One Night Only by Catherine Walsh

11

Why do I do this to myself?

Why do I always do this to myself?

I can’t go one week without making a bad decision. Just once I would like to make the right one. Just once I would like things to go as planned. Like a normal person who isn’t a self-destructive maniac.

I turn my head, watching Declan sleep beside me.

I’ve already peeked under the covers to confirm we are both very naked.

This was not supposed to happen.

This was not part of the plan.

“Hey,” I whisper, giving his shoulder a nudge. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t so much as stir. The man sleeps like the dead.

I settle back against the pillow, trying to decide what to do when my phone buzzes on the floor beside me. I lean over to get it, almost falling off the damn bed as I check the screen.

My alarm flashes.

Annie!

This time I do tumble out, landing hard on my knees in my panic. Forgoing any underwear, I grab the first items of clothing I see, my pajama shorts and the hotel robe that lies in a heap next to the bathtub. I throw them on, trying not to trip as I shove my feet into the matching slippers. It’s only a few hours before hair and makeup are due to arrive and…

The bathtub.

I stare at it, memories from last night flooding back, and throw a glance to Declan who remains unmoving in the bed.

Oh my God.

I grab my purse and slip from the room. Talk about mixed signals, Sarah. Talk about not following your own goddamn rule. I’m not going to be able to look him in the eye all day. Not when—

“Sarah!”

I whirl to see Mary hurrying down the hallway, her hair in curlers.

“Mrs. Murphy! Hi!” I wrap the robe tighter around me, fumbling with the belt.

“Thank God, you’re awake. Everyone else is in bits. I knew the party was a bad decision last night, I knew it. But God forbid anyone would listen to me.” She takes a breath, coming to a stop in front of me. “I need your help.”

“Sure.” I lead her away from my bedroom, where her youngest son better still be sleeping. “Is, um…” I clear my throat, pulling my hair back into a loose knot. “Is everything alright?”

“No. It’s a disaster.”

My stomach drops. “Is Annie—”

“Annie’s fine. She’ll be fast asleep like the rest of them. No, I mean the weather.”

She gestures frantically to the hallway window, which looks out over the parking lot. All I see is gleaming tarmac and a brilliant blue sky.

“The weather?”

“They say it’s going to hit thirty degrees today.”

“Okay.” I’m confused. “That’s like what? Eighty in Fahrenheit?”

“Exactly!”

“But… that’s a good thing, right? I thought they were worried it was going to rain.”

“Sarah,” she says as if speaking to a child. “We can handle a bit of rain, but a heatwave here is twenty-five, maybe twenty-six degrees. And that’s in the bit of the garden that gets the most sun. Certainly not thirty. And definitely not in a tent.”

“Can’t they just put on the air conditioning?”

“We don’t have air conditioning,” she says shrilly. “Everything on this island is built to retain heat not let it out.”

“There has to be something we can do. We’ll open the flaps. Get some fans in. The ceremony is thirty minutes tops. It will be okay.”

“They’ve already put out a weather alert,” she says faintly. “Status yellow. And the ceremony is at noon. Noon. My poor mother won’t be able to cope.”

“It’s going to be fine,” I say, grasping her hand between mine. “I promise. It’s just sunshine. Better this than a monsoon.”

“I suppose,” she says, still doubtful.

“Trust me,” I say firmly. “If the worst that happens today is good weather then I think we’ll be alright. But I really need to go check on Annie. Why don’t you ask them if they can bring some fans to the tent? As many as they can.”

It takes a bit more pushing but eventually I get her to go and I hurry back down the hallway to Annie’s room. The air inside is warm and stale. Annie is asleep in bed, her face buried in the pillows.

“Wakey, wakey,” I call loudly as I open the balcony door. The bucket is thankfully empty, the water glass drained at some point during the night.

I lean over her, wrinkling my nose at the smell.

Well, at least she’s breathing.

“Annie? Time to wake up.”

Unlike Declan, Annie immediately opens her eyes, only to decide she doesn’t want to. She groans and tries to roll away from me, but I pull her firmly onto her back.

“You’ve got to get up now.”

“Why?” she mutters, throwing an arm over her face.

“Because you’re getting married in a few hours.”

Her body stiffens. “That’s today?”

“Unfortunately.”

Her arm drops to the bed. “Oh my God.” And fortunately, I’ve seen that look on her face enough times to grab the bucket right before she needs it.

* * *

“Thank you so much,” I say, balancing the tray from the waiter with my right hand while I tip him with my left.

“Going to be a gorgeous day for it,” he says kindly. “It’s roasting out.”

“Roasting,” I agree, trying to back into the room without showing him what’s behind me. “Thank you!”

I manage to close the door, hopefully without seeming as rude as I feel, and turn to see Annie where I left her, sitting at the small glass table, completely miserable.

“I can’t believe I was so stupid,” she moans.

She’s showered and dressed in her white fluffy robe. It took more effort than I’d anticipated but we got through it and even managed to comb her hair in preparation for the stylist.

I set down her breakfast tray, a collection of everything from fried food to yogurt to bread. Lots of bread. And juice and ice water and a blissfully large pot of coffee.

“Eat. Drink.”

“I can’t.”

“Oh, but you can. You have to.”

Slowly she picks up a piece of bread and nibbles on the edge.

I find an energy drink in the minibar and open it for her. “I need to shower.”

“Okay,” she says, managing half a slice. “The headache has officially begun.”

“I have aspirin in my purse. I’ll bring them to you. Don’t get back into bed.”

She nods weakly and I rush across the hall to my own room before I can remember who I left there.

I hesitate in the doorway, nearly expecting Declan to be strutting around naked, but the room is empty. I’m surprised at the flicker of disappointment I feel but quickly dismiss it. I’ll deal with him later. For now, I need to hurry.

I don’t so much shower as I do step in and out of the running water before putting on fresh pajamas. It will be a while before I need to get into my dress, but I take it out of the closet and lay it on the rumpled covers of the bed. I’m looking for my shoes when I remember about the aspirin and then it’s back to Annie, who I’m pleased to see has moved on from the toast and is now poking at the scrambled eggs.

“Take these,” I say, pressing the pills into her hand. “And drink your vitamin C.”

She gulps back the orange juice with a look of distaste.

“You need glucose.”

“I need a new body,” she says thickly. “How do people do this all the time? I’m never drinking again.”

“Spoken like a true drunk.” I push the plate of bacon toward her just as someone knocks on her door. Hair and makeup have arrived.

Everything begins to move very fast. Her parents show up at the same time as the photographer and the room is suddenly full of people. There’s a lot of hands in my hair and brushes on my face as the air becomes clouded with hairspray. The maid of honor dress, a floor-length light-blue gown, is so beautiful I’m scared I’m going to sweat through it out of sheer excitement but I’m nothing compared to Annie, who looks like she stepped right out of a magazine. It’s a simple enough design as wedding dresses go but it’s from a local designer and, at Annie’s request, subtle Celtic patterns are woven into the veil and the long lacy sleeves.

Once the photographer is finally happy, I leave them alone for some family time. The guests have arrived in their numbers, and from the hallway window I can see downstairs to the tent. Voices drift up from the gardens, laughing and talking.

With a couple of minutes to go I slink down the back stairs to where we’ll make our entrance and catch a dangerously warm breeze coming from the open doors.

I’d almost forgotten about the heat.

But despite Mary’s concern there’s a still a line of sleek umbrellas lined up next to the entrance.

“You never know,” one of the staff mutters when he catches me looking.

The rest of the bridal procession has already gathered by the doors and I watch as Annie’s mom tries to calm the overexcited flower girls as they twirl in their skirts.

“Have you seen Mary?” she asks as she wipes a smudge of chocolate off one of their faces. “I think she went to get some tissues.”

“I’ll find her.”

I slip into the adjoining hallway and follow the sign for the restrooms, almost tripping in my heels as I turn a corner and stumble back, spying two people up ahead.

Mary stands beside Declan, tutting as he fiddles with the sleeves of his tuxedo. He looks good. His dark curls have been tamed so that they almost look respectable and a white flower is pinned to his lapel. The tux fits him well. So well that despite his mother standing right next to him, it suddenly has me wondering if the suit is rented or if we can go for round three with him wearing that and me wearing… well, now I’m blushing.

“Shit,” he mutters, ruining my sudden image of us, and I smile as his fingers slip over his cufflinks. I’ve never seen him flustered before. It makes him look younger; his usual confident air stripped away.

“Language,” Mary chides. “Let me do it.”

He offers no resistance, holding his arm out as she fastens them. Neither of them have noticed me yet and I’m just about to leave them alone when she speaks again.

“You’re doing very well,” she says, glancing up at him. “Both your father and I think so. We know how difficult it must be to—”

“Don’t,” Declan says. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You’ve been sulking since you got here.”

“Sulking?” He sounds amused. “You just said I was doing well.”

She drops his wrist. “You know what I mean.”

“You were worried I was going to ruin this for Paul, weren’t you?”

“Of course not.”

“You did. Because he’s your favorite child.”

“I don’t have a favorite child.”

“Liar.” Declan smiles fondly at her as she raps him on the shoulder before smoothing the fabric down.

“All I meant to say was that I’m very proud of you,” she says, her voice catching. “I know it’s not easy.”

“Are you crying? We haven’t even started the ceremony yet and you’re crying?”

“I’m fine,” she says. “I have to get tissues. Go get into place. We’re probably holding the whole thing up.”

She runs into the restroom opposite and I turn to leave, but as I go I bump into the table next to me, sending a vase wobbling. At the sound of it, Declan’s head snaps my way, spotting me instantly.

Busted.

I open my mouth to apologize for eavesdropping but freeze as his gaze sweeps over me, taking in my dress, my hair, me. I brace myself from some teasing words, some flirtatious look like I’ve come to expect from him. Instead, the smile slips from his face.

He frowns.

He frowns at me.

“Declan.” Connor emerges from a side door and Declan turns without another word and follows his cousin, disappearing from view.

Confused, I turn to the grand mirror in the lobby, checking my reflection, looking for something amiss. But there’s nothing. I look okay, I think. The dress fits me perfectly and my hair looks neat and my makeup is good and I… I look nice. Right?

Beautiful even.

So what the hell was that?

I mean, okay, I didn’t have a soft spotlight behind me, or birds chirping at my shoulder, but I look hot.

Not that I care what he thinks but who looks at a woman in her bridesmaid dress and frowns.

I could rip that pinned bowtie off his stupid shirt and shove it up his—

“Sarah!” Mary emerges from the restroom, tissues in hand. “I’m late. I know I’m—” She stops as she takes me in fully, one hand fluttering to her chest. “You look beautiful,” she says. “Annie is so lucky to have you.”

See? See?! That is the right reaction.

“You don’t look too bad yourself, Mrs. Murphy.”

“Oh, this old thing,” she says. “I’ve had it for years. Cotton,” she whispers. “Very breathable.”

“Ah.”

She squeezes my hand and leads me back to the lobby, where Annie stands looking just as I’d hoped she would. Her hair is pinned up, her makeup subtle, her grandmother’s pearls her only jewelry. She looks stunning, regal and calm. Only when I get closer do I see the barely concealed panic in her eyes.

“Where did you go?” she whispers when she sees me.

“Oh my God, the strangest thing happened. Paul tried to escape?”

“Sarah.”

“I think I’ve convinced him to go through with it, but you better marry him quickly because—”

“I hate you.” She laughs.

“Can we have the maid of honor, please,” someone calls gently to the group.

“Are you good?” I ask.

“Yes,” she says, her eyes focused on the tent behind us. She is good.

“Your collarbone looks amazing.”

“Would you just go already?”

I kiss her on the cheek. “See you on the other side.”

The flower girls have switched from excitement to terror and need to be gently pushed and pulled into position as a kind man in an impeccable suit hurries me forward, reminds me to smile and gives me a gentle nudge on the shoulder.

Showtime.