Louise Bentley is a feisty, wild, 'let's-go-to-Capri-for-the-weekend-yeah?' kind of girl. She spends her days working at a party-planning company. Oh, and she never wants kids. Ever.
Ben Langford is a studious, quiet, 'I'm-busy-reading' sort of man...
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Louise hadn't meant to set the drapes on fire.
Admittedly, Louise reflected, she probably shouldn't have lit a cigarette so close to curtains that she had — just recently — spilled tequila all over. And she certainly shouldn't have dropped the lighter on them in a moment of drunken stupor.
Most crucially of all, Louise thought, she really shouldn't have done all of this at her older sister Millie's wedding.
But alas.
Here she was.
She swore colorfully, stamping on the delicate fabric with her heel. Stupid, flammable curtains. What idiot put Italian lace in a barn? They were at a country estate in Devon, for god's sake. Not a castle in Monaco.
Louise glanced about. No sign of a fire extinguisher. Then again, there was no sign of people either, so maybe she ought to count her blessings. Maybe—
"What the hell are you doing?" a voice demanded.
Louise groaned inwardly. Fabulous. Just what she needed.
Ben sodding Langford.
She turned. He was standing stiffly in the doorway, looking offensively handsome in a black suit. His dark, curly hair had pink confetti in it, and he was clutching a glass of fizzy water in one hand. Louise shifted to conceal the curtain.
"Nothing," she said.
"Louise," Ben said. "Is that curtain on fire?"
She scoffed. "No."
"Then why," Ben said patiently, "do I smell smoke?"
Louise could feel a tongue of flame licking at her left calf. She darted in front of it, praying that her dress wasn't particularly incendiary.
"Aren't you meant to be giving a speech?" she asked. "Like, right now?"
As younger brother to the groom, Ben was scheduled to give a toast to the happily married couple, which Louise intended to entirely ignore in favour of the champagne bar. And possibly a cute waiter. Maybe both at once, actually.
"I am," Ben said.
"Go on, then."
"Well, I was going to," Ben corrected, crossing his arms. "And then I came across a raving pyromaniac in the corridor."
She scowled. "I told you, I didn't—"
Louise cut off with a howl. Pain exploded along her left calf, and she dove out of the way, clutching her foot. She was painfully aware of what she must look like: messy brown curls falling out of their updo, her burgundy dress singed, and heat creeping up her neck. Her short stature wasn't helping, either.
She must look like an elf.
Like a tiny, maniacal elf, hopping up and down on one foot.
Ben stared. "Holy shit. You actually did set the curtains on fire."
