Page 8 of The Surrender

Clark intercepts me, his bow tie now unravelled, the top few buttons of his shirt undone.

“Hey,” I say, clocking Nick across the room at the bar nursing a drink. He looks a bit worse for wear.

“Where have you been?” Clark asks. “And where are you going?”

“I had to freshen up.” I squirm, patting down my hair and wishing I’d reapplied my lipstick. Nick spots me, and his whole stance changes, his body standing taller. “And I was just going to use the ladies’.” Lie. I was going to find a bar and beat myself up about what I’ve just done over a glass of really expensive wine.

“Oh, come dance,” Clark says, taking my hands and backing up, encouraging me into the room. “Please, I’ve hardly seen you today.” He performs a perfectly executed adorable pout.

And that effectively makes it impossible to refuse my little brother. Even with my ex across the room ready to move in.

“Let your hair down, Amelia.”

“It is down.” It went against all my instincts. How tragic. But as I stand here in front of my brother on his wedding day, his face wearing a familiar expression of boyish charm that he’s depended on since he was a kid, I realise that the only tragedy is me. Because I’m making myself one. Over a man. A man who doesn’t deserve my emotions. A man I definitely should not have gotten in the car with. A man who will be a distant memory very soon.

I wince, praying that’s true.

“Fine,” I relent, letting him lead me to the floor, where everyone is forming a huge circle, arms around each other as they sing at the tops of their voices with the lead singer. I work hard to block the music out and focus on the faces of my friends and family. All except Nick, who, unbelievably, is dead opposite me again. I can feel him staring at me. Willing me to look at him, give him a chance, let him win me back. For a split second, perhaps because of my turmoil, I forget why I left Nick. He was stable. I knew where I stood with him. I could depend on—

I pull up, rewinding. IthoughtI knew where I stood with him. Until he announced he wanted to move to the next step.Mynext step was career driven, moving up the ladder.Hisinvolved knocking me down it. Our conversation about kids happened mere weeks after I finally told Nick I was shooting for partner.

A coincidence?

I blink and look across the circle of people to him.Mistake.Our eyes meet briefly, and I flinch on the inside, quickly breaking our eye contact, grateful when Rachel puts a glass in my hand and nods. “Your dad keeps getting me wine. I can’t tell him I’m not drinking, or he might cotton on.”

“Congratulations,” I say, accepting.

“You’re not yourself, Amelia,” she replies. “Clark’s worried.”

“I’m okay.”

“I’m sorry about Nick. I tried to push that situation along.”

“Hey, please, don’t apologise. You had enough to deal with. I’m coping.”

“And the other guy?”

“He’s history,” I say, feeling my thighs brush, my insides still throbbing in the aftermath of a reckless encounter. Rachel gives me a look I’m not sure I like, letting Clark pull her away from me. They both get on the stage, and the lead singer hands them each a microphone. The Killers’ “Mr. Brightside” kicks in, and they start belting out the lyrics together, as everyone cheers them on. I peek at the glass of wine in my hand and knock it back. It’s not like I could be any more stupid. I just fucked Jude in the back of his car.

My eyes closed, I let the happy, drunken vibes take me off to a place far nicer than where Jude Harrison resides. I don’t need to be in his world. Don’t want to be.

“Amelia Gracie Lazenby, move aside.” Grandpa breaks out of the circle and shimmies his way into the middle, arms up high, beckoning Grandma to him.

“Oh God, I think I’m gonna cry,” I choke out, watching as he serenades her in the middle, both their old faces alive with joy.

“They’re the cutest,” Mum says, as I dig into my purse and find my phone, snapping a picture of them.

“And lucky for you, I get my moves from him,” Dad declares, sweeping Mum off to join them, twirling her all the way. I look at Clark and Rachel on the stage. Grandpa and Grandma cheering them on. Mum and Dad on the floor laughing.

This is what matters.

Their presence. Everyone’s presence.

Especially mine.

My feet are throbbing by one a.m., my voice hoarse from singing with everyone. I certainly let my hair down. Speaking of which ...

I feel for the jewelled clip in my blond waves, frowning when I don’t find it. I wouldn’t be surprised if it shot across the room with the force of me jumping to “Mr. Brightside.”