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Hisown gaze flicked up and down her body and she hoped he approved of her choice of clothing: colourful green trousers and a matching sleeveless top, embroidered with bright pink flowers and tiny mirrors,Indian-inspired.Shehad made a real effort to wear something appropriate for this specific wedding.
Stellacleared her throat.
Krishshook his head as though snapping himself out of a spell. ‘Apologies.ThisisFrancesca—’
‘Actually, we’ve already met,’Stellasaid. ‘Ipopped by lastThursday.Francescawas kind enough to entertain me whileGraceslept.’
Ifit didn’t make her so sad,Francescamight have laughed at his momentary look of panic.Shecould practically hear him wondering ifStellahad spilled the beans about the proposal, not thatFrancescawas going to bring it up.Inany case, they couldn’t stand there all day awkwardly staring at each other. ‘Shallwe get this show on the road?’Francescasaid.
Asthey loaded up with bags, she contemplated how she should act towards him.Shouldshe pretend everything was fine between them?Amicable?Shereminded herself that a) he was engaged toJess, b) they had a huge wedding job to do, and c) the last time she’d seen him, she pretty much booted him out of her life.
Justbe natural,said her innerBrooklyn-accented rat.
Easiersaid than done when she found herself pressed up against him in the lift.Stellahad insisted on taking the stairs whileKrishandFrancescarode down with the kit.Shewondered ifStellahad done it on purpose, a misguided attempt to give them a chance to talk.
Krishcleared his throat. ‘Goodweekend?’
‘Yup.’Shewasn’t going to volley the question back.Shedidn’t want to know.Itstill hurt that he had takenJesstoParis, whichFrancescavery much consideredtheircity.Fora moment, she flipped through proposal locations again, but then stopped herself.Dwellingon it wasn’t very self-loving and did not serve her mental health.KingRatwould be proud.
Instead, she concentrated on the metallic lift wall, where some industrial wordsmith had scratchedIlove balls.Butit was hard to concentrate on anything whenKrishsmelled so damned good.Likecitrus and spice.Hist-shirt left his arms bare, the sleeves struggling to wrap themselves around his ample muscles.Behindher sunglasses, her eyes rolled back in her head as she inhaled deeply.Shenoted that her mouth was tantalisingly close to his bicep, and the sudden urge to lick him came upon her.Sheclamped her teeth shut.
Ding.
Thelift door opened, breaking through the sex show playing in her mind.
‘Afteryou,’ he said, shifting so she could exit first.Everthe gentleman.
Whateverthe female equivalent of ball ache was, she had that.
Asthey left the building, the muggy air hit her in the face, making her sunglasses slip down her nose.Thatwas the cost of a beautiful summer wedding with blue skies: hideous heat.Atleast the van would have air conditioning.
Shesaw a smallEastAsianboy waiting next to the van with a heavy kit bag almost half his size.Hemust be her drone operator.Helooked like he was heading off to his first day of high school in anAmericanfilm: new backpack looped over both shoulders and a light blue dress shirt, sharply ironed and tucked into spotless tan trousers.Histrainers glowed white.Wasthis work experience or a job?Shepondered whether his parents had dropped him off. ‘DavidYun?’ she asked.
‘That’sme!’Hepicked up his bag. ‘Doyou mind if we put her on top?Lucycan be a bit delicate.’
‘Lucy?’Francescasaid, worried that he’d also packed a small animal.
‘Mydrone.’
Krishcoughed next to her, and she knew he was disguising his laughter. ‘Sure,David,’ he said. ‘I’mKrish.’
Thedrone operator shookKrish’shand with the exuberant zeal of a puppy going to a butt-sniffing party.Upclose, his glasses were so thick that, for a second, she knew what bugs felt like under a microscope.
Francesca,Stella, andDavidmade two more trips upstairs for the bags whileKrishpacked everything into the van like a masterTetrisplayer.Finished, he slammed the hatch and looked at his watch. ‘Anyidea where your other camera man is?’ he asked, addressingFrancesca.
‘Itold him 11AM sharp.’Shechecked her watch.Itwas already twenty past.Shit.WhatifWallylet her down?Krishwould think she was such an amateur.
‘G’day!SorryI’mlate.Tubetroubles.’
Theyall turned towards a young man sporting a pink mohawk, black skinny jeans, and a white t-shirt.ThewordDEATHwas tattooed down the middle of his neck.Hedropped his kit on the ground and adjusted the rucksack on his shoulder.
‘Wally?’ saidFrancesca.Whenshe’d worked with him years ago, he’d been fresh fromOz, with a tanned, muscular build and a mop of sun-bleached blond hair.Londonhad changed him.
‘Youcan call meWazza, if you want,’ he said.
Shedidn’t want.Sheglanced atKrish, worried how he’d react to the fact that she had hired a punk covered in satanic tattoos to work a traditionalIndianwedding. ‘Hey,Wazza.I’mKrish.Doyou want to keep your bag or put it in the boot?’
Heseemed unperturbed.David, on the other hand, was staring at their new colleague like an alien had just landed and asked for directions to parliament.
