“You look like you’re glowing,” he murmured. “Like you’re the one who just got married.”
Josie’s stomach pulsed a little, but she tried to laugh it off, make it casual. “I love it here,” she admitted. And it was beyond true. Somehow, everything seemed just a little bit better, walking under the moonlight with a castle just there. She laughed again, softly. She was sure it couldn’t be just her who felt like that. His lip did that almost-smile thing as he watched her, maybe trying to figure out the joke, and his eyes looked bright, absorbing some of the moonlight. They fell into silence and she felt that slightly awkward need to fill it. “I never even knew this place existed. Any of this, I mean.” She gestured with her free hand, trying not just to encompass the castle and the grounds, but beyond that, right to Edinburgh itself. “But now that I’ve been here, I feel like it already holds a place in my heart. Does that make sense?”
He nodded. “At least you know about it, all of it, now.”
She huffed out a laugh. “And now all future weddings will pale in comparison to this.” But she felt her smile dim a little, and wrapped her arms around herself.
“Are you OK?” Max asked softly.
She nodded, her head feeling a bit too heavy on her neck. She hadn’t had that much to drink, had she? “Yes. I’m OK, yes, I’m just thinking.”
“About?”
“It’s just, my parents,” she said, the words tasting a little thick and tingly on her tongue. OK, so maybe she should have stopped one or two glasses ago. But then, what was the harm? He already knew about her parents anyway. “It hits me every now and then,” she said quietly, “the things they won’t be here for. Like when I passed my driving test, when I graduated from Exeter. And I might never get married—who knows?—but if I do, they won’t be here to see it.” She looked up to see his eyebrows pulling together, his eyes focused on her face. He opened his mouth to speak and she shook her head. “I don’t mean…It’s sad, but it’s just…an acceptance too, I guess. It’s the type of sadness that’s both more and less than the need to cry or sob or whatever.” She cocked her head up at him, tried a little smile. “It’s not going to ruin my night, I’m not going to break down about it or anything. It just…is, I suppose.”
“Josie…”
“I’m OK,” she repeated. “Really. It’s something I’ve learned to carry around with me, but in some ways I’m glad of that, because it means I loved them, and I remember them, you know?” She glanced up, and he nodded, though the light in his eyes had dimmed slightly. She sighed. “And that part of me, it’s part of what makes me who I am, and I can’t hate that, because, most of the time, I don’t hate who I am.”
He reached out, tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. She should move away. She really should. “I don’t hate who you are, either.” His voice was almost a whisper. “Any of the time.”
“To be fair, you probably don’t know me well enough to qualify like that,” she said lightly.
He moved to step even closer and she took a deliberate step back, shook her head. She may be tipsy, but she knew perfectly well what would happen if he got even closer, and knew categorically that it was a bad idea. She took another step backward, saw the way his expression changed, closed off to that poker face, as he slipped his hands into his trouser pockets.
“Goodnight, Max,” she said firmly, and turned to walk away from the allure of the moonlight, and back to the safety of the party.
Josie woke to the sound of banging at her door and groaned, rolling over to one side. The banging just increased. Bloody Bia. She hadn’t come home last night, presumably off with her Scottish hunk, and had now probably forgotten her room key.
Josie threw off the covers, grimacing when her head pounded with the movement. She was frowning when she opened the door, and that frown only intensified, accompanied by a semi-painful lurch of her stomach, when she saw who it was. “Max?” She raised her hand to her hair, which was matted from where she hadn’t bothered to brush it out last night. “What do you want?” It came out clipped and harsh enough that she blew out a breath. “I mean, it’s early—is something wrong?”
“No, sorry, I…” He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck and looked at her for a moment. Still saying nothing, he rocked back on his heels, his hair slightly damp, as if he’d just gotten out of the shower, looking decidedly fresher than she felt. She folded one arm across her chest, only now noticing that she’d done the buttons up wrong on her flannel pajamas last night, so her top was pulled all wonky. And she was sure she didn’t smell as nice as him, all citrusy and enticing. He opened his mouth, shut it again, then raised his eyebrows. “Early?” he asked, his voice too gruff to pull off the totally casual tone. “It’s nine a.m.”