Chapter 7: The Advice

Miles's POV

"I'm not in tomorrow's photograph," I told Celia.

She looked pleased until I went on.

"Tonight, though, I'd like to finish my date."

Gwyneth's fingers tightened around mine.

Finlay stood beside the door, holding his room key.

"We'll sort the photographs out in the morning," he said.

Celia looked at the groom and decided to let us pass.

Upstairs, Gwyneth stopped beside her door.

There was a damp patch on my shirt where she'd laughed.

I wanted to kiss her again without an audience of relatives.

"I should let you sleep," I said.

"You could kiss me first," she told me.

I did, and she held my face between her hands.

Then she went into her room and closed the door.

I stood in the corridor, pleased with my evening.

Finlay emerged from the little sitting room.

He looked at Gwyneth's door, then at my wet shirt.

"I won't ask," he said.

"A hanging basket," I told him.

He looked relieved to have an explanation he could survive hearing.

"I was looking for you," Finlay said.

He pulled me into the sitting room and shut the door.

The sofa bed was buried under silver cardboard letters.

Celia had meant it for Gwyneth, back when she tried to hand Gwyneth's paid room to Gregory's aunt.

Gwyneth had kept the room, so the sofa had gone to the alphabet.

I sat on the arm and moved an ampersand off the cushion.

Finlay took a hotel notepad from his pocket.

"I've been writing down the advice," he said.

"Since breakfast I'm up to four pages."

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