“My plus one’s running a little late,” Erin said, indicating the empty seat. She shot a small smile at Josie, tilted her head. How could even that action exude class? “Nice to see you again.”
Josie forced out the words “You too,” at the same time as Tom grumbled, “See, she’s allowed a plus one.”
Graeme immediately engaged Erin in conversation, which Josie was thankful for, because it meant all she had to do was “mmm” in agreement occasionally, whilst trying both not to study Erin and not to look around the room, waiting for her plus one’s imminent arrival. Her body felt twitchy, unable to concentrate on anything, and she didn’t realize she’d drunk a full glass of champagne until the waiter came round to top her up. The starters—asparagus and poached egg for the vegetarians, asparagus wrapped in Parma ham for the omnivores—were coming out and they were all talking about how they knew the bride and groom—Erin was one of John’s best friends from school, apparently—by the time Erin’s plus one arrived.
And there he was.
Max.
Max, of all bloody people, was here, at her friend’s wedding. Here with his drop-dead gorgeous girlfriend, while she was so completely and obviously single, sat next to John’s fat uncle. She wanted to slam her head down on the table. She wanted to get up and leave so she didn’t have to face him, so she didn’t have to smile and pretend that she was totally over him, that she had literally not given him a moment’s thought since she’d bumped into him in New York, that of course he’d had nothing to do with why she’d come home again.
But she couldn’t do either of those things. Instead all she could do was watch as he crossed the room toward them, looking uncharacteristically flustered, auburn hair a little messed up, the cuffs of his dark grey shirt not done up properly, his tie on a little wonky. He was thinner than when she’d last seen him, she thought, and his face was a little pale, like he could do with a good night’s sleep, but other than that he looked just as handsome as ever, still moving with the long stride that she remembered so well.
“Cutting it a bit fine, aren’t we?” Erin hissed as he sat down.
Max mumbled his apologies, straightened his tie—waving away Erin’s help—then looked over across the table, directly at Josie. Their eyes held, and she felt her heart jolt, even as she refused to look away, refused to let on that she was thrown by it. The rest of the table could have been utterly silent or in full conversational flow, for all she knew in that moment.
Max gave her a small nod, then cleared his throat. “Hi,” he said simply. He didn’t look surprised enough to see her here, she thought bitterly. He was sitting straight, perhaps a little tense, but his gaze was measured on hers. Maybe he’d known she would be here, given whose wedding it was, whereas she could have had no idea. He’d met Laura and John, hadn’t he? He would have known that she must be coming to Laura’s wedding.
Josie nodded back. “Hey.” OK, good, her voice sounded even, casual. She took another sip of her champagne, trying to come to terms with the slight stumble of her heart, the automatic flare of her pulse against her wrist. Nearly five months since she’d left him in that Brooklyn gallery and she’d neither seen nor heard from him since—nor, to be fair, had she tried to get in touch herself. Why would she? They’d both been in relationships and even if hers had crashed and burned, his, apparently, had not.
Josie turned to Graeme, angling herself away from Erin and Max. Jess, legend that she was, had clearly picked up some sort of vibe, because she joined in the conversation with Graeme, taking over and merrily chatting away about what her job at Peacock’s entailed, ignoring Graeme’s interjections and allowing Josie to just “hmm” occasionally, whilst trying not to glance over her shoulder, not to listen in to what Tom, Max, and Erin were talking about. God, why the hell couldn’t Bia have been here tonight? Josie felt her head throb and set her champagne aside, picking up her sparkling water instead.
As the starters were cleared away, Laura got to her feet in the middle of the long bench table, and everything went quiet. She smiled serenely around the room. “Thanks, everyone. As you all know, the main speeches are tomorrow, but it’s my turn this evening. I won’t be saying a word tomorrow, because my only job then is to look beautiful.” A soft hum of laughter rippled across the room. “I just want to thank you all for being here, and for my half of you, thanks for trekking all the way to Scotland.” She carried on with the thanks, made a few jokes, told of how she’d first met John at an event he was writing up for an online culture site. Her voice was smooth and confident, her posture relaxed—she’d always been good at public speaking, Josie remembered. If she’d ever been nervous about it, she’d never let on.