“Don’t be utterly ridiculous. You’re acting like we’re in the plot of a Mills and Boon. I see everything,” he says crossly, looking at me suddenly like I’m a disappointment to him. “I’m not blind. I know his faults, and I can quite categorically say that you’re talking shit. Along with the fact that this really isn’t about him but about you.”

“What do you mean?” I say sharply and he looks almost apologetic.

“You think he wants me back, and I’m going to get back together with him.”

“And are you?”

He stares at me for a long moment, annoyance and something else crossing his face. He opens his mouth to speak but his phone rings. Picking it up, he looks down at the display. “That’s the taxi company’s number. They’ll be outside. We can’t be late.”

“You’re still going to do this, then?” I say, hating the querulous tone in my voice. I sound like a nag.

Irritation crosses his face. “Of course I fucking am,” he snaps. “I made a bloody promise and I’m not happy that you’ve had all month to say this and you’re picking a fight right now before we leave.”

“Patrick is not right for you because he doesn’t see you properly,” I say doggedly.

He exhales in exasperation and runs his hands through his hair. “Jesse,” he says through gritted teeth. “Please stop.”

“He doesn’t see how clever you are and how fucking kind and how you live your life in tiny portions, trying so hard to be a good man that you’ve completely missed that you already are. The best man.” I’m desperately trying to get everything out, and I know it’s coming across very wrong. I sigh heavily. “Promises aren’t as important as people. There’s a middle ground between your father and you, Zeb. I wish for your sake you’d find it.”

Silence falls for what feels like an hour. Then he picks up his keys, anger plain in his face. “Much as I hate to break up this session on the psychiatrist’s couch, I’m going,” he says tightly. “Coming or not? Last chance.”

I stare at him and then sigh. “Coming,” I mutter.

* * *

The journey there is tense. Zeb hardly says two words to me, and I’m not delighted that the theme continues when we get up to Patrick’s suite. The rooms are full of his groomsmen and immediate family helping him to get ready, and as soon as we get into the suite, Zeb fucks off, drawn away by Patrick who directs one fulminating glare at me and then keeps him by his side as he reintroduces him to everyone. Zeb smiles and shakes hands and kisses cheeks, showing no sign of the argument that has twisted my guts.