Eventually, I stir. “I’m so sorry, Misha,” I say in a low voice.

“What for?” His voice is even and expressionless, and I wince.

“For making you feel like shit and less. I’ve never in my life thought that about you. I think you’re the best person I’ve ever met. You’re wonderful, and I hate the idea that I made you feel bad because I was tired and grumpy. It was such a shitty thing to do.”

He looks hard at me. “But I don’t know where it came from. It felt like you were picking a fight with me and using a bloke who wasn’t even a blip on my radar to do it. Why, Charlie?”

I hesitate. This is my time to be positive and upbeat, but I think I’ve blotted my copybook so many times today that he definitely wouldn’t believe it.

“I was thrown out by having a turn in front of you,” I whisper. “I was embarrassed.”

“What?” His exclamation is loud, and he immediately rubs his forehead in a pained fashion.

“Come here.” I pull him to me, so he rests his head on my shoulder. I start to manipulate the pressure points on his hands, and, after a few minutes, he gives an easier sigh and nestles closer. “That’s a bit better. Okay, talk,” he instructs me.

I shrug. “I don’t know why, but I felt vulnerable coming to completely naked after the turn.”

“But you were with me?” The incredulity is loud in his voice.

“I know that. Before, when we were just friends, it was fine. But it’s not so easy being weak in front of someone you…” I hesitate and draw in a deep bolstering breath. “Someone you love,” I finish in a whisper.

“Charlie,” he says in an awed voice. “Oh, Charlie, really?” I nod, feeling my heart speed up as he gives me a glorious wide smile. He leans up and kisses me hard. “I love you too,” he says with passion in his voice. “So much.”

My head whirls. “When?”

“Always.” He shrugs. “I’ve loved you in some form or another since we were kids. This is just the latest and final version.” He gives me a look. “I’m hoping it will last the rest of our lives if you don’t make any more bad wedding-party choices.”

“Misha,” I gasp and grab him close, hugging him tightly and inhaling the scents of whisky, bergamot, and laundry powder. Happiness run through me.

“I meant that song,” he says earnestly into my hair. “I know I was pissed, but I still meant it. Every word was us.”

“But how can we be automatically sunshine? Surely that’s not realistic?”