Page 29

We’d only met a handful of times back when I was a teenager, but the man sitting nearby on the bed was a different story. His brother, Tristan, and, presumably, his best man, was someone I’d never forget. It had been almost twenty years, and still I remembered him like it was yesterday. Those deep, honest, handsome brown eyes, the dark blond hair with a slight wave to it. The trim, athletic physique he once had from playing rugby had filled out into the broad, solid shape of a fully grown man.

I’d been tempted to look him up more than once over the years. But every time, I remembered how carelessly I’d abandoned him back when we were teenagers, and I’d changed my mind, convinced myself he wouldn’t want to hear from the girl who’d taken his help and then left without a trace.

My brain short-circuited as I took him in, my composure slipping as I struggled to formulate words. Moments ago, I’d felt capable and in charge. A little put out by the wedding planner situation but not in the least bit stressed since I’d dealt with worse. But now … now I was internally spiralling, my stomach a whirl of anxiety as I waited for the moment he recognised me to hit. Sure, I’d known him instantly, but Tristan looked almost the exact same. I, on the other hand, had changed a lot.

Okay, Erin, just do your job. If he remembers you, there’s nothing you can do about it. You just have to get through the day.

I blinked, forcing my gaze away from Tristan and back to his brother. I’d planned on dealing with the best man, but since I was far too frazzled to address Tristan directly, I looked to Derek instead.

“So sorry to interrupt,” I said, my voice a little uneven. “But, um, I just found your wedding planner in one of our storage rooms crying her eyes out. Perhaps someone should make sure she’s okay?”

From the look on Derek’s face, he was already aware of the issue with the wedding planner and had hoped the situation would’ve resolved itself by now.

“All right, thank you for letting me know. I’ll take care of it,” he said with a heavy sigh, reaching for his phone. I didn’t envy whoever was going to be tasked with dealing with the yelling, crying woman downstairs.

“Great,” I said, unable to prevent myself from glancing at Tristan once more. His complete attention was on me, a friendly but otherwise normal smile on his face, and it was at that moment that I realised something vital: He didn’t remember me at all.

For a fleeting second, I felt a flicker of hurt. I mean, of course he didn’t remember me. It had been two decades, and we’d only known one another for a matter of weeks. Our brief time together had obviously had a much deeper impact on me than it had on him, and it made sense. I’d been going through a rough time, and Tristan had helped me during a period I wouldn’t have gotten through so easily without him. He, on the other, hand, had a really good life with a family who loved him and friends who adored him. He hadn’t needed me like I’d needed him.

Ugh, I was being ridiculous. It was good that he didn’t remember me. I should be relieved because it meant if I could just make it through the wedding, then I could avoid the uncomfortable questions he might ask, like, what happened to you all those years ago? And why did you leave without saying goodbye in person? Why did you never get back in touch?

Luckily, my appearance was completely different to the malnourished, skinny, desperate girl I was back then. Now I had a full figure, good nutrition, and a roof over my head. I also had long, curly, golden-brown hair, unlike the short, black pixie cut I’d sported back when we knew each other. Long gone was my nose ring and Goth girl wardrobe. Now, I was an ordinary thirty-seven-year-old woman who bore very little resemblance to her teenage self.

There was absolutely no reason why Tristan should remember me, so long as I kept out of his way.

I was walking to the function room to check that everything was ready for the ceremony when I was intercepted by Samara. She was one of the hotel’s receptionists and just about my favourite person that I worked with. My sister, Sloane, used to do her job, but after she was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia a couple of years ago, she’d had to take a career break. She still hoped to be able to return to work at some point, but the chronic pain and fatigue made it difficult. I hated that her life had turned out this way, but at least she had her husband, Cooke. That man loved her like she deserved to be loved. Honestly, I was fairly nihilistic when it came to relationships, but my sister and Cooke were so good together that they almost gave me hope.

“Rinnie, oh my goodness, I’m so glad you’re back,” Samara exclaimed, pulling me into an enthusiastic hug.

Everyone at the hotel called me Rinnie rather than my given name, Erin. It had become a thing back when Sloane and I had first moved in with Uncle Fred and Aunt Nessa. We’d been fleeing Sloane’s scummy, drug dealing ex-boyfriend, Graham, at the time, and we’d needed to take extra precautions to ensure he didn’t find us. So, I’d started going by the nickname my dad had given me as a kid, Rinnie, and had even gone so far as to change it by deed poll. Sloane, too, had taken to using her middle name, Anne. The Anne thing had faded away after a couple of years, and she’d reverted back to Sloane, but Rinnie had stuck. Today of all days I was glad that it did because if Tristan Balfe heard anyone call me Erin, it might’ve jogged his memory.

“It’s been dull around here without you,” Samara went on, her summery, flower-scented perfume filling my nose while I almost caught a mouthful of her wavy brown hair from the vigour of her hug. Samara had come to Ireland from Brazil over a decade ago, and she was someone I’d felt an instant connection with. When we’d only known each other for a couple of weeks, it had already felt like she’d been my friend for my entire life.

I chuckled and hugged her back before letting go. “I don’t believe that for a second. This wedding is turning out to be quite the dramatic affair.”

Her eyes flared as she drew closer, her tone hushed, “You’ve heard about the planner and her big breakup? Fred has had to step in and take the reins. If it weren’t for him, the entire day might’ve been a disaster.” She paused to check her watch. “Well, it looks like we’re only an hour out from the ceremony. Once that goes off without a hitch, we should have a little more space to breathe. Everyone will start getting drunk, so if things turn a little sideways, few will notice.”

I laughed. “Very true. Let’s meet in the staff room in an hour for a catch up, yeah?” I said, squeezing her arm. “I’ll tell you all about Italy.”

“Oh, I can’t wait!”

I was busy helping with a few last-minute tasks, namely the flower arrangement that was set up around the entrance to the function room, and was passing by the room next to the bridal suite when I noticed the door was slightly ajar. Inside sat the wedding planner, and another woman with long, silky blonde hair knelt in front of her, a tissue in hand as she reached up to dab the woman’s eyes.

“Relationships are so tough,” the kneeling woman said, “I’ve had my share of disappointments, too, but we pick ourselves up and move on. I always tell myself that what’s for me won’t go by me, so if something doesn’t work out, it was never meant to be anyway.”

“I’m not sure I’m ready to be quite so pragmatic yet,” the wedding planner replied with a sniffle, and the sadness in her voice reminded me of a time when I’d sounded exactly like her.

My last relationship had ended a little over six years ago, and we’d been together for seven. Even though I’d been the one to end it, I was completely heartbroken at the time. My ex, Zach, still lived in town and was the local mechanic. I met him when I was twenty-four, and he was at the hotel for his brother’s birthday. He was twenty-seven and just so charming and handsome and fun. I got completely swept up in him, fell hard and spent the next seven years doing things wildly outside of my comfort zone in order to please him.

Zach was into BDSM, which meant ordinary sex just didn’t do it for him. I was, by nature, completely vanilla, but I loved him so much and didn’t want to lose him, so I adjusted to his needs. Forcing myself to do things I didn’t want to do, to be someone I wasn’t, stripped away so much of my happiness over the years that I’d started to feel like a living ghost. Despite still being in love with Zach, I began to hate sex, and I finally understood a little of what my sister had gone through with her scumbag ex, Graham.

She’d ignored so many red flags in the hopes that he would one day love her like she needed to be loved before finally reaching the realisation that he never would.

Even though he wasn’t as terrible of a person as Graham, I made that same realisation about Zach. He just needed things that I couldn’t give him, so after numerous sessions with a therapist I finally built up the courage to end the relationship. He’d taken it badly at first, but it didn’t take long for him to hook up with a woman he’d met at the local BDSM group. Her name was Mairéad, and she and Zach were much better suited to one another.

I still missed him sometimes when I got lonely, but I was so much happier now. Being single might have its downsides, but at least I didn’t have to slowly kill my soul by having sex I hated just to keep a man’s love.

“Hey,” said the kneeling woman, who had now risen to stand. “You might not be ready yet, but you can get through today. When you go home tonight, you have my permission to fall apart again. But you need to make me a promise, okay?”