Never Fall for Your Back-Up Guy by Kate O’Keeffe

Chapter 5

Dear Dad

I’m thirty! Can you believe it? The big 3-0. My 20s are over, kaput, gone. Your little girl is all grown up and it feels… weird. Wrong. Like I should be somewhere I haven’t reached yet.? Somewhere waaay more grown up. Does that make sense?

Let’s just say I’m working on it.

I’m thinking of you so much today.

Miss you. Love you.

Your Za-Za xoxo

The next fewdays are dominated by two things: work and my thirtieth birthday party in the country at my family’s home, Martinston. I would have been more than happy to avoid the whole family celebration, but Mum and Granny insisted I mark the passing of time with a big party. The deal was clinched when Mum offered to pay for the whole thing, including buying all the booze, and with some of my friends, that’s a pretty darn huge expense—I’m looking at you, Tabitha.

“Zara, the caterers will be here at six, the band arrives at six thirty and we’ve still got all the seating to get sorted out in the ballroom,” Emma, my sister-in-law says, standing in the doorway to my childhood bedroom where I’ve been holed up, getting ready for the party. “But before all that, I’ve gotta say that you look totally gorgeous!”

“Do you think?” I smooth my dress down self-consciously. The party theme is “Black and White,” and I’ve chosen to wear a white figure-hugging dress that reaches the floor, with a slit up the side and a halter-neck. Teamed with a pair of hot pink high heeled sandals and my hair in silky waves, I feel like a siren of the silver screen.

“Duh,” she replies with a grin. “Your doppelgänger has got nothing on you tonight, girl.”

Emma loves to tell me how much I look like Bond girl Gemma Arterton, but personally, I don’t see it. She’s a million times more gorgeous than me—and a Bond girl. Hello?!

I plant a kiss on Emma’s cheek and immediately wipe off the lipstick mark I created. “You’re a total suck up. You know that?” I say with a grin.

“Just stating the facts.”

My brother, Sebastian, appears around the door. Placing his hands on his wife’s waist, she looks up at him lovingly and he says, “My beautiful wife,” before he promptly kisses her. In my doorway!

“Ahem,” I say. “Haven’t you got your own room to carry on in? You don’t need to do all that kissy-kissy business in mine, do you?”

“Actually, I came to see you, but got side-tracked by my hot Texan wife,” Sebastian replies. “You can hardly blame me. Look at this mother of my child.”

Emma beams up at him. “You’re the best.”

I roll my eyes, but secretly I’m happy for them that they’ve got one another. Although really, do they need to get so lovey-dovey in front of me all the time? The answer to that question is a definite no. And the fact they’ve got what I want has nothing to do with it. Honestly.

“All right. Enough of this carrying on. Emma, you wanted to tell me about the caterers and the band?”

She drags her adoring eyes from my brother’s for long enough to reply, “We need to get the rest of the seating into the ballroom before the caterers arrive.”

“Actually, don’t worry yourselves with that,” Sebastian says. “I’ve got some blokes on the job.”

“What blokes?” I question.

“Johnny’s texted to say he’ll be here in about five minutes,” he says, naming his best friend, “and Charlie’s already downstairs.”

“Charlie Cavendish?” I ask.

“The very same. I’d better get down there. You two keep doing whatever it is women do before parties.”

Sebastian kisses Emma on the lips once more—chastely, thank goodness, because there’s a limit to how much of that carrying on a sister needs to witness in her lifetime—and then leaves us.

“Charlie Cavendish, huh?” I say as I apply another layer of lipstick.

“You like Charlie?” Emma asks.

“No. I was thinking about Kennedy and the fact she and Charlie hated one another from the moment they met. What is with that?”

“Beats me, but it is kinda funny. Didn’t you know he was invited to your party?”

“Mum took control of the guest list. I figured this is more her party than mine in some ways.”

“Because of your dad?”

I pull my lips into a line. “She’ll be feeling it tonight that he’s not here.”

“How about you? Are you doing okay?”

A knot forms in my belly as my chest tightens. I glance at the small collection of perfume bottles on my dressing table. Dad gave me my very first one when I was twelve years old, and I’ve been collecting them ever since. Most of my collection is at my Fulham flat, but I keep a few here for when I visit and want to admire their beauty.

“I wish he was here. That’s all.”

“I bet you do.” Emma pulls me in for a quick hug. “There’s something so special about a father-daughter relationship. He’s the only one you’ve got.”

I turn my gaze to hers and see understanding in her eyes. Tears spring to my own eyes, and I quickly brush them away with my fingertips. “I don’t want to mess up my makeup. It took me ages to get these stupid eyelashes in place.”

Emma pulls a couple of tissues from a box on my bedside table. “Here. Your lashes are still in place.”

I dab my eyes. “Being a daddy’s girl sucks when your dad’s not around.”

“It does,” she replies softly, and I know she feels it, too. She lost her dad to a heart attack some years ago, and she named her activewear line after him in his honour.

“Knock knock.”

I look up to see Kennedy, Lottie, and Tabitha in the doorway. They’re all holding colourfully wrapped gifts in their hands, dressed in black, each of them in a different style, and all of them look absolutely radiant. “Hello, chickadees,” I say with a watery smile.

“Oh, honey. What’s wrong?” Lottie rushes over to me in two seconds flat and plonks herself down on the four-poster bed beside me.

I blow my nose into one of the tissues Kennedy gave me. “I’m having a dad moment, that’s all.”

“Of course you are,” she soothes. “And you’re perfectly entitled to have as many moments as you want about whatever you want. This is your party.”

“And you’ll cry if you want to,” Tabitha finishes for her as she sits down on my bed, too. “That’s the old song, isn’t it? Not that I want you to cry of course. I want you to have an amazing night.”

“She will,” Emma says as she greets my friends. “Now, I’m gonna go help my hot husband out downstairs and leave you girls to talk. The party’s starting soon, so I’ll see y’all down there, okay?”

“I love it when you throw in a ‘y’all,’” I say to her. “I sometimes forget you’re from Texas.”

“Born and raised,” she says proudly. “And before any of you ask, no, I didn’t grow up on a ranch and I don’t know any cowboys.”

“Pity,” Kennedy says. “I could do with a cowboy right about now, Em. Do you think you could conjure one up for me?”

“My conjuring skills are pretty rusty,” Emma replies with a laugh.

“Oh, get one for me, too. A tall, sexy cowboy in tight jeans and one of those big metal buckles, with a shirt that shows off his broad shoulders and magnificent pecs.” Tabitha fans herself with her hand as she leans back on my bed.

“We all want one of those, Tabitha,” Lottie says. “Who knows? Maybe Zara will get one for her birthday?”

I glance at the three gifts my friends have placed on my bed. “You got me a cowboy?” I ask with a sardonic smile. Because of course they hadn’t got me a cowboy, and if they had, it’d be a miniature one that could fit inside a small box and what would the point of that be?

Tabitha shakes her head. “No cowboy, babe. But I wish we had now. You look like you need cheering up, and that simply will not do when it’s your swanky birthday party at your family’s posh manor house.”

“Speaking of which, I’ll leave you girls to it,” Emma says.

I smile at her. “Okay. And Em?”

She turns to look back at me.

“Thanks.”

Her face breaks into a beautiful smile. “Anytime, sis,” she replies before she leaves.

“Zara’s already getting something to cheer her up. Tell them, Zee,” Lottie instructs me.

“If it’s not a cowboy maybe it’s a fireman,” Kennedy suggests. “A super-hot fireman, like in those calendars.”

“Or a policeman!” Tabitha offers, her eyes shining.

I snort giggle. “If you say an American Indian next then we’ll have the Village People, right here at my family’s house.”

Kennedy says, “Honey, you can’t call this a place a house. It’s got a gazillion rooms and servants’ quarters. It’s Downton freaking Abbey.”

“Tell us what you’re getting,” Tabitha asks. “And don’t tell us it’s that Asher’s your back-up guy. That’s old news.”

“It’s not about Asher, even though he has just employed ScarZar to decorate his new bachelor pad in Notting Hill. I’ve got my work cut out, that’s for sure.”

“You’ll do an amazing job, babe. I know you will,” Lottie says with assuredness.

She wins a beaming smile from me.

My friends are the best.

“Can we focus please, girls?” Tabitha asks. “What are you getting?”

My tummy warms at the thought of little Steve. “Well, I don’t know if it’s a done deal yet because they need to come over to meet Lottie and check out our place, but I did choose to go on the posse with the sheriff and apparently I’m the right coloured crayon, so that’s something.”

I get a confused collective look from Kennedy and Tabitha. Lottie simply beams at me because she’s been in the know for days now, what with being my flatmate and having to hear all about Steve for the past few days.

I press my lips together as a grin forms on my face. “I’m getting a puppy,” I announce.

“A puppy?!” Tabitha and Kennedy both squeal and then instantly pepper me with questions.

“What breed of dog?”

“How old is it?”

“Is it a girl or a boy?”

“Where are you getting it from? A breeder? A shop?”

I count my answers off on my fingers. “The dog breed is a gorgeous little Jack Russell with the most darling liquid brown eyes that gaze up at you and totally melt your heart; aged about 11 weeks or so; a little girl called Steve, which I’m changing to Stevie; and she’s from Penelope’s Pooches just down the road from the shop.”

“See? I told you she was getting something,” Lottie says. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

“Oh, my gosh, yes! I’m so excited for you.” Kennedy grins. “I cannot wait to meet Stevie.”

“It’s not as good a gift as a cowboy,” Tabitha grumps. “But I suppose you could get a cowboy outfit for her. Wait, then it’d have to be a cowgirl outfit.” She shrugs. “Cute either way.”

“As I said, it’s not a done deal yet. Lottie and I have to put on a great show for them tomorrow afternoon.”

Tabitha puts her hand on my arm. “Let’s hope you’re over your hangover by then, babe, because tonight, we par-tay.”

I shake my head and laugh. Tabitha loves nothing more than to get all dressed up and hit the town, and she’s always having adventures that end up with her in a variety of precarious positions—including the time she set the smoke detector off at a party because she was bored, and another time when she lost her bra and found it up at the top of a thirty-foot tree the following day. How it got there is anyone’s guess, and Tabitha swears not to know.

Tabitha pulls a hipflask out of her pocket and waves it in the air. “A shot for luck,” she says as she opens the lid and takes a swig. She hands it to me.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Well, it’s not lemonade,” she replies with a wry smile. “Grapefruit vodka. It’s yummy and with the fruit, I’m sure it’s good for you.”

I giggle as I hand the flask to Lottie. “I’ll pass, but thanks.”

“But it’s your birthday, Zee. You need to get cucumbered with the rest of us,” Tabitha says.

“I’m not planning on getting cucumbered tonight.”

“Suit yourself,” she replies with a shrug.

“What the heck is ‘cucumbered?’” Kennedy asks.

“Drunk,” Lottie, Tabitha, and I all reply at the same time.

“And here I was thinking the only thing you Brits did with cucumbers was put them in sandwiches. Okay, I’m heading downstairs now. You girls coming with?” Kennedy asks as she turns to leave.

I leap off my bed, shocking Lottie and Tabitha who have to regain their balance with my sudden departure. “Wait! Stay here for a bit, Kennedy. I need you to—” I glance quickly around the room for an excuse to keep her from venturing back downstairs, “—help me decide which shoes to wear.”

She obviously didn’t run into Charlie Cavendish on her way to my room, and I want to avoid her having to do so now.

Her eyes slide to my feet. “But you’ve got on a gorgeous pair of shoes already. Why not wear those?”

“Because they’re hurting my feet,” I fib with my fingers crossed behind my back. “I need your expert eye to help me choose another pair to go with this dress. White is a very tricky colour, you know.”

Lottie crinkles her forehead in confusion. “Why do you need Kennedy to help you choose shoes? She writes features for her magazine, not a fashion column.”

I glare at her and mouth “Charlie Cavendish,” hoping she’ll get it.

She doesn’t.

“What, Zee? Speak up.”

“Charlie Cavendish,” I say in a low voice through a clenched jaw.

“Charlie who?” she asks, and I close my eyes in resigned frustration.

Kennedy freezes. “Charlie Cavendish is here?” she questions, her voice strained.

“Mum invited him. She was in charge of the whole list, and I’ve been so wrapped up in this whole Karina drama that I barely gave it a second look. I’m really sorry, Kennedy. I know he’s not your favourite person on the planet.”

“I don’t know why. I think he’s fabulous,” Lottie declares.

“And gorgeous,” Tabitha adds. “What’s the matter Kennedy, fabulous and gorgeous aren’t what you’re looking for in a man?”

She gives a flick of her wrist. “He’s fine. Totally fine,” she says, convincing a sum total of no one.

“Really?” Lottie asks.

Kennedy crosses her arms over her chest. “Just because he’s got more money than sense and thinks he can charm a girl with tales of his yachts and houses and pet gorillas doesn’t bother me in the slightest.”

“Charlie Cavendish has a pet gorilla?” Tabitha asks, looking thoroughly confused. “But he lives in London. Where would he put it?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he did have a pet gorilla. He’s got virtually everything else,” Kennedy huffs.

“He doesn’t have a pet gorilla,” I say. “Or at least I don’t think he does.”

“Shame,” Tabitha replies with a sigh. “So far tonight we’ve lost a sexy cowboy for the birthday girl and a pet gorilla.”

Kennedy harrumphs.

“How did we get onto this topic, exactly?” Lottie asks. “We’re meant to be celebrating our brilliant friend turning the grand old age of thirty, not prevaricating over whether certain men we know have African primates as pets, which I suspect is highly illegal, anyway.”

“Well said,” Kennedy says.

“What time is it?” Tabitha asks. “Is the party about to start?”

I glance at my phone on top of my chest of drawers. “The party starts in three minutes.” I notice a message and click on it. “Oh, look. Scarlett says she’s got me the best birthday present a single girl could get. I wonder what it is?”

“I bet it’s a cowboy!” Tabitha says excitedly.

“Haven’t we been through this already, Tabitha? It won’t be a cowboy, or anyone else from the Village People,” I reply.

Lottie’s eyes grow big and round. “But it might be a man.”

We share a look and, as though we are all thinking the same thing at the exact same time, we rush over to my large bedroom window and look down onto the long, gravel driveway that leads up to the house. Tonight, it’s lit by rows of burning torches, making the whole place feel like something from a Jane Austen novel—or a scene from Jumanji. I haven’t decided which yet.

A black, shiny car crunches down the drive and comes to a stop in front of the house.

“Oooh, who’s that?” Lottie asks.

We watch a blonde-haired woman climb out of the passenger seat, followed quickly by two men, both in dinner suits, and both with full heads of hair (which is pretty much all I can tell from up here on the third floor).

“That’s Scarlett and the guy she’s seeing right now, isn’t it?” Kennedy asks.

“Harry Honeydew,” Tabitha replies.

“That cannot be the guy’s real name,” Kennedy replies.

“Oh, it is. Harry is from a long, long line of Honeydews. They’re really quite famous in their home shire.”

Kennedy ruffles her brow. “Honeydew? Shire? You Brits are just plain weird.”

“We can’t all be from sunny California and look like you, Kennedy,” I reply with a laugh.

As though sensing our eyes on her, Scarlett looks directly up at us, smiles and waves, pointing at one of the men at her side.

“She didn’t!” I exclaim.

“Oh, I think she did,” Kennedy replies.

“I wanted a cowboy for you,” Tabitha grumps.

Lottie nudges me. “He looks good from up here. I wonder if he’s a Honeydew as well?”

Kennedy giggles. “Honeydew.”

“So, this is where the party is,” a deep, American voice behind us says.

In unison, we turn around to see Asher filling the doorway with his presence. He’s wearing a classic dinner suit—which he insists on calling a “tux”—and from his stubbled jaw to his floppy hair and dark eyes, he looks like Taylor Lautner and Theo James’s love child. If that were a biological possibility.

My girlfriends say hello and then return their attention to Scarlett and the Honeydews.

“Love the dinner suit,” I say to him.

His lips twitch. “It’s a tux and thank you. What are we looking at here?” He walks across the room and peers over our heads down at the driveway.

“Scarlett just arrived with her new guy, and she brought a friend,” Tabitha explains. “A guy friend.”

“How fascinating,” Asher deadpans.

“Oh, but it is,” Lottie insists, “because she told Zara that she was bringing her the best birthday present a single girl could get and now she’s turned up with her boyfriend and this other guy. You do the maths.”

He counts it off on his fingers. “Let me see. Scarlett plus her boyfriend plus another guy equals an uninvited party guest.”

Lottie rolls her eyes. “I can’t imagine Zara is going to give two hoots about whether he was invited or not, Asher.”

“Should we ask the birthday girl?” he says, and all four of my friends tilt their heads to look at me.

“I dunno,” I reply in the most articulate sentence of my thirty years.

Tabitha nudges me with her elbow. “Yeah, you do.”

“I’m… open to meeting him,” I say.

The corners of Asher’s lips curve up. “Right. So, you’re telling me that the poor guy down there,” he says as he gestures at the three figures moving across the driveway, “is here on a blind date with the birthday girl?”

“How does that make him a poor guy, exactly?” I ask.

“Yeah, Asher,” Tabitha adds. “Any guy would be lucky to go on a blind date with Zara. Look at her, she’s gorgeous, and she’s also a totally brilliant person.”

Asher runs his eyes over me, and it does something new and weird to my belly. I brush it off with a huff. It’s only Asher. It must be the sexy dinner suit messing with my hormones.

“You do look good tonight,” he says.

“Good? She looks phenomenal!” Kennedy insists.

Asher’s lips lift into a smile. “Okay. She looks phenomenal.”

“That’s better,” Kennedy sniffs. “Where’s your date?”

“She’s downstairs,” Asher replies.

“Are you telling us you brought a date here and then promptly disappeared to come up to see us?” I ask him.

“She’s fine. She knew one of the other guests.”

“Who did Carolyn know?”

He shakes his head. “Not Carolyn.”

I blink at him, incredulous. “Another girl? You love life has got one fast moving revolving door, Asher McMillan. I get dizzy as a spectator.”

He grins at me. “Why, thank you.”

I give him my best mother is not amused glare. “It’s not meant as a compliment.”

“Look. More cars are arriving,” Lottie says.

“Is the birthday girl ready to head down to her party?” Kennedy asks.

All eyes are on me.

I grin at my friends. “I am. Let’s do this.”