Page 11

Four

A privately booked double-decker bus rumbled through East London, carrying twenty-two of Tom and Naomi’s wedding guests to their reception three miles away in Clerkenwell. Missing from the bus were most of Tom’s posh friends and family, who deemed riding on the Routemaster slumming it.

Laughing and holding plastic flutes of complimentary champagne, Alex and Mark surfed each bone-shaking bump from the front seat of the half-full upper deck, careful not to slop fizz on their wedding finery. Lucy slurped her glass in the seat immediately behind them while Harry, Freddie, and Simon were out of sight, satisfied with holding court on the bus’s lower level.

Lucy leaned forward, resting an arm on the back of Alex and Mark’s seat. “I’m pissed. Naomi stole my wedding.”

Confused, Alex finished her champagne and glanced at Mark, her eyes watering.

“Ah-choo! Ah-chooooo.” Relief—finally. Alex’s nose had been twitching for the past five minutes, the dust spit out by the bus’s cranked-up heating system probably to blame.

“Allergic to weddings, much?” Mark’s thumb gently brushed a lost eyelash from Alex’s cheek.

“This double-decker bus…I’ve always wanted a totally London-centric wedding,” said Lucy. “I told Naomi months ago. Remember last spring at the Cat and Mutton when her stupid royal wedding answer cost us the pub quiz?”

Alex wasn’t sure she did remember, but she nodded anyway, her affirmation punctuated with a slight grimace. The fascinator’s headband was digging into her scalp with its prickly claws. Jeez, how does Kate Middleton wear these things? She stashed her empty plastic flute behind her on the seat.

“And then I said my ideal reception would be in a funky pub…and guess where we’re headed. Coincidence? Yeah, right.”

Alex shifted her headband, her suffering roots given a slight reprieve. “Everything they’ve done so far has surprised me. Naomi was so hush-hush about her plans. I figured we’d be bored stiff in the country in a drafty castle with more bathrooms than guests.” Lucy puffed out her cheeks. “You should be happy, Lucy. You can chill, drink pints, dance barefoot…if I had a pub reception, I’d have mini fish and chips.” Alex barely drew a breath. “And chocolate cupcakes!”

Mark smiled and watched the red and blue doors of the two-storey terrace houses on Shepherdess Walk pass by. He downed his champagne in one go and yawned.

Lucy frowned. “You didn’t mention cupcakes to her, did you?”

“Maybe. Probably? You know Naomi—don’t get her started on baking or cooking. She can talk for hours about recipes.”

“And sex.” Lucy winked.

“I know, right? She makes Rihanna look like a nun!” Alex was on a roll, riffing with Lucy in the way only best friends can. Laughing, she turned to Mark—his eyes were now closed, his head against the window, trying to catch a quick nap.

She twirled a stray piece of hair around her finger. It had been two years ago, just before Alex started dating Mark, that she’d found out about his steamy, short-lived relationship with Naomi. Freddie had called it a “bonk-a-thon”, joking that for four months the two actors had barely come up for air, but Mark wasn’t emotionally invested, and Naomi, on the heels of accepting a lead role in the American touring production of Kinky Boots, ended it. Mark had a few dates but nothing steady until Alex came along several months later, and Naomi continued to bed Britain’s top male talent until one evening…

“It’s crazy.” Lucy’s eyebrow peaked. “If Tom hadn’t met up with you and Harry at the National, if Naomi wasn’t working the Long Bar…we wouldn’t be here. That must have been some pint Naomi pulled that night.”

“I think Naomi pulled more than just his pint.”

Lucy snickered. “The head must have been perfect.”

Alex tried to stifle a snort of laughter. She didn’t want to wake Mark or bring him into this conversation.

“It says a lot that you two were able to become friends, to cast her in your play…” Lucy glanced at Mark.

“That’s ancient history. Anyway, she’s been a good friend.” Alex skirted Lucy’s gaze and looked at her dozing boyfriend.

There were still moments when Naomi’s breezy, open-book approach to her carnal exploits made Alex feel…awkward. No amount of female friendliness would ever erase the fact that Naomi’s lips and hands had intimate knowledge of her boyfriend’s body and how to please him. Being friends with a woman who had seen your partner naked, who had slept with him before you were on the scene, was difficult to swallow sometimes. The only way Alex could deal with it was to remind herself that the past was just that—gone, faded away—and Mark’s present, and hopefully his future, belonged to her.

Lucy stared at the bubbles floating halfway up her champagne flute. “Well, I’m telling you now, if she calls me Luce again or steals my baby names, our friendship is over.”

“You’ve chosen baby names? Lucy, you don’t even have a boyfriend.” Alex shook her head. Ow. The headband bit farther into her scalp. If the stupid hat was going to see the cutting of the cake, head shaking would have to be kept to a minimum.

“I’ve had names picked out since I was a kid, after reading Charlotte’s Web.”

“Lucy! Seriously? You like the name Wilbur?”

“No! Charlotte. It’s so pretty—actually, Charlotte reminds me of you.”

“I remind you of a spider? Cheers—”