Page 136 of The Wedding Season
“No, Matthew. You don’t know,” I hiss at him. “You don’t know anything.”
I honestly am not sure what comes over me at this point. I’ve never been a dramatic person. As my mother kindly pointed out recently, I quite literally would rather be a stone than entertain the masses with my theatrics. But I don’t feel like me right now. Like I explained to Jamie in the bar that time, moments like this are an out-of-body experience that I’ll look back on and think,Was that really me that happened to? Was it me who did that thing?
I reach out and pick up his glass of wine.
“You wanted to taste the wine, didn’t you?” I announce, the whole restaurant on tenterhooks. “Here you go. Have a taste.”
And then I throw the wine right into his face.
Another, more enthusiastic wave of gasps this time, and I even hear someone right at the other side of the room go, “Yes, girl!”
Matthew looks completely shell-shocked, the red wine dripping down his face, all over his white shirt. Speechless and spluttering, he moves his fingers around the tabletop, feeling for his napkin to dab his eyes.
I’m about to turn around and leave, but Ruby steps forward to stand next to me and picks up the wineglass belonging to Matthew’s date.
Uh-oh.
“Here’s another taste!” she cries, and then pours that wine all over his head.
“What the—” he splutters, pushing his chair back.
Suddenly, Simone grabs a glass of white wine from their neighboring table.
“And another!”
With much greater flair than myself or Ruby, she throws the white wine at him.
Matthew scrambles to his feet and in doing so drops his napkin to the floor. He stands there dripping, his hair plasteredacross his forehead, his shirt stained pink, the droplets running down his jaw, his expression irate.
Cali steps forward. The restaurant-goers brace themselves excitedly. She swipes up the napkin laid out for Matthew’s date.
“Here you go, Matthew,” she says curtly, tossing it at him. “Clean yourself up.”
That’s our cue.
We all somehow know it, like a beautifully rehearsed girl-band stage exit. We each give him one last damning look up and down, and then the four of us turn around to leave the restaurant. Everyone watches us in silence, the waiters standing aside to let us pass without hindrance.
On our way out, I hear someone in the restaurant mutter in disbelief, “What just happened?”
It turns out that just as people can always surprise you, you can also completely unintentionally, and yet rather wonderfully, surprise yourself.
Hi Freya. I’ve been thinking about
what you said last night. I think it
would be a good idea if we meet up
to talk. When would suit you?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I told Matthew to come to the flat.
It wasn’t a rushed decision; I thought it out before I sent him the text. A public place didn’t seem like a good idea for this kind of conversation.
I spent the morning cleaning and making sure everything was perfect. I had already picked my outfit, but that didn’t stop me trying on some others just in case. It had to look as though I hadn’t put much thought into it, but I also had to feelveryconfident in it, so it wasn’t exactly an easy look to land on. It’s a hot day, so I’m in a floaty summer dress and sandals, with gold hoop earrings.
The doorbell rings exactly five minutes after I asked him to be here.
