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I almost give in.

Then I remember Fionn in the garden and what we did. My stomach draws tight, fingers pressing into the counter, breath catching in a place too low for guilt to reach.

Rafe’s eyes narrow, and he stares right at me as if he senses something’s up.

“Our families hate each other,” I say, making each word colder than the memory beneath it. “You know we do. He says one thing, I say worse, and your wedding turns into a Tallon-Harrington war fest.”

“You wouldn’t have to speak to him. You wouldn’t even have to stay after the ceremony. I just need you beside me until it’s over.”

“It’s not just one day, though, is it?” I reply. “It’s every time I’m at your house.”

“Sera.” The banter disappears from her voice. “If you can’t be anywhere near him, when am I supposed to see you after I marry him?”

I have no answer that doesn’t hurt both of us.

“You promised you’d stand beside me,” she whispers. “I know I’m asking too much of our friendship, but I need my best friend.”

“We need to talk properly.” I turn away from the window when Rafe lights a cigarette. “Somewhere there isn’t a big-eared brother earwigging on my conversation.”

I should’ve made this call upstairs in my room.

I should’ve made it from the farthest field before the phone signal cut out.

“Okay,” she says. “Let’s go out tonight for a drink. You and me. Like old times.”

“This is not old times.”

“No. Old times had freedom, shots, and bad eyeliner.”

A laugh presses at the back of my throat, and I swallow it because if I let her make me laugh, I’ll have to admit she can still pull me back from the edge by the wrist.

“I’m serious,” she says, quieter now. “No wedding talk. No brothers. Just us.”

Rafe drags the ashtray closer, and I make a face at him.

“A night out sounds good,” I say. “Rafe will drop me at the bar around eight.”

His brows drift up. “Am I your personal chauffeur these days?”

“Was that Rafe?” Eilish asks.

I stick my middle finger up at him. “Yeah, that was him pretending he has a life.”

“Tell him I said hi,” she says.

I roll my eyes. “Eilish says hi.”

Rafe grins around the cigarette before taking it from his mouth. “She lookin’ for a final fling before she’s trapped with that pretty boy prick?”

“Oh, Jesus,” I groan. “This conversation is over before I vomit. See you at the pub, Eilish.”

“I love you,” she says, which is unfair because she knows exactly when to use it.

I press my fingers into my brow. “I love you too, you manipulative nightmare.”

By five past eight, most of the ice in my rum and Coke has melted. Rafe dropped me off far too early because, apparently, he had people to see and things to do.

I sit in the back corner of Black Heath's local pub with my jacket on, one boot tapping the seat opposite me.