Beauty and the Bridesmaid

Chapter Fourteen

Knowing that I’m likely to be spending the whole date wondering if Damien has slept with Lela and, if not him, who else it might be, I consider cancelling it. But Anna arrives at the flat to help me get ready and I can’t think of a reason why I would need to cancel fast enough. Not one that would satisfy Anna anyway. There’s no way I can tell her about Lela until I’ve really thought about what I’m going to do.

The way Damien looks is already clouded by thoughts of him getting intimate with Lela. He’s smartly dressed (no terrible casual/formal clash, thank God) in tight black jeans and a deep-blue shirt with short sleeves that show off his strong, toned arms. But all I can think about is him wrapping those muscular arms around Lela.

It isn’t him she cheated with. It can’t be him. He’s Ash’s friend. But Lela was definitely lying when she told me the guy was a nobody, someone she’d never see again. Who else could it be if not one of her husband-to-be’s friends? It being a member of the wedding party would be a very good reason to keep his identity a secret.

Just please don’t be Damien.

“How well do you know the other guys? Ash’s friends,” I greet him without really thinking it through.

He blinks a few times and lets out a throaty laugh. “I’ve known them since I moved up here with Ash after we graduated.” He scans my appearance as though my strappy red cocktail dress will tell him why I’m asking such an odd question.

“And you lived with Ash, didn’t you? Before Lela.” I hope that just the mentioning of her name will allow me to study what sort of reaction he gives. Not that I know what the ‘I-slept-with-my-friend’s-fiancée’ reaction looks like, but I’m pretty sure that it’s not the scrutinizing way Damien is looking at me.

“We shared the flat I’m living in now.” His gaze narrows in on mine and I’m suddenly caught, not able to look away and desperate to blurt out the truth about why I’m interrogating him.  “I’m guessing this is about some wedding thing?” he says. “But you should forget all that for tonight.”

I love how closely he shares my views on Lela’s over-the-top wedding dramas. But that could all be a ploy, couldn’t it? Maybe he hates the wedding because he doesn’t want to watch the woman he loves marry someone else. And not just anybody else, but a close friend of his. I imagine that’s enough to make you hate all things bridal, and ask out the bride’s desperate best mate to make yourself feel better.

Oh God. I’ve got to stop this. I need to remember that I’m on a date with Damien, and Lela’s one-night-stand or whatever it was might not even have been him.

“You’re right,” I say, forcing a flirty smile to my lips. At least I think it looks flirty. Actually, I’m probably coming off more like I’ve just had Botox injections.

“Do you want a drink?” he asks, guiding me towards a little two-seater table by the window.

I slip my jacket off and hang it over the back of my chair. “Sweet rosé wine,” I reply. “Frizzante Pinot Grigio?”

He nods and heads to the bar, though I suspect he has no idea what I’m talking about. I know I don’t. All I know about wine comes from my semi-alcoholic flatmate. It looks impressive if you know something about wine, even if you’re just pretending like me. I hope the Pinot Grigio I’ve selected tastes okay. I’ll look a right idiot if I can’t drink it.

Damien returns a few minutes later holding two glasses and a bottle of blush-coloured liquid. He pours me a glass and I drink it quickly whilst his back is turned so that he won’t see my initial reaction to it. It actually tastes pretty good. Anna must have good taste in wine. I’m sure I’ll get the chance to thank her for it when’s she questioning me about the date.

“So,” Damien says, swilling the pink wine around his glass, “when was the last time you went on a date?”

I instantly think I’ve done something wrong. Maybe my outfit isn’t as date-appropriate as I thought it was. Maybe I look like I haven’t dated since Ash (which I absolutely have, they just all turned out to be losers or weirdoes).

“Not long ago,” I say firmly, remembering the disastrous company of Calculator Carl. Come to think of it, Lela still thinks I’m seeing him. Or seeing someone anyway. I shudder at the thought.

Damien laughs. “Not such a good one?”

“Someone Anna set me up with,” I explain.

“You mean there are men left who she hasn’t pounced on yet?” he jokes.

“Apparently. I think I should have taken that as a warning sign though. There’s got to be something wrong with a guy for Anna to not be interested.”

“What about you?” he asks, cupping his hands around his glass and leaning across the table towards me. “Do you have a type?”

Considering my taste in men has always included dark hair, olive skin, and the ability to turn any expression into some sexy, brooding look, Damien is definitely a box-ticker. I probably shouldn’t go overboard on revealing this to him though. I don’t want to scare him off on the first date.

“A type?” I repeat, sipping my drink delicately. “You mean other than tall, dark, and handsome?”

“What every woman wants I suppose.” He laughs, running a hand through his dark curls.

If it was Anna here sitting opposite Damien, she’d push her chest forward, flip her hair, and say something in a sultry voice like how he’s what every woman wants. I nibble on my bottom lip anxiously. The wine is only 11.5% volume, and I haven’t drunk nearly enough of it to start coming out with lines like that.

“What about you then? All men have a specific type, don’t they?” I muse.

“Not a specific type,” he corrects. “But I’ve always had a bit of a thing for blondes.”

And I fit that type. I’m no Barbie doll, but I’ve always been a blonde. Under normal circumstances, my insides would probably be doing a little jump for joy at the thought that I might be what he wants.

But it’s not just me who fits that criterion. So does Lela. And now I’m stuck thinking that her confession might have been about Damien.