Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

When David Tennant walked into her shop, Catherine nearly tripped and dropped the very expensive vase she had been carrying for the new arrangement. And it wasn’t because David Tennant was ridiculously attractive, emphasis on the ridiculous, or because he was the most famous person ever to walk into her shop (there had also been that other bloke, the guitarist what’s his name of some group or other, who had come in once to ask for directions...).

No, this wasn’t at all why she nearly tripped. The reason why she had put in jeopardy the vase and possibly her own life (had her mother seen what she’d done to the vase), was because David Tennant hadn’t walked in alone. He’d walked in accompanied by a blonde and a dog, and the latter had run in front of her as she was just about to put down the vase.

“Oh, I apologize” said the blonde blushing and picking up the dog immediately.

“I told you I should have stayed outside with it,” whispered Tennant in the blonde’s ear, but loud enough for Catherine to hear.

“Nonsense,” the blonde insisted. “We need to pick the flowers together.”

“That’s quite alright,” Catherine said politely to the pair as she put the vase down as far away from the dog as possible. “How may I help you?”

“Well, we were wondering...,” the blonde began. “We’d like to keep this as quiet as possible... That’s why we chose your shop, it’s small but beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she replied, non-committal, “And?”

“We’re getting married,” she announced, beaming at her.

“But we don’t want the press getting involved. We’re both actors,” he explained.

She wanted to laugh. She knew perfectly well who he was, and she’d seen her in the papers, photographed next to him. Bouncy little cute thing, a few years his junior but absolutely adorable. Hell, she’d probably marry her too, she was so cute. And apparently she was an actress as well. How quaint.

“I know who you are, Mr. Tennant. And congratulations,” she added to both of them. “No worries, we’re very discreet. As you say, this is a very small business, just me and my mum and she’s retired now, so it’s mostly just me. No one will ask any questions.”

“Thank you,” he said, smiling at her. But then he had looked at her, straight in the eye, and it was like... no, of course not, it was just, a cute, famous, and very engaged guy looking at her in gratitude. But why couldn’t she stop looking at him? And why did he not look away, either?

“Anyway, so we’d like to know what you have,” said the blonde. Relieved by the interruption, she turned towards the girl and smiled.

“Certainly, what’s your idea?” she asked the pair.

And this was how Catherine Ford, dedicated florist, happened to meet the most famous bloke in town. 

*

For two weeks, everything had been going great. Jenny, for that was the blonde’s name, was in fact a sweetheart and had insisted she call her by her first name. After that first day at the shop, she had been the one to make most of the decisions and she and Catherine were really getting along. Jenny had decided Catherine would be in charge not only of the flower arrangements, but of the whole theme for the wedding.

Catherine had told her repeatedly that she’d never done something like this before, she only ever did the flowers, but when Jenny had asked who’d done the interior design of their shop, Catherine had to confess that it was her doing and that had settled it.

And so, for the past couple of weeks, Jenny and Catherine had been working on all the details of the ceremony. It was a challenge for Catherine, and she’d always liked a challenge.

Two weeks into their planning, however, and only a month before the wedding, David had shown up at the flower shop instead of Jenny, saying he’d be taking over since Jenny had been offered a film role she couldn’t refuse. He told her she’d be back a week before the wedding to finish everything and fix everything David would have no doubt managed to botch-up by then.

That’s when it all started going pear shaped. If she’d gotten along with Jenny, she certainly couldn’t say the same for David. Not only was his taste completely the opposite of that of his future wife, he was impatient with Catherine, and frankly, a bit stuck up. He’d seemed really nice and sweet the first time they met, but after a week of working with him, she had definitely changed her mind. All he did was moan about how this was too big a wedding, how the press would be all over them...

“You don’t sound like a man who wants to get married,” she said one day, after hearing one complaint too many.

“I’m sorry?” he asked astounded at her impertinence.

“I’m just saying... if it’s all so much of a bother, why get married at all?”

“I really don’t think that’s any of your business,” he looked at her wide-eyed.

“No, it isn’t, you’re right,” she agreed, going back to the scrapbook of colours she was showing him for the tables.

“It’s not that I don’t want to get married,” he continued. “But I would have been happy with a small ceremony with only close friends and family. Just the people I love. All this is really getting out of hand.”

“It’s not my business, you were right, I apologise.”

“But she doesn’t seem to get that,” he went on, seemingly not caring whether he was being listened to or not. “She keeps wanting more and more. And now this. How the hell am I supposed to know which colours go with what?”

“Well, that’s what I’m here for,” she suggested, trying to catch his wondering gaze.

“I don’t give a shite what colours the tables are, or what flowers go where. I really don’t. I don’t even like flowers!”

Well, wasn’t he a dear? Catherine sighed and closed the scrapbook. “I think we’re done for today, Mr. Tennant. I’ll choose the colours myself, I know which ones Jen- Mrs. Tennant will like. If you could show yourself out, please.”

For the first time, David looked at her surprised. She could imagine his train of thought. Was this simple mortal, a florist, kicking him out? Too stunned to say anything, he picked up his things and showed himself out.

Catherine sighed again and collapsed on a chair. Two weeks until Jenny came back. Time couldn’t pass quickly enough.

*

It was 1am when the doorbell of the shop rang.

Who could it be at this hour? The fact that she’d had insomnia for years and wasn’t asleep didn’t mean people could go about ringing her doorbell at these ungodly hours.

She didn’t bother getting dressed. Whoever it was, they should well know she was already in her pyjamas, or her nightgown, as the case was.

It was when she realised who it was that she regretted not putting something else on. David bloody Tennant, the same man who she’d practically kicked out of her shop not a few hours ago, was standing in front of her door, looking rather miserable and possibly drunk.

She hurried to the door to let him in. However little he liked the poor sod, she also didn’t want someone to catch a photograph of him in that state. If anything for Jenny.

“Come in,” she said, closing the door behind him.

“’ello,” he offered, sinking unto a chair he had helped himself to.

“Right." She closed the drapes of the windows so no one could see from the outside. “Tea?”

He grunted into what she interpreted as a yes. A few minutes later, she was handing him a cuppa. He took it from her, smiling warily and buried his face into the mug.

“Ok...” she ventured. “I imagine there’s a reason why you’re here?”

He looked up at her and nodded.

“Right. Care to share?”

“I’m sorry, about before,” he said. “I was a dick.”

“Yeah,” she agreed.

He looked up at her, slightly amused. “You don’t have to be so quick to agree, you know?”

“Well, you were,” she said, tilting her head. “Apology accepted. That’s not why you came though, is it?”

“I know you don’t like me,” he said, ignoring her question. “You’ve made it perfectly clear.”

She raised an eyebrow and he continued. “You let me into your house at 1am and you make me a cuppa, but you still don’t like me a bit.”

“Why should I?” she asked curiously.

“No reason. But I do like you, you know.”

“Is that so? You really do go out of your way to show it, sweetheart. Could have fooled me.”

“I’m a pretty good actor,” he slurred making her snort. “I like you because you don’t take crap from anyone, especially me.”

“That’s me, dear. Life gives me enough crap as it is, I’m not about to take on anyone else’s. No matter how famous they are.”

“So that’s it.”

“What is?”

“You don’t like me because I’m famous?”

“Oh, believe you me, it has nothing to do with how famous you are.”

“Fair enough,” he granted.

“So...” she continued. “You haven’t said.”

He looked at her.

“Why are you here?” she clarified. She didn’t think she wanted to know. She feared the worse and she was not sure she was ready to be anyone’s therapist at the moment, but the sooner they got this out, the sooner it would all be over.

“I can’t do it,” he admitted, eyes on the floor. “It’s not the big wedding... it’s just... not right.”

Well, there it was. Now what?

“I don’t mean to be rude...”

“Which means you’re going to be,” he cut in.

“...but what part of ‘florist’ mislead you into thinking I was a shrink?”

He looked up at her, lips slightly curled into a smile, and then back down again. Being drunk made him smile a bit more, she noted. It suited him.

“I know, I know this is ridiculous,” he said finally. “I know I shouldn’t have come. But after what you said, today, I thought... I don’t know what I thought.”

“That I was right?”

“Yes... I shouldn’t be getting married at all.”

“Mr. Tennant,” she began, perfectly aware of how cold it was addressing him by his last name, even if that was how she always addressed him.

“David,” he interrupted, looking at her pleadingly, asking her to understand.

“David, dear, I don’t think I’m the right person to talk to about his. I hardly know you or your fiancée. If anything, I’d be more inclined to talk to her, rather than you. And to be honest, I don’t really...”

“I’m not here to talk,” he said, stopping her.

She gasped at the sight of him. His eyes had gone dark and his breathing shallow. Was it the alcohol?

“I didn’t come here to talk,” he repeated, standing up slowly from his chair and walking towards Catherine, who was frozen in place in a nearby chair.

He was getting too close to her and why wasn’t she stopping him? Why wasn’t she getting away? Why couldn’t she move?

“I don’t want to talk, I don’t want to think, I just want to...” he lowered his gaze to her lips, “if you’ll let me,” he continued, licking his own lips and making Catherine’s gaze involuntarily drop to his mouth.

“Catherine,” he whispered. The first time he’d ever used her first name. He was so very close to her, she could feel his breath against her mouth, and then on her neck, sending a shiver down her spine as he got even closer... Was he going to kiss her? Then he pulled back again, to look at her, bringing his hand up to her face, not quite touching her. This was getting ridiculous. Why hadn’t she moved yet? David’s thumb brushed her bottom lip, making her lips part and her breath catch.

“I came here because you don’t like me,” he breathed and then crushed his lips to her roughly.

For a moment it was all lips and mouths, and hot and wet, and tongue and teeth. And Catherine just couldn’t think straight because his hands were pressing her against him, and finding their way under her nightgown, and when had she stood up? And this was going way too fast, because David’s hand was already between her legs, pressing his palm against her clit over her knickers.

“David, stop,” she moaned, throwing her head back as David’s mouth ravished her neck. “We can’t,” she insisted half-heartedly as his hand kept working her over the knickers. “Jenny,” she tried, hoping the name would bring some sense into the man.

“Shut up,” he said, bringing his lips to her again. “I said I don’t want to think. Please.”

This wasn’t right and she knew it, and if he was too drunk to see it, she wasn’t. He would regret this in the morning and more importantly, so would she. She had come to like Jenny, and even if she hadn’t, she just wasn’t the type of person who would sleep with someone’s fiancée. So she gathered all her strength and pushed him away, missing his heated touch as soon as it was gone.

“I’m sorry, David, but you’re drunk and we’re both going to regret this in the morning.”

“Are you rejecting me?” he asked both hurt and perplex.

She had to laugh. “What, has that never happened to you before?”

He shook his head in confusion, still panting and flushed.

“How could a fat florist reject the dashing David Tennant, eh? Well, there you have it.”

“That’s not what I fucking meant at all,” he huffed in frustration. “God, you really are difficult.” She noticed his arousal was still quite apparent under his trousers. She nearly felt sorry for him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He looked up, surprised. “Excuse me?”

“You heard,” she chided. “I’m not going to repeat it.”

His expression softened into a hint of a smile. “You’re sorry but you’re still not going to shag me?”

She shook her head and he nodded in understanding.

“I should go, then,” he said.

“You could stay.” It was out before she had even realised what she was saying.

“What?!” And apparently he was just as shocked to hear it as she was.

“I said you could stay. You’re in a bad way. You can’t go back to yours like this, the press would have a field day.”

He looked at her suspiciously, as if maybe this was all a cunning master plan to cut his dick off while he slept. Well, there was an idea.

“Thank you,” he finally said.

She nodded and gestured for him to follow her up the stairs.

What had she gotten herself into?

*

When she woke up the next morning, she was relieved to find that David was no longer sleeping on the couch where she had left him. Things had been awkward enough last night as she gave him the blankets and disappeared into her bedroom, she didn’t want to imagine what they would have been like in the morning light. She had lain awake for hours after that, running the events of the night over in her head. Why hadn’t she moved? Why had she let him kiss her? And most of all... why was there a tiny (minuscule!) part of her that regretted having stopped him?

As she gathered up the blankets, she noticed a handwritten note and a muffin on the coffee table. She read the note as she munched on the (banana-nut) muffin, it said:

‘Dear Catherine,

I hope we can forget about last night. You were right on all your assessments about me, essentially, that I’m a dick.’

Well, he’d said that, not her...

‘I’m sorry for assuming... I apologise for my general behaviour, last night and all of this week. I clearly have a lot of things to figure out, so you’ll understand if I have to stop coming to your shop for a while.

I know that you’ll be discreet about this with Jenny. I’d rather she not know about any of this just yet, not when it may all amount to nothing. I will continue to tell her things are moving along and I would ask you, please, to make the remaining decisions yourself. I was useless, anyway.

Please, find attached a check for all your troubles,

Sincerely,
D. T.’

She turned the paper around, and indeed, there was a generous check clipped to it.

Oh, the nerve!

She didn’t know whether to be glad to be rid of him, or angry for his assumptions, and most of all for the bloody check... in account of what? To keep her quiet about having tried to shag her? To make up for neglecting his duties?

Pride told her to tear up the check and teach him a lesson, but her pragmatic side told her to keep it. And Catherine had always been a bit of a pragmatic.

She refused, however, to let him off the hook that easily so she quickly scribbled some lines in reply:

‘Dear Mr. Tennant,’

Yes, she admitted that if after yesterday’s events he had referred to her as Ms. Ford she would have had his balls on a silver platter, but she couldn’t resist going back to their usual formalities.

‘Dear Mr. Tennant,

I respect your decision.

I will keep you updated on my choices and will expect you to ok them promptly, in order to place the pertinent orders.

I will keep you posted.
C.F.’

From that day on the routine went as follows: At the end of the day, Catherine would put her sample picks or photographs or sometimes merely a written explanation on an envelope and mail them to David through urgent delivery (and no, email was not an option Mr. Tennand and yes, the cost would of course be added to your expenses, Mr. Tennant) and then wait for his ok which came indiscriminately and without fail. Then she would place the pertinent order and move on to the next decision.

Little by little, all the details of the wedding were falling into place, whether Mr. Tennant was ready for it or not.

It was certainly an improvement from the previous week with him questioning all her decisions, but it also brought painfully uncomfortable moments such as Jenny calling to know how everything was going. According to Jenny, David was simply useless describing things and would Catherine please, tell her everything about the decisions David and her had been making for the past couple of weeks.

Catherine had swallowed hard, congratulated herself on having kept the check which clearly she deserved, and proceeded to lie about how great everything was, how well David knew Jenny and how much she was going to love everything. Well, that last bit she hoped was true, for Catherine really was doing her best to satisfy Jenny’s taste.

Ten days into their routine and four Jenny phone-calls later, the man deigned himself to come back. As Catherine was about to close, her daily letter already on its way, David walked in. He looked better than he had last time she’d seen him; much better in fact. He looked unusually elegant, as if he were dressed for the Opera or some other such posh activity famous actors would engage themselves in.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” she greeted him, closing the door behind him and putting up a ‘CLOSED’ sign.

“Missed me then, have you?” he retorted. A grin on his face that said he knew perfectly well that she hadn’t.

“Desperately, Mr. Tennant.”

He nodded, still smiling, wondering around the room as he touched random things with his index finger, as if trying to gauche the amount of dust in the surroundings. Catherine knew he would find none.

“I sent some menu suggestions today; you may want to run them by your fiancée before you agree to them.” He nodded. “If she’s still your fiancée...” she added, as an afterthought. That caught his attention and made him turn towards her.

“Hello,” she said when he finally looked at her.

“I know we didn’t get off to a good start, Mrs. Ford. Can I call you Catherine?” She nodded briefly. “But I’m ready to start over. Jenny is coming in less than a week, and she deserves everything. She deserves the wedding of her dreams. She deserves the flowers and the crowds. And most of all she deserves a husband who will be there for her. For whatever she needs, including to plan this wedding.” He finished, as if he’d been rehearsing. And who knew, maybe he had, you never could tell with this actor lot.

“Are you quite finished?” she asked him. He nodded. “Well, then, let’s get to work.”

“Now?” he looked at her surprised.

“Got a better idea? We’re already far behind enough as is...”

He glanced at his watch and then at his outfit, but finally nodded walking towards her. “No time like the present.”

Catherine pulled out a chair for him and dug up the scrapbooks and brochures laying them on the table in front of him.

This would be a long night. Secretly, she really hoped she had ruined his Opera plans.

*

David Tennant was a changed man.

The next few days went by without incident. David would show up after lunch, Catherine would close the shop for the day and together they’d go through all the details of the wedding. And unlike the first week, not everything was awful, and unlike the second week, not everything was ‘ok’. They disagreed sometimes, agreed some others, and basically discussed things as they should have done from the start.

She still couldn’t say she liked the man, but he had become much more tolerable.

“Jenny is coming back tomorrow,” he said suddenly, putting the foam and basket down. (Ah, yes. The man still felt so guilty about his previous absence, she had even tricked him into flower arranging. He was personally in charge of placing the foam inside the baskets so the flowers of the prototype bouquets would stick properly.)

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Well, it is for you. You won’t have to deal with me anymore.”

“Eh,” she said, tilting her head. “Now that I’ve got you quietly foaming the baskets, you’re almost ok.”

“Thank you. High praise coming from you.”

“Just don’t let it go up to your head. Big enough as it is.”

“Hey! My head is perfectly average.”

“No, you’re right. It’s just the skinny frame, then, making it look oversized.”

“Oversized?” he echoed in disbelief.

“Large. Big.”

He opened his mouth to answer but settled for frowning at her, holding back a smile, and proceeded to get back to his foam.

“It is a good thing,” he murmured a few moments later.

“Good,” she said just as quietly, placing flowers on a foamed basket. “You’re lucky, I hope you know that. She’s a really great girl.”

He looked at her. “I know. I know I’m lucky.”

“Good.”

She could feel him still watching her as she was arranging the flowers. It made her nervous and she wished he would stop.

“What about you?”

“What about me,” she said, not looking up from her chores.

“Well, you know all about my miseries. What about yours? Is there anyone?”

She looked at him slightly amused. “Since when are you and I friends?”

“You’ve got me foaming baskets.”

“Yes, that’s right. Quietly foaming baskets. Not chatting. Not befriending me. Certainly not talking about my personal life.”

“So there’s no one,” he concluded. Which was, essentially, the painfully true bottom line of what she had said.

“That’s one way of putting it,” she replied dismissively.

“What’s the other way of putting it?” he asked, clearly pleased that he was making her so uncomfortable.

“You’re doing it all wrong. If you press the foam down like that, the water drains out and the flowers will dry before Jenny even gets to see them.”

“Sorry.” He discarded the ruined piece of foam and cut up another piece. “You were saying...”

“I was saying, being quiet suits you.”

“Aw, stop it. All those compliments, you’re making me blush.”

She rolled her eyes at him and went back to her flowers.

“So today is our last day together,” he said after a while.

“If I’m lucky.”

“What would you say to dinner? My treat. To celebrate your getting rid of me.”

Was he joking? A week ago they could hardly see each other, now they had come to a fragile peace treaty and he already wanted to take her out to dinner? Besides, they were certain to be spotted and a week before his wedding, too. He HAD to be joking.

“Why not,” she said. “And maybe pop around for drinks later?” she added, injecting as much sarcasm as she could convey.

“Oh! I know just the place,” he piped. And he looked... excited. Not sarcastic, not like he was taking the piss. He actually looked excited. She panicked.

“Please say you’re taking the piss.”

“What?” he looked genuinely confused.

“Pease say you’re not actually asking me to dinner.”

“Why not?”

“Why not? Because!”

“Because?”

“You’re getting married in a week!”

"So? I’m not asking you out on a date. I only want to take you to dinner, as a thank you for putting up with me these past weeks.”

“Still, it’s a ridiculous idea. What if the press sees us?”

“You let me worry about this, alright? I know exactly where to go and not get spotted.”

“We’re not friends,” she said weakly. He looked at her with what seemed like a genuinely sad expression.

“Why do you resist me like that? I know I made a mess of things to begin with, but I’ve been trying to make up for it. I really have. Am I really that bad?”

He looked at her like he was trying to see himself in her eyes, trying to see the monster she said she saw in him. But he wouldn’t find it there, no matter how hard he looked, because in truth, she didn’t see a monster in him at all. She saw... a man. Not even a famous man, anymore. Just a man confused and trying. He saw a man trying to take control of his life, trying to make the right decisions, trying to find out who he was.

Not a monster.

“I would like to,” she whispered. “Have dinner with you.”

And if only for the grin that spread across his face at her answer, it would be worth trying out this dinner thing together.

“No drinks, though,” she added as second thought. “I don’t drink.”

“You don’t? You never cease to surprise me, Catherine Ford.”

*

David certainly knew how to pick them. The restaurant was a small place in Islington, no one would have looked at it twice walking by, but it was absolutely stunning inside. They had an interior private patio, set out with just one table for two, with candles and flowers and the whole charade.

“You come here often?” she asked him, fully aware she was giving away how impressed she was by all this.

“You approve?”

The waiter took their coats and pulled out a chair for her.

“I do,” she said picking up a menu. He took it from her before she’d even had time to open it.

 “What...?” she began, trying to get it back.

“Let me, ok?” he said. He gestured to the waiter as if he already had the whole thing planned. Did he?

“I don’t eat meat,” she said, as soon as she realised she didn’t get to find out what he had ordered for her.

“I know.”

She blinked. How could he know?

“You mentioned it the other day, when we ordered pizza.”

That’s right, they had ordered pizza. It was the day that he’d come back and she’d make him work through dinner. He’d picked up on her not eating meat?

“Anyway, just to be safe, it’s all vegan.”

“I don’t like veggies, either.”

He laughed. “You’ll like this.”

“You’re awfully certain.”

“If you don’t like it, you get to ask of me anything you want.”

“Anything?”

“Aye, anything at all. I’ll even come to your shop once a week for a month to foam baskets if you want.”

“That’s what you think I’d ask for?”

“What, then? What would you ask of me Catherine.”

She liked how her name rolled in his tongue, in his Scottish accent. What would she ask of him, indeed. She’d rather not think about it, this was starting to feel too much like a date and God help her, she hadn’t been in a date in bloody ages. She simply couldn’t afford this train of thought.

“Did you miss the Opera?” she asked, instead.

“What?” he asked puzzled.

“The other day, with the pizza, you were all dressed up to go somewhere... What did you miss?”

“Oh, it was nothing.”

And just liked that, he closed off to her completely.

“Ok,” she said, almost feeling the need to apologize for having asked.

Fortunately, the awkwardness didn’t last long. When the waiter had brought a bottle of wine, David had stopped him and had asked for a... cranberry juice, please (she had helped) and that broke any lingering tension of their previous conversation.

The meal was indeed delicious. Even if she would have liked to make him hold to his promise, she just simply couldn’t fake how much she liked it.

When the night drew out, they got out the restaurant and David placed his jacket around her shoulders.

“Really?” she asked mockingly, though not refusing the jacket.

“Always the Gentleman, me,” he said shrugging.

They got unto a cab and David took her back to the shop, not once trying anything inappropriate. And why would he? That night, so many days ago, he’d been drunk and distraught. Not only did he not fancy her (what a bloody ridiculous idea), he was also, she could see that now, a good man; faithfully engaged to someone else. And rather charming, the little bugger. This night was never intended to seduce her.

And that was good.

Wasn’t it?

Except now she’d really started to like the man... and that was dangerous. Because she didn’t do ‘alone’ too well, and with him she had felt anything but. Thank God she wouldn’t have to see him again after today, except for maybe occasionally on the telly...

She shook the thoughts away as the driver pulled in front of her shop.

“So, are we ok now?” he asked her, grinning ear to ear as she gave him his jacket back.

“You really did go out of your way to make things ok with me.” His smile grew wider. “It’s not me, you know, who you should be making things right with...” she added in a whisper, because she knew she was ruining the moment.

His smile froze and his eyes filled with pain and she suddenly hated herself for having brought it up.

“I know,” he said simply.

She wanted to hug him, tell him things would be ok, but she honestly had no idea how things would turn out. She’d hardly just met the man and God help her, what she was starting to feel was not good. Not good at all.

“I had a lovely time, David. I really did,” she whispered, hearing her own voice crack.

He took a hesitative step towards her, his hand reaching for her arm. “So did I,” he said, equally soft.

She looked at his hand on her arm and went for the full hug. A brief, cordial hug, and then pulled away.

“Thank you,” she said, gesturing towards his waiting cab, hoping he would take this as his cue to go.

He did. He thanked her for the company and got back into the waiting cab, waving her goodbye, a goofy grin plastered back in his face.

If he was faking it, she couldn’t tell.

* 

She didn’t expect things to fall back into place as soon as Jenny came back; but she hadn’t expected to find it so hard to be around her, either. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t find the comfortable casualness she had had with Jenny before she left.

She felt guilty.

She knew she hadn’t done anything wrong. Well, she had sort of let someone else’s fiancée kiss her a little, but she had stopped it. And every single detail of the wedding she had carefully planned with Jenny in mind. She shouldn’t be feeling guilty, but she couldn’t help it.

Fortunately, almost everything was ready and Jenny was so excited about the wedding, she approved of all the decisions they had made without her. The few hours they had to spend together went by quickly and Catherine hoped Jenny hadn’t noticed any difference in her. From the way she still talked about David, she probably hadn’t.

As for David, he dropped by the shop once with Jenny, the first day she arrived, and then didn’t show up again. Which was probably all for the best.

He was getting married tomorrow.

She picked up the invitation she had shoved inside a drawer all those weeks ago. Jenny had given it to her before leaving, begging her to come, telling her how wonderful it would be to have her there. At the time, she had thought, why not? A celebrity wedding, it could be fun. And think of all the people she was going to meet!

Now she was dreading it.

She put the invitation back in the drawer and picked up a random book from the shelf.

This was going to be a long night.

*

It was 3am when the doorbell rang and this time she knew exactly who it was.

She lay in bed for a while, considering the option not to answer. Her heart was hammering in her chest both from anger and anticipation.

He had come to her.

When 10 minutes later the doorbell hadn’t given up, Catherine grabbed a robe from the closet to cover her nightgown and stormed downstairs.

“You daft idiot,” she hissed, pulling him in and closing the door behind him. “You just don’t give a damn, do you? What if someone had seen you? You’re getting bloody married tomorrow!”

“I know,” he said smiling. “It’s my stag night.”

“So what the hell are you doing here? We established I’m not your shrink. I’m not your go to person for last minute freak outs. I’m your fucking florist!”

“My fucking florist?” he smiled clearly pleased at his own wit.

“David!”

“Sorry.”

She sighed. She was not doing this, she was not having this conversation tonight.

“You should go. I mean it, David.”

He didn’t move. “I’m not drunk,” he said, instead. She arched an eyebrow at him. “I’m not drunk. I didn’t have a single drop. I had to fake it the whole time in front of them. Who doesn’t drink on their stag night, right? It would have looked suspicious.”

“What the hell are you on about?”

“I didn’t drink because I don’t want you to tell me that I’ll regret this when I’m sober,” he said, taking a long step towards her, forcing Catherine to retreat against the wall.

“What the...”

“Catherine.” He breathed against her skin.

She shook her head, unable to retreat any further.

“You’re a fucking walking cliché, David. You’re freaking out about the wedding and you’re using me.”

“Yes,” he said simply. His breathing was getting faster and she couldn’t help it if hers started mimicking his.

“You’re an asshole,” she said. The hotness of his breath was sending shivers down her spine.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.”

She snorted. “None of this has anything to do with me.”

“Maybe not, maybe you’re right. But it’s you I want. Not the girls from the strip club, not an old flame. You. I really can’t stop thinking about you Catherine,” he said, his body brushing against hers, his hands pinned to either side of her. “And it’s driving me mad.”

She knew she should push him away or slap him. But God help her, she couldn’t. Heat was already pooling between her legs and her heart was hammering against her chest. She hated this man.

“You’re marrying someone else tomorrow,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“It’s not fair on her.”

He didn’t say anything and for a long time, neither did she. They stayed quiet, feeling each other’s heartbeats, breathing each other’s warmth.

“It’s not fair on me,” she finally said.

“I know.”

And then it was her who closed the gap between them and crushed her lips to his. She would hate herself for this later. Perhaps forever. But she couldn’t stop now.

He reacted to her immediately, opening his mouth to her and pressing his hips against her own. She could feel him hardening as he rocked against her for friction, pushing her harder against the wall.

“Why me, David? Because I don’t like you?” she asked, gasping for air as his mouth ravished her neck.

He pulled back a little, enough to lock his eyes to her, “No,” and his mouth was on hers again.

Their first time was rushed and sloppy; it was against the wall, still half-clothed; it was hands everywhere and nails and teeth and wet.

It was flowers being tipped over and a certain very expensive vase being smashed to the floor.

“I’ll pay for it,” he had said when he saw her eyes widen in panic.

“Patronizing bastard.”

But seconds later she had forgotten all about the vase.

He had made her come with only his mouth and tongue and then had buried himself inside her and made her come again, this time joining her.

Their second time was different.

He looked at her hesitantly when they pulled apart, clothes still half on, both spent. He was silently asking her whether he had to go, after what they had done; now that they couldn’t take it back.

She straightened her nightgown and started up the stairs, turning around just once to let him know it was ok to follow.

She didn’t turn again until she reached her room, passing on her way the couch where he had once spent the night. She could feel him hesitate slightly as they passed the couch, but he kept walking behind her.

Once in her bedroom, he grabbed her by the arm, urging her to turn around to him. He slowly pulled the nightgown off of her, baring her completely as he remained fully clothed.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered.

She bit her bottom lip, uncomfortable. She felt self-conscious and exposed. And his words didn’t help, because he didn’t mean them. Not really. He was marrying someone else tomorrow.

He placed a reverent hand over her breast, making her gasp at the sudden delicate touch.

“So, so beautiful”, he repeated.

“Shh,” she murmured closing her eyes. “Stop talking.”

He put his mouth where his hand had been, kissing her nipple, softly and then sucking at it. She moaned.

After everything they had just done, it was amazing that something so soft, so small, could elicit such a reaction from her.

He made her retreat slowly to the bed, urging her to lie down as he continued the careful exploration of her body.

“Your breasts, Catherine,” he said in awe, turning his attention to her other breast. “The way you taste,” he continued, moving further down to place kisses on her stomach, occasionally licking or even biting softly. “Your freckles,” he grinned against her skin.

“I said stop talking,” she complained.

“But you asked, you asked why. I’m telling you,” he said, as he continued to caress her with his lips and his fingers.

“Well, I’ve changed my mind,” she said grabbing his shirt to pull him up to her, “I don’t want to know. And you’re way overdressed for this.”

He chuckled and took off his shirt swiftly. Pants and trousers quickly following the shirt to the floor.

“Better?” he asked.

“Much,” she said. “Now hush, I’m trying to have sex here.”

Their second time was slow, and sweaty. Their initial thirst already half-sated, they took the time to explore each other, to enjoy each other’s reactions.

He didn’t stop whispering meaningless words in her ear.

“You don’t know what you do to me.”

“You feel amazing, Catherine.”

“I’ve dreamed about this so many times.”

“I could stay inside you forever.”

“You’re fucking beautiful, Catherine.”

And for a moment, she even dared to pretend he meant everything he was saying and she let herself go to his words and his touch.

Because tomorrow was going to be hell, she might as well deserve it.

*

“Morning sleeping beauty.”

No. No, no, no.

It didn’t take long for the identity of the male voice that was commandeering her dreams to register.

She grunted and placed a pillow over her head. If she could help it, this day was not going to happen.

“Tea or coffee?” the voice said.

“Mmmgh.”

She managed to open an eye from under the pillow to find that David had set up and impromptu breakfast on some chairs and was happily munching on a muffin, tea cup in hand.

“Ugh,” she said. What she meant was ‘Oh, no, you’re one of those annoying morning people, aren’t you?’.

“Muffin?” he offered, mouth full.

“What is it with you and muffins?” she groaned.

He looked taken aback and slightly disappointed. “What, you don’t like muffins? Who doesn’t like muffins?”

Sitting up, eyes still half closed, she stretched her hand to grab one of the pastries. “I DO like muffins. Give it here.”

He looked at her satisfied, probably repressing some smug remark or other.

“What time is it, anyway?”

“Seven o’clock,” he said cheerfully.

“Ugh,” she repeated. “Tea,” she added gesturing at the kettle next to him. He poured her a cup he had already half prepared.

They ate quietly for a while, as she kept stealing glances in his direction only to find him smiling happily at his breakfast. She couldn’t make him out. What was making him so happy? The fact that he was getting married today? And if so, why the hell was he still there, with her?

“You’re awfully cheerful,” she said finally.

He stopped eating to look at her. “I woke up at four.” She arched an eyebrow. “I’ve had a lot of time to think,” he added, as if that explained everything.

“Think about what?” she asked sceptically.

“Us.”

She felt her breath catch. What the hell was he on about? “Us? You think there’s an ‘us’?”

His smile faded. “No?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“You’re getting married today.” She was only stating the obvious, she was only saying what had been in her mind since the moment she woke up, and yet saying it out loud felt as if her stomach had lodged in her throat.

He looked at her for a while, as if trying to read her. “I know,” he said finally, as he got back to his tea cup.

“Where did you get muffins at this hour?” She wasn’t particularly interested, it’s not like she was ever awake at 7am, but she was desperate to change the topic.

“Tesco,” he said, and left out and unspoken ‘where else?’.  “Catherine... If we had met in different circumstances, if I wasn’t getting married today... would there be an ‘us’ do you think?”

“No,” she answered honestly. He wouldn’t have looked at her twice.

“Oh,” he said simply.

It didn’t take long for him to stand up, after that, to clear the mugs and the plates from breakfast and leave for the kitchen, giving her some much needed time to herself. Why couldn’t he just go already and let her cry in peace before she had to get up herself and go be the best damn actress there ever was, as she pretended everything was fine and got this fucking wedding on its feet.

It was all her fault, she was well aware of the fact, but knowing this didn’t make things any easier.

He came back after a while, to pick up his things that lay scattered around her room.

“I better go get ready,” he muttered.

“Yes,” she agreed.

“I will see you later.”

She nodded. She was still sitting on the bed and fully aware that he had no easy access to her for a goodbye. She made no effort to stand up so he simply nodded.

“I’ll show myself out,” he said. And left.

*                                                                                                                                                                                                     

She really should have gone into acting like she had dreamed of as a kid, with the way she’d been performing all morning. A smile on her face, she’d spoken to Jenny on the phone to assure her things were right on track, she’d instructed the catering girls on their jobs, she’d finished the centre pieces and got the place ready almost singlehandedly. Well, if shouting orders left and right counted as singlehandedly, anyway.

With two hours yet to spare before the guests started to arrive, she asked one of the boys for a fag and plopped herself on one of the outside white benches they had set up for the occasion.

She didn’t smoke, but today felt like a good day to start and maybe a drink wouldn’t go amiss as soon as the guests started to arrive.

It was then that she noticed the figure walking towards her who she immediately recognised as Jenny.

She put the light out (which she had hardly even started) and waited for Jenny to reach her. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready?” she asked, moving over so that Jenny could sit next to her on the bench.

“Hello,” Jenny said.

“Nervous?” she asked, smiling sympathetically. Catherine wasn’t the marrying kind, she didn’t believe in big ceremonies and fake smiles, but she had to admit being at the centre of something so big must have been nerve racking.

“Yes, rather.” Jenny nodded. “I... I came early to speak to you actually. I’ve got the dress inside and everything is ready, but I just... I needed to speak to someone. I was hoping...”

Catherine’s heart started hammering in her chest. Why did this have to happen to her? Why her? What had she done to deserve this? “Of course,” she managed in a barely audible voice.

When she looked up again she noticed Jenny’s eyes were moist. “I’m sorry,” the girl apologised. “I’m just a little emotional.”

“That’s understandable.”

“Yes. I know. I just... Catherine, you’re the only person I could talk to. You’ve spent a lot of time with David lately but you’re not mates, you can be objective about it...”

“About what?”

“Is he... He’s been so strange lately. It could be nerves. I know he didn’t want a big wedding and things have gotten a bit out of control... But it’s not just that. I see him trying. I see him making an effort but sometimes he forgets, he just seems removed. As if none of this had anything to do with him. And I know he did most of the work while I was away, I’m grateful to him for that. To both of you. But... Do you think he wants this? This... marriage? Do you think he wants me?” she said finally, bursting into tears as soon as the last word was out.

“Oh honey.” Catherine pulled Jenny into a hug. “Of course he does!! He loves you. You’re just nervous because this is a big deal, but of course he wants this.” Every word that came out of her mouth was like a stab to the heart for her. And just as well, she deserved each and every one of them. What the hell had she done? “You’ll be so happy together, Jenny. You make a disgustingly perfect couple. You really do.”

Jenny sniffed and looked up at her. “You’re not just saying that?”

“No,” she said. And she meant it.

“Ugh, thank you Catherine. I’m sorry. I’m sorry to lay this on you. Everything looks gorgeous, by the way. I’ve been inside, the flower arrangements are spectacular.”

“Thank you.”  Jenny nodded, but Catherine could tell there was something still troubling her because she wouldn’t stop worrying her bottom lip. “What is it, Jen?”

“I haven’t told anyone yet... not even David.” Catherine felt her stomach drop even before the words had come out of Jenny’s mouth. “I’m pregnant.”

It took what to Catherine felt like an eternity before she could force the corners of her lips up and mutter a “Congratulations.”

The girl looked at her unsure and the only thing she could think of was pulling her in for a hug again. “That is wonderful news, Jen. It truly is.”

Jenny and David were having a baby. Wow. She really hadn’t been prepared for that one.

“I found out yesterday. I tried calling David but he was already out. I’ll tell him tonight, after the wedding.”

Catherine took Jenny’s hand in hers. “I wish you both the best.”

“Thank you. It is good news isn’t it?”

“Excellent news.”

“Yeah. Yeah. I’m sorry to have done this to you.”

“Not at all. That’s what I’m here for. Go be the most beautiful bride there’s ever been,” Catherine added, signalling towards the old building where the ceremony would take place.

“I think I will,” Jenny agreed, a smile on her face.

*

The day passed much in a haze after that. Guests arrived and later the groom. The bride looked beautiful, vows were said, music played and the couple danced.

And through it all, Catherine tried to focus on the flowers, and the table cloths, on the catering or the music. On anything but on the man who kept stealing glances in her direction when he thought she wasn’t looking. On anything but the man who’d just gotten married today and was having a baby with someone else.

“Hello,” he whispered from behind her, startling her. “Everything looks beautiful.”

She turned around, straightening her dress that needed no straightening whatsoever, and mumbled a “thank you,” as she turned around again to leave.

“Wait,” he said, grabbing her arm, softly. He offered a hand in her direction inviting her to dance.

She shook her head, “no, David, I can’t.”

“Jenny sends me,” he added sheepishly, gesturing towards Jenny who was in fact grinning at her from the other side of the ballroom.

“Tell her I don’t dance.”

“She’ll have my head for not trying hard enough. Or maybe my balls,” he added in a mock gesture.

She didn’t move.

“Please.”

And damn him, he looked like he meant it. And Jenny was winking at her in encouragement from the other side. These two would really be the end of her.

She took his hand and let him lead her into the ballroom. He stopped and positioned her close to him, but not quite touching, and started leading the slow dance.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

She didn’t answer. She looked down to the floor, counting steps and occasionally looking at Jenny who had already moved on to other guests, happy to see that Catherine had been taken care of.

“I didn’t mean for you to get hurt,” he continued.

“Does it matter?” she asked. She’d agreed to a dance, not a pep talk.

He shook his head and held her a little closer. Close enough that every time he breathed in, his chest would brush her breasts. His hand was drawing circles on her back and he smelled wonderful. He smelled just like he had last night, when she had buried her nose into his neck, taking him in. A mixture of aftershave and clothes detergent and a musky scent all of his own. She’d licked his neck last night and he had moaned when she’d sucked on it. And now there it was, so close to her and yet so far. 

“I don’t want to stop seeing you,” he said suddenly, not breaking his step.

“David,” she said warningly, tensing in his arms.

“I don’t. You said this morning there wasn’t an ‘us’, but it’s not true.”

“Not now, David.”

“You know it’s not true.”

“Shut up or I’m leaving.”

“I know I’m married now, but this doesn’t change what I feel for you.”

"Feel!" she snorted.

"Catherine..."

“You don’t feel anything other than some lust and confusion over your own life.”

“No. Maybe that’s how it all started, but it’s not where I am now.”

“Stop it, David. Don’t do this to me now. The day has been hard enough as it is.”

He nodded, pulling her in again. She could feel both their hearts racing against each other. Even if he thought he meant it, she knew he’d change his mind once he found out Jenny’s news.

“Please say this isn’t over. I’ll come to you after...” He spoke into her ear, his hot breath hitting her skin. “When I come back from...”

 “From your honeymoon?” she supplied.

“I’ll come, as soon as I get back,” he repeated. “Say I can come.”

“You won’t,” she said pulling away from him, leaving him alone on the dance floor as she put on the fake smile that had gotten her through the day and scurried off to the closest restroom to cry.

It wasn’t the first time she’d locked herself in a toilet to cry and she knew it wouldn’t be the last. No, that wasn’t the worst part.

The worst part came ten days later, when he was meant to come back from his honeymoon. The worst part was when, on that day and in spite of herself, she actually waited. In spite of knowing he would not come, she had still hoped. And she hated herself for it.

Of course he didn’t come. Happy dad-to-be, back from his honeymoon. Why on earth would he have come?

He never came, and Catherine cursed herself for being disappointed.

*