Page 39 of In the Frame

I laugh. “Florian, that’s the sort of thing you might say to someone who looks dreadful. Something like, cheers, mate, you look entirely borderline adequate tonight. Or, you know, a bit shit.”

He looks affronted. “Matty, you do look well. Excuse the pun, but the color does suit you.”

“And here I thought you didn’t have a sense of humor,” I tease him over my drink. Anything to lighten the mood and distract him from worrying about his ex-fiancé. God. I need to pull this conversation out of a death spiral. It was impossible for me to know he had been engaged to Billy, but it doesn’t make me feel any better about potentially upsetting him. And it makes me feel even worse about how I acted at Sotheby’s. It’s really a miracle he’s here at all. It doesn’t make sense. “Who knew. Well, you look brilliant yourself.”

Florian looks as startled as when I touched his arm a few moments ago. “Beauty is evidently in the eye of the beholder. And you see beauty everywhere. Whether it exists.”

I shake my head. “Good to know my fake partner can’t take a compliment. Resorting to clichés, for shame.”

“I can accept compliments.” He furrows his brow in a very appealing, brow-furrowing sort of way. Kind of adorable, actually. He’s so serious about this. “When it matters. On my accomplishments. Dressing myself to accompany you is not an accomplishment. And my parents are responsible for how I look. Genetics. I take no credit.”

I laugh. “You’re fab with bow ties. You barely looked, and it’s perfect. And perfect grooming.”

Florian shrugged. “Years of events and school before that. Ties I can do in my sleep.”

“Maybe I’ll need to test that one day to be sure,” I say lightly. “Could be useful one day.”

He just shakes his head, but a hint of a smile appears before it washes away again. Florian finishes his drink.

“Want me to get yours this time?” I offer. “To return the favor. And, um, to be equitable.” That’s probably Florian’s love language right there.

Looking continually startled apparently is his fashion this afternoon. “I… suppose. To be equitable.” Florian gives a decisive nod after the moment’s hesitation. It could be my imagination, but there’s the slightest tinge of pink in his face. The alcohol, I tell myself.

“And then I ought to take you to meet the groom and groom, if I can find them in here. I mean, I’d hate to keep you for the reception too, since you’re busy and need to get back to London. But there’s a spare dinner since Johan’s not here, and also, after two cocktails, you should probably wait a while before driving.”

Florian raises an eyebrow at me, unreadable once more. “Indeed.”

Then, we do just that: a second round of cocktails as the sky brightens outside, and the bar crowd thins as people start to trickle over to the reception. And somehow, amazingly, Florian’s still here, seated at the table beside me, showing no sign as yet of leaving Brighton. And something in his shoulders eases ever so slightly.

Chapter Twenty-One

A deluge, a bar, and a walk later, we’re at the reception, which looks suitably festive with rainbow balloons amid a lot of white decor, lights, and flowers. Because this is a pack of mainly twenty-something artists, attire varies from formal to various twists on formal, like vintage to contemporary to basically anything goes. But there are a lot of suits, so it’s comforting that I fit in, even if it is a pack of friends and Paul’s and Caden’s relatives.

In the happy pre-meal chaos, we find Paul and Caden to wish them congratulations. Paul’s dark curls are untamed, and he looks fierce in a black suit, and Caden’s in a pale lilac vintage suit, which is perfect for him, and the orange bow tie matches Paul’s handkerchief.

“Congratulations,” Florian says smoothly, shaking hands with them in turn. “And a pleasure to meet you both.”

“Hi, guys. Congrats.” I give them each a big hug and grin, nodding at Florian, then linking arms with him. “Florian’s my date, for the record. Not a wedding crasher. In case you’ve spotted him around.”

“That’s what all wedding crashers say,” Paul says lightly. “Great to meet you.”

“I looked forward to meeting Matty’s friends,” says Florian simply.

My smile broadens at hearing him call me Matty instead of Mathias, a surefire sign of progress being made. And a solid effort on the authenticity part.

“We have yet to meet any of Matty’s London friends. You’re the first.” Caden smiles back at Florian, plain intrigue across his face he’s not even trying to hide. “How did you meet?”

“At a bar. My bar. I mean, it’s not my bar. I don’t own it. Where I work.” Shit, that wasn’t very suave, but nobody seems to notice other than me. I force myself to stop talking.

“Yes,” Florian agrees, in true Florian style, and doesn’t say anything else.

Meanwhile, Caden looks like he’s dying to ask more questions that would be impolite in front of Florian.

“It’s been a great day,” I tell them warmly, which is true. It has been a great day. The wedding, aside from the storm burst, which was surprisingly refreshing on a warm July afternoon. And the top highlight was the surprise arrival of Florian at my hotel this morning—and staying around. “And excited for your new chapter together.”

“Ach, you know, same old. Just with more hardware,” Paul says, with his Edinburgh accent. He and Caden show their wedding bands, a simple gold affair.

“And more small electric appliances,” Caden says sagely. “We had loads on our registry. Now we’ll need to find a shelf to keep them on.”