Page 36 of The Wedding Pact

I push myself up from the sofa and rub my hand over my hair, a rush of anxiety making me twitchy. ‘Look, it’s late. I’m tired. Let’s talk more tomorrow once we’ve slept, yes?’

She looks surprised by my sudden change in tone. ‘Oh. Err, yeah, okay. If you like.’

‘Feel free to stay in the living area and chill. I’m going to answer some emails in my bedroom.’

And with that, I vacate the room, the echo of the flash of hurt I saw on her face burned onto my vision the whole time I’m trying to read my emails, until I finally give up, get into bed and fall into a restless sleep.

* * *

Ida

The next morning, I wake up with an underlying feeling of unease.

Sitting up, I scrub at my eyes with the heels of my hands and try to focus on what it is that’s making me feel this way.

Hmm. I probably pushed things a bit too far last night when I tried to inexpertly psychoanalyse Raffa’s relationship with his family and ended up insulting him instead.

A bit too much alcohol obviously made me overconfident in my counselling skills.

Time to cut back on the cocktails, I think.

I was fascinated by how uncomfortable they all seemed to be in each other’s company last night though, and a bit sad for Raffa to be honest, so I was desperate to find out what happened in the past to produce such an atmosphere between them all.

But from the stony look on Raffa’s face, it clearly wasn’t the right time to pursue that line of questioning.

I suspect it’s going to take a bit of time for him to fully trust me with his truth.

After a quick shower, I pull on a pair of shorts and vest top and make my way to the kitchen, wondering whether Raffa is up yet.

I suspect he kept working long after I fell asleep, so I’m surprised to find him sitting at the kitchen island with a cup of coffee in his hand and a plate of beautifully arranged fresh fruit, toast and smoked salmon next to him.

The rest of the surface is laid out with plates of delicious-looking breakfast food, including three different mueslis, cold meats, yoghurts and tiny pastries.

My stomach rumbles at the sight of it all.

‘Hope you don’t mind. I arranged to have our food brought over so we didn’t get swarmed at breakfast,’ Raffa says as I pad over to where he’s standing.

‘Not at all. Good call,’ I say, pulling out a bar stool from the counter to sit on.

‘I checked out your show on HelSkel,’ Raffa says, when I’ve made myself comfortable.

‘Oh yeah? What did you think?’

‘I think it’s fantastic.’ He closes his eyes and shakes his head at himself. ‘How the hell did I miss a show as big as that?’

‘I dunno. Head too far up your arse?’ I wink at him.

He grin-grimaces at me. ‘That’s harsh.’

‘Only because you know there’s some truth in it. You work too hard, no wonder you miss things.’

‘I work because I have to.’

I slide a plate of pastries towards me. ‘No, you don’t. You’re rich already.’

His expression turns serious. ‘Yes, okay, but I want to stay top of my game. No one talks about how it’s actually harder to stay on top than to get there in the first place.’

‘I know it, dude.’