I hover on the edge of the crowd, nimbly avoiding Nina and Victor. I make small talk and coincidentally feel myself getting smaller too. Smaller and more invisible.

Even when the members of the party sit down for the breakfast served on a long table in the lounge of the suite, I find myself relegated to the end of the table next to someone’s grandfather who’s extremely deaf. I answer his questions absentmindedly while watching Patrick and Zeb in the centre laughing over something together.

My temper kindles. It takes a lot to get me angry, but Zeb seems to be managing it ably. He hasn’t spoken to me once. Just dumped me at the door like a child he’s been babysitting and fucked off. There’s been no thought as to whether I’m okay or comfortable, just complete radio silence as if I’m not even here. I don’t think he’s even looked for me once.

I watch him now from my position leaning against a wall, half hidden by a rather large pot plant. He’s laughing at something a man is saying to him, his face alive with amusement and warmth. Anyone watching him would think he hasn’t got a care in the world. Maybe he hasn’t. Maybe it’s just me who hates that we’ve argued, and he actually doesn’t really give a shit at all. I look for his wanker of a sidekick but he isn’t there. Then I catch a whiff of expensive aftershave and sigh.

“Hello, Patrick.”

He comes to stand next to me. “Admiring the scenery?” he asks as we both watch Zeb.

I shrug. “Well, it is pretty.”

He shoots me a sidelong look. “Oh, I’m aware of that. I looked at that view for years. It’s the best I’ve ever seen.”

“Can we dispense with the euphemism? You’re starting to sound like an estate agent.”

He takes a sip of his drink. “Okay. What would you like to talk about, Jesse? I can’t help but be curious about the young man who’s monopolised Zeb all month.”

“Curious or threatened?” I say flippantly, a flash of temper appearing. But I know immediately that I’ve somehow made a mistake as his lips curl into a smile that lacks all humour.

“Oh, I’m not threatened,” he says, staring at me. “Why would I be?”

“I really don’t know,” I say finally. “You’re getting married, so I’m at a loss as to why you seem to be so concerned with Zeb’s movements.” I allow a smirk. “Talented as his movements are.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t get used to them. He won’t stick around.”

“Why?” I hate myself for asking him that, but I can’t help it.