That One Moment (Lost in London #2) (19 page)

“We best make hay so Mummy and Daddy can scream until their hearts are content,” I coo to Marisa’s soft head as I shift the diaper bag on my shoulder. “We definitely don’t want to be around for the making up part.”

A knock on the door sounds just as I’m about to grab the knob. I open it to find a robust woman in a cream pant suit with a tight chignon of black hair pulled back. Her eyes are narrow and severe. “Are you Theo Clarke?” she asks, eyeing me up and down, barely registering the baby strapped to my chest.

“No, I’m his brother, Hayden. Can I help you?” I drag my sunglasses down to get a proper look at this bird.

“I’m here for Leslie Lincoln.” Her tone is clipped and formal. She thrusts a business card into my hand and on the front in large, swirly letters is “Jaci…no K.”

“In regards to?” I ask as I flip it over and hear Theo and Leslie approaching behind me.

“Ah, Miss Lincoln I presume.” The woman moves past me, completely oblivious to Baby Marisa, and sticks her hand out to an equally perplexed Leslie. “I’m Jaci Baxter, pronounced like
Jackie
but without the
K
. It’s short for Jaclyn, which is French, of course. You may call me Jaci. I’m your new wedding coordinator.”

Leslie shakes the woman’s hand and looks to Theo. “Did you do this?”

Theo adjusts his eyeglasses. “I haven’t a clue what this is about.”

“I’ve been hired by a friend who wishes to remain anonymous,” Jaci states pragmatically while handing a business card to all three of us. “And I’ll have you know, I’m fully qualified, licensed, and insured. And most importantly, already paid in full with a rush bonus for the next few weeks. And I assure you, Miss Lincoln and Mr. Clarke, I am not cheap. So if you turn me away, you’re only hurting yourselves and your extremely generous friend.”

All of our jaws drop. “Who in the bloody hell?” Theo asks first.

“It doesn’t matter,” Jaci snaps, her mouth pinched in a way that makes me wonder if she’s sucking on a lemon drop. “Do you have a diary, Miss Lincoln?”

“A what?” Leslie asks, her agog expression still firmly in place.

“A wedding diary. Something with your to-do list. I work seven days a week, so I’d rather just get started with it now, if it’s all the same to you.”

Leslie shakes off her stupor and strides over to the table to grab a huge three-ring binder. “This probably won’t even make sense to you. It’s a bit of a mess.”

“I’ll manage. We’ll discuss more in the car. I have one waiting out front.”

“Waiting for what?” Leslie asks, looking frightened like a naughty child being sent to the chancellor’s office.

Jaci’s nostrils flare. “I have a hair, nail, and makeup session booked for you with the prestigious Trevor Sorbe, hairdresser to the stars.”

Leslie scratches her messy auburn topknot and tugs down on her milk-stained, button-down, plaid shirt of Theo’s. “How on earth did you get me in there?”

“I am well-connected, Miss Lincoln, and I have a standing Saturday appointment for all of my A-list clients.” Jaci puckers her lips with a chuffed with herself expression.

“A-list clients? This sounds like I’m getting Punk’d,” Leslie scoffs. “How do we know you’re not some loony toon off the street?”

Jaci sighs in frustration. “Open any British bridal magazine and you’ll see my name next to the celebrity spreads.” She turns to me and snaps her fingers. I straighten my posture for fear of being sent to the naughty corner as well. “You…You’re the brother?”

I cup Marisa’s head protectively and warily reply, “I am.”

“I shall tell you who the friend is so you can confirm the identity and that will be that. Then we can all get on with our work. But you will maintain your discretion.” Her eyes blaze with an unspoken threat. I nod nervously.

Marisa and I follow Jaci into the kitchen. She opens up her binder, shuffling through her notes. “Here it is.” She opens it to me and my eyes land on the name assigned to the bill: Vilma Harris. Jaci’s hand conceals the pound amount that’s marked with a large stamp: PAID IN FULL.

“Vi?” I whisper in astonishment. Fuck. Just when I was doing a proper job of not thinking about her, she goes and does something like this.

“Discretion,” Jaci seethes through clenched teeth. “Now, can you please go and inform Miss Lincoln that I am who I say I am so we can get on with our day? We haven’t a moment to waste.”

I nod, my eyes still wide with shock, and follow Jaci back out to inform Leslie that everything is legitimate. I can’t imagine what Vi must have paid for this woman to assist for a month, but Leslie’s green eyes alight with a level of excitement that just goes to show how truly in over her head she’s been all week. She kisses Theo and Marisa goodbye. Then she smiles at me as I sway Marisa soothingly from side to side.

“I’ll see you guys later!” she beams before scurrying out the door with hardly a second look.

“Blimey, she was a scary bird,” Theo huffs and I nod in agreement.

GIRL FRIENDS

I
arrive at Frank’s Brixton Victorian mansion just after eight o’clock. It’s a large imposing house right on the corner of a busy street with a skate park sitting kitty-corner from the lot. Brixton is a diverse neighbourhood that was labeled “up and coming” quite some years ago. It definitely has a similar eclectic, artistic vibe as Shoreditch. A crew of young skater-types begin catcalling as I hop out of the cab.

“Oi, you tossers. Go shag yourselves and get a bloody life!” Frank bellows, stepping out of the purple front door that’s framed in crawling ivy. He’s dressed in red trousers with a black strip up each leg and a red dress shirt with a denim bow tie firmly in place.

“Vi, my dear girl. Fuck me sideways, you look like a proper lady of the night.” He bounds down the steps to greet me, his eyes scrolling down my body appreciatively. “Designer too, I can tell. Cheeky girl.”

I’m wearing a two-piece, red, Valentino dress that reveals a couple inches of bare midriff. It has a scoop neckline and three-quarter sleeves. The skirt sits just below my knees, but the entire ensemble fits like a second skin. It’s very Victoria Beckham posh, and paired with my black Monolo Blahniks, I feel like a proper footballer’s wife to be sure. I’m not ashamed to say I put forth a bit more effort tonight. After hearing nothing from Hayden for the past two days, I knew I was in need of a proper night on the town to help move on.

“Thanks, Frank. A lady of the night is just the look I was going for,” I reply sardonically.

“Get in here before those manboys descend. You’re the last one we were waiting on.” He puts his slender arm around my shoulders and guides me up the front steps. A lascivious grin spreads across his face. “I hope you’re ready to get your knickers wet.”

“Am I what?” I ask. But before he can explain, I’m quickly thrust into a full swing party.

Music booms loudly as Frank guides me through the large foyer and into the enormous formal dining room on the right. The large table is covered in a red sheet. Before I have the chance to inquire about it, Finley and Leslie both cheer loudly as they come waltzing out of the attached kitchen.

Leslie leaps toward me first. “Vilma, you’re here! All my favourite London Lovers!” she sings merrily, throwing her arms around me and Finley, hugging us to her sides.

I turn my head to fully appreciate Leslie’s dress. It’s a red tutu skirt with sheer polka dots layered on top. The bodice is black and strapless with a high fashion, asymmetrical, red, feather sprout on one side. Her long auburn hair is pulled back into a high, bouncy ponytail, and her makeup looks stunning if not a bit pissed.

“You’re just in time,” Finley giggles, tugging up her strapless, mini, red dress and sipping her drink.

Frank reappears beside me with a red cocktail in a martini glass. “Drink up! You’re three behind these lushes.”

He ushers me away from Leslie’s grasp just as I take a sip and says, “Okay, introductions. You know the Lezbo. The bitch can’t hold her booze since my beautiful goddaughter was born. Then we’ve got smartarse Fin Bin, who lives here with her sex monster of a husband. And there’s Jiggly Jules, who also lives here.”

“What makes me jiggly?” Julie asks, narrowing her Asian eyes at Frank. It’s a good question because she is petite by any standards, and dressed in a red mini skirt and red tank, there’s not much I can see jiggling on her. Before Frank replies, a Prince song kicks on and Julie screams and runs into the living room to dance, dragging Finley and Leslie with her.

“See what I mean?” Frank asks, circling his finger by his temple. “I’d avoid her if I were you. Her boyfriend, Mitch, moved out last week and she’s a ticking time bomb, that one. You remember Oxford,” he says, gesturing to Reyna who’s striding over from the other side of the table. “You can call her Rey or Bitch Face. She answers to both. I’ve checked.”

“Rey works,” she replies flatly, glaring at Frank and then smiles sincerely at me. She looks fierce in a pair of red leather pants and a red sleeveless tee, revealing her extensively inked arms. Her dark hair is loose and wild down her back, making me feel slightly overdressed as I smooth my low ponytail. I eye Rey curiously, as I consider what kind of relationship Hayden had with her, but then internally kick myself for even thinking about him again.

“And I am Ameerah, child,” a large dark-skinned woman peels as she comes strolling into the dining room from the kitchen. She’s wearing a head wrap and holding a cocktail looking perfectly at ease with herself in a red and white print moo moo.

“Ame brings the cocks,” Frank crows.

“The what?” I nearly choke on my drink.

“Let us begin, Frank,” Ameerah says in a thick Caribbean accent.

Frank releases me to gather everyone around the table and props us in our assigned chairs. Ameerah makes a grand gesture of pulling back the red cloth to reveal a table full of…

Cocks.

Loads and loads of scary looking cocks.

Bugger, that one has three heads.

“A new hot dog!” Leslie crows. “Frank, you shouldn’t have!”

I look around confused as Ameerah begins her speech. Apparently she owns a sex toy boutique in Brixton and I have found myself smack dab in the middle of a sex toy hen party.

“I’m definitely going to need one of these.” Julie hiccups in my ear and grabs up a pink looking thing in front of me. It’s shaped like the letter
C
and I’m not even sure how it would work. “Since I’m newly single and all.”

“Brody would go gaga for these, Finny!” Leslie laughs and chucks a sack of cock rings at her.

“Um, these are to make the guy last longer and Brody has zero problem there, thanks.” Finley tosses them over to me.

I eye the toys nervously as Ameerah begins describing the uses for each item individually. I wouldn’t say I’m sexually prude, but I definitely don’t have a drawer of sex toys. I’ve only had two partners and neither of them seemed too keen on experimenting with BOBs. And I certainly don’t need anything to help pleasure myself.

“See anything you like, Vi?” Frank asks from the other side of me.

I grab a small garment box with a pair of hot pink lace knickers sitting inside.

“That’s French silk,” Ameerah purrs, sauntering over to me. “I own a fabric store next to my husband’s sex store. I commission all the lingerie from a designer I know.”

“And it’s not me!” Leslie whines. “I don’t have time to sew anything anymore. I had to buy my own wedding dress for Pete’s sake.”

I smile fondly at Leslie. She always did have a great eye for technique. It’s a big reason why she did all the China trips before she had Marisa. I’m better at digital design, but I’m becoming more well-rounded in her absence now.

“Your dress is beautiful, Lez,” Finley rebuffs and rubs Leslie’s bare arms affectionately.

“I know…but it’s not an original.” Suddenly, her eyes alight with a renewed sense of purpose. “However! I might have some time to do some tweaking to it now that Jaci’s on the scene! That’s Jaci…no K!”

I try to school my features to look surprised while Leslie tells the group about Jaci being her new wedding coordinator. Apparently she tackled nine things off the list while Leslie got her hair done today. “Guys, I think I might have a lady boner for Jaci. She’s scary and reminds me a bit of that mean British chef, Gordon Ramsey, but it’s kind of a turn on! Maybe I should get her a present.” She giggles and begins riffling through the products.