfather’s brains a little for some history, but it’s just not anything that impresses me on a personal level.”
“Only on an academic level?”
“An academic level is better than no level at all.”
“Very true.” He bobbed his head in agreement. “I suppose that shall suffice, although I am quite determined that we’ll be at least friends when this is over.”
“What? Are we going to form a trauma bond over a wedding?”
“You joke, but I think Mum and Grandpa almost did today.”
“Really? Because from what I understood today from your dad, those two in the same room is akin to a nuclear bomb going off.”
He tilted his head to the side and made a non-committal noise, like he couldn’t really decide how to answer. “They’re best kept at opposite ends of the country. And by country, probably Africa.”
“That’s a continent, not a country.”
“There you are, then.”
“They seem to be getting along somewhat. Aren’t they?”
“Yes, that’s what scares me,” he replied, taking a big gulp of wine. “It’s like toddlers. When they’re quiet, they’re scary. When my mother and grandpa get along, it’s downright terrifying.”
“Maybe they are trauma bonding. Who knew a bridezilla would heal the family rift? I bet that wasn’t on your bingo card.”
“My bingo card?” he laughed, almost falling to the side towards me. “I can’t say I have one.”
“We should make one. It might make the next few days a little more bearable.”
“You’re going to make a bingo card to survive my sister’s wedding?”
“It’ll make the trauma fun,” I pointed out, swinging my feet off his lap. I put my glass on the coffee table and got up, darting into the bedroom to my suitcase. I had a notebook and pencil-case in there, and I grabbed both.
“Are you really—oh, my God, Grace.” William’s face was the picture of amusement and befuddlement, and that only made this ridiculousness even more fun.
“What? I’ve already been attacked by a cockatiel. We might as well. Who knows what else is going to happen?”
He sighed and patted the sofa. “Go on, then. But that’s the last time I let you drink this much wine.”
“You try and stop me.” I dropped down next to him, tucked one foot under me, and flipped through the notebook until I found a blank page. After digging a pen out, I crudely sketched a bingo card. “Is that enough spaces?”
“Too many columns,” he replied, touching a fingertip to each square. “It’s supposed to be five by five.”
“Oh, bollocks.” I flipped the page and tried again, this time counting them out. “Better?”
“Your penmanship requires some work, but it’ll do.”
“You do it then.” I shoved the pen at him.
“Goodness, no. Even doctors complain about my handwriting.”
I rolled my eyes and wrote ‘free’ in the middle square. “Right, that’s our free spot. What’s going to happen this weekend?”
“Hopefully you’ll get attacked by Chewy again. I’m sorry to have missed it.”
“I hate you,” I muttered, writing ‘Chewy attacks Grace’ in one of the squares. “What about a family fight?”
