Page 16 of Best Man (Close Proximity #1)

“I don’t think I’ve seen him that cross since I spilt Tipp-Ex down his new Tom Ford suit.”

He smiles at me. “You seem to bring it out in him.”

“Is that good or bad?”

He hums and looks at Zeb. He’s talking to the organiser and has a frown of deep concentration on his face.

“I think a good thing,” he says. “He’s too fucking buttoned up for his own good.”

“He does like order,” I say, looking at Zeb as he smooths a hand over his navy and white checked shirt as if searching for wrinkles.

“He’s had to.”

Something about the grim tone catches my attention, and I stare at him. “Why?”

He hesitates for a long second and then comes to some form of conclusion. “This is very private,” he warns. He pauses. “But for some fucking reason I’m still going to tell you.”

“I won’t tell anyone else,” I promise, and he examines my face intently before nodding.

“His father wasn’t exactly known for steadiness,” he says slowly, his eyes going unfocused as if he’s remembering something. Then he smiles. “Eddie was one of the most charming men I’ve ever met. He was funny and loud and kind and very charismatic. When he came into a room, you knew it.”

“Are any of those things bad?” I look over at Zeb. The sun is kindling the waves of his hair, and everyone is watching him. “Zeb’s got the same charisma. People notice when he walks in a room.”

He smiles a little sadly. “The difference is that Zeb has willpower. He had to develop it very fast because Eddie didn’t have any. He was everyone’s friend and no one’s enemy and he loved a good time. Unfortunately, that good time meant womanizing and gambling.”

“Oh dear. I have a horrible feeling about where this story is going.”

He nods, staring at Zeb with a deep fondness in his eyes.

“Eddie had a knack for making money, but he had an equal talent for losing it. Like the fairies at birth gave him too big a gift and had to hastily counteract it. He was exceptionally generous and lived like a king when the money was in, but then the next day he’d be dodging creditors and bailiffs.

By the time he married my mother he’d had six wives.

And the remarkable thing is they all loved him even after the divorces.

There was something very lovable about Eddie.

” He shrugs. “Even when you hated him, you still liked him.”

“Did Zeb hate him?” I ask tentatively.

He shakes his head. “God, no. He idolised him at first, by all accounts. By the time my mother and I came along, that idolisation had faded and there was something almost weary about his love for his dad. He’ll never speak badly about him, but Eddie’s the reason he is the way he is.”

“Organised and serious,” I say with realisation.

He nods. “He had to be. By the time he was nine, he was organising Eddie’s chequebook and squirrelling away any spare cash he could find in the house so they’d have something for what Eddie called rainy days.

” He shrugs. “It was England. Of course there were a lot of those. He went to ten different boarding schools. He’d last a couple of months there and then he’d be leaving because Eddie couldn’t pay the school fees.

I don’t think he had friends because they never stayed anywhere long enough for him to make them.

But he loved Eddie, and Eddie loved him. ”

I sneak a peek at Zeb, and it’s as if I’m looking at him with new eyes.

He’s always been far too organised and wears responsibility like it’s his underwear.

Unseen and unnoticed. But to know what’s made him like that makes my stomach hurt.

To think of a young and probably stoical Zeb packing up from another school and moving on with only Eddie for company makes my eyes burn.

Max smiles fondly as he looks at Zeb. “He still looks after all his stepmothers, you know?”

“I got that impression from the way he spoke.”

“He talked about them?” He sounds startled, but when I nod, he smiles.

“He’s the best man I’ve ever known,” he says quietly.

“He was immensely kind to me when his dad married my mother. I was young and probably really annoying.” I grin, and he winks.

“I know it’s hard to believe.” His grin fades to a soft smile of remembrance.

“He looked after me and made sure I was okay, and even after his dad died and his responsibility could have ended, he kept it going. He’d come to my sports days and wrote me letters every week when I was at boarding school and sent me treat boxes.

Then when I was old enough, I decided he was my best friend, and I made him agree.

” He chuckles. “It’s the best thing I ever did.

He’s kind and fiercely loyal. When you’re in with Zeb, you never really leave. ”

I look at Patrick who is staring at Zeb and oblivious to his fiancée’s glares. “Does that apply to Patrick?”

He shrugs. “We’re here, aren’t we?”

My stomach twists and something must show in my face because he grabs my arm lightly. “I like you,” he says quickly as Zeb turns and comes back towards us. “You’re good for him. Don’t let Patrick wind you up.”

“Am I good for him?” I say, startled. “I irritate him mostly. I’m too young for him, apparently, and too chaotic. He’s obviously looking for someone older and responsible.”

“He’s more alive this week than I’ve ever seen.” He shakes his head. “Zeb doesn’t know his arse from his elbow sometimes. He’s infuriatingly blind to what’s under his nose.”

“What are you two talking about?” Zeb asks as he comes up to us.

“What a terrible shot you are,” Max says, releasing my arm as Zeb glares down at it. He holds up his hands in defence. “We weren’t doing anything.”

Zeb shoots me a look as if to see if I’m okay, and I see now what Max was talking about. He wears that responsibility like Superman wears a cape. I smile at him. Some superheroes never get recognised, I suppose.

He looks a little startled at the warmth of my smile, and then his gaze focuses behind me, and he blinks a few times. I turn and start to laugh.

Xavier is walking towards us with a sheet wrapped around him.

Max groans. “What the hell are you dressed in?” he mutters as Xavier saunters up to us as cool as an ice cream.

He looks down at his outfit and up at Max as though he’s a moron. “A toga.”

“I can see that,” Max murmurs. “I should have actually said why are you wearing that?”

“It’s period dress,” he says, frowning at Max.

“ Thank you ,” I say triumphantly. “I told you that invite was badly worded.”

“Zeb?” comes a tentative voice from behind us, and as a group we swing round to face Patrick who is standing with a warm smile on his face.

His blond hair glows in the sun and he looks unspeakably beautiful.

My heart sinks a little from where it had been buoyed by Max’s words.

Why on earth would Zeb look at me when this man was obviously his taste?

I look at Zeb who is staring hard at Patrick as if analysing him and my heart sinks further. Still is his taste.

“Can I help you?” Zeb asks. “Should I be doing something? You never gave me any tasks this weekend. ”

I smile a little. I’m sure mentally he’s cursing that he hasn’t got his diary on him. It’s huge and held together by bands because it bulges with paperwork and lists.

“Oh no, I just wanted you to have a good time,” Patrick says, drifting closer to Zeb and nudging me subtly out of the way. I open my mouth to object, but shut it as the two of them stare at each other like they’re mesmerised.

Max coughs and elbows Zeb who jumps.

“Sorry,” Max says cheerfully. “But I think the man heading towards me with the gun is indicating it’s my turn to shoot.

” He winks at Patrick. “Unless he’s on a homicidal rampage, in which case I’m volunteering you to take one for the team.

” He looks him up and down. “You’re so very good at that, after all. ”

“ Max ,” Zeb warns, and Patrick bristles.

“Oh don’t bother, Max,” he says spitefully. “If I wanted some dinosaur of a reporter to cast judgement on me, I’d have gone to Piers Morgan. At least he’s famous.”

“You wound me,” Max says cheerfully. “I’m literally bleeding on the ground from your sharp words.”

“Better than bullet wounds because you couldn’t duck quickly enough,” Patrick says sharply and I gasp.

Now , I remember who Max is. He’s a famous reporter who quit after he was taken hostage in Syria.

He was shot in an escape attempt but still managed to make his way through the country on his own until he reached safety.

I hadn’t recognised him at first because his hair is longer now, and he’s grown a beard.

I glare at Patrick but Max just shrugs. “The bravest thing you ever did, Patrick, was to leave the house not wearing underwear. You’ll excuse me if I don’t take your words to heart.”

I laugh, and Patrick flushes and edges into Zeb’s side. I narrow my eyes, and Max stares at the two of them.

Then he takes the gun the man gives him, steps up to the line and calls, “Pull.” In one smooth motion, he turns slightly to the right and fires. A second later there’s the sound of breaking glass and a car alarm starts to blare .

“That’s my fucking Audi,” Patrick exclaims, and Max shrugs.

“Oops! Butterfingers,” he says casually.

Xavier starts to laugh.