Louise Bentley is a feisty, wild, 'let's-go-to-Capri-for-the-weekend-yeah?' kind of girl. She spends her days working at a party-planning company. Oh, and she never wants kids. Ever.
Ben Langford is a studious, quiet, 'I'm-busy-reading' sort of man...
Hoppsan! Denna bild följer inte våra riktliner för innehåll. Försök att ta bort den eller ladda upp en annan bild för att fortsätta.
He'd thought the casket would be bigger.
Ben swirled his whisky, staring down at the caramel-coloured liquid. The funeral had been held in a cemetery filled with chlorophyll-stained tombstones and the sort of stone statues that James would have hated. His older brother had a fear of them after watching a Doctor Who episode; he hadn't been able to sleep for weeks after.
Ben paused.
Swallowed more whisky.
They were at a restaurant at the edge of the graveyard now, a conservatory-style dome filled with orange trees and little white picnic tables. The overcast sky was itchy as a grey jumper. Black-clothed mourners mingled, exchanging hushed words. Hugh was building a Lego pirate ship on the floor, his small back curved like a question mark.
Ben rose.
He touched his nephew's shoulder. "How are you holding up, little man?"
Hugh looked up. Went back to his pirate ship.
Ben crouched down. "Is it okay if we go home soon?"
Hugh shrugged.
"Do you want any cake?" Ben tried.
Hugh thought about it. Shook his head.
Ben looked around the room desperately. Where the hell was Louise? She was better with kids. He searched the room for a flash of dark hair. A short, petite build. People had always mixed-up Millie and Louise, saying that the Bentley sisters looked alike, but Ben had never seen it; his sister-in-law had been beautiful and delicate, the slender stem of a flower.
And Louise was...
Well.
She was Louise Bentley.
Larger than life. A blazing supernova. A pain in the arse, most of the time, although Ben was begrudgingly grateful for her today; she had spent the last few hours flitting from table-to-table, shaking hands, and accepting flowers and murmuring "thank-you" to people that expressed condolences. She was good at this.
Then again, Ben thought, she hosted events for a living. Unlike him, Louise liked people, so he wasn't sure why he was surprised.
"Ben?" a voice called.
He turned.
Andrew Hazelton-Scott was approaching, his blond hair rumpled and dark shadows under his eyes. A black tie hung loosely around his neck, although Ben knew that it was intentional; Andrew had gone to Eton. He knew exactly how to tie a Windsor knot.
