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The dress had a round neck, short sleeves, and a skirt that fell to mid-thigh., It was one of Iris’s favorites and she paired it with white platform shoes. She knew it complemented her dusky skin and thick, curly brown shoulder-length hair—now styled in loose waves—perfectly, which made the friendly, brightly colored dress a much-needed confidence booster.
They were outside the door of a flat in a swanky, upmarket Victorian mansion block in Hammersmith. Iris had walked past this building often over the years but she’d never set foot inside of it before tonight.
Colby gave her a sweet, reassuring smile, before saying, “They won’t mind at all. They’re going to love you.”
Iris wasn’t so certain about that. This group of friends was so tight they apparently called their monthly get-togethers “family nights” and Iris—the perpetual socially awkward outsider who didn’t make friends very easily—was extremely uncertain about gate-crashing, despite Colby’s sincere assurances.
Still, Iris had literally been trapped in one way or the other for over a month—starting in South Africa—with limited social interactions. While, she’d never been particularly outgoing, she’d also never had her movements so forcibly restricted before. She was longing for the company of other people even though she feared that this outing was going to be a complete disaster. Especially since she was particularly wary of strangers right now.
Colby rang the doorbell and it was almost instantly opened by a slender, good-looking guy about Iris’s age. He had wavy black hair, designer stubble, and his lovely dark brown eyes were outlined with black eyeliner.
“Thank God you’re here,” he whispered effusively when he saw Colby, enfolding both of her hands in his. “I swear to God I’m going to murder him tonight. You have to hold me back, Colbs! He’s being insuffera… oh, hello.”
This last as he finally caught sight of Iris hovering in the background.
“I know you,” he said, staring at Iris like he couldn’t quite place her. “Love your dress, by the way. Groovy, baby! But seriously, where the fuck do I know you from?”
Dismayed to already have been recognized and not at all sure how to respond, Iris stared back at him, her tongue tied in a knot.
“Oh, I’ve got it,” he said, snapping his fingers. “You were a server at my brother’s wedding last year.”
Iris laughed, relief and incredulity making the sound a lot sharper than her usual easy-going chuckle. She had no clue what event he was referring to as she often helped her parents out. But she was relieved the elephant in the room was in hiding for the moment.
“That’s possible. My parents are caterers and I sometimes help out. I’m surprised you remember anybody on the waitstaff at such a significant family event.”
He waved a hand dismissively. “I was bored out of my mind and you were noticeable. You kept swapping out our Uncle Jos’s vodka with water when he started getting loud and obnoxious. I was going to intervene before I realized you had the matter in hand.”
“Oh my goodness,” Iris laughed again. This time it sounded a lot closer to her regular laugh. “I think I remember that wedding. At some point he was grinding up against one of the bridesmaids.”
“He’s a gross old perve,” the man said with a grimace.
“Jazz, how about you let them in, instead of blocking them at the door?” a woman’s voice called from inside and the guy—Jazz?—made an oops face and waved them inside.
As Iris passed him, he draped a nonchalant arm around her shoulders, before confiding in a low voice, “I’m Jasper Cromwell, but everyone calls me Jazz. Well, everyone except that boring stick in the mud over there.” He pointed his chin at an outrageously handsome man, dressed in a three-piece suit, who was trying to take a laden tray from the heavily pregnant woman in the kitchen.
“Nice to meet you, I’m Iris?—”
“Iris Hughes, I know,” he said
“But…”
“Well, I knew you were Iris Hughes the moment I saw you standing out there, but I didn’t know where the hell I knew you from before all of this Trystan Abbott palaver. I always thought you looked familiar, but it didn’t really click until I saw you in the flesh, so to speak. Come on, let’s get you introduced.”
He led her into the living room.
“Everybody, this is Iris. Iris, everybody.”
There were five other people in the room excluding, Jazz, Colby, and Iris. They all looked mildly curious about her and they had warm enough expressions on their faces.
A chorus of greetings came her way before they went back to what they were doing before.
A massive guy was arguing with a lanky, slimmer one about whose playlist they should stream. The handsome man in the suit was still trying to persuade the short, curly haired pregnant woman to hand over the tray, and Colby joined them to add her protest to the man’s.
Another woman, a leggy, beautiful blonde made her way over to Jazz and Iris.
“Hi Iris, I’m Bella Weaver… soon to be Bella Weaver-Sloane?—”
“A ridiculous mouthful,” Jazz said, rolling his eyes. “Just keep your own name, babe.”
