“What’s my usual type?” Megan asked, glancing at the screen. She couldn’t see it properly, though, Brendon was hogging it. But she didn’t need to, she was seeing James in the flesh in a few hours’ time. And that was so much better than a photograph, because she could smell him too, admire the way he moved, enjoy the way he set his entire concentration on her whenever they were talking.

“Your usual type,” Georgie said, frowning. “Well you normally go for tall, blond gym buffs.”

“I suppose Dylan was that type.”

“Talking of Dylan,” Brendon said, “I heard a rumour that he got kicked out of Vogue nightclub last night for being drunk and disorderly.” He stooped and picked up Gucci, set him on his lap then tickled him under the neck.

“Why am I not surprised?” Megan said. “Rather than getting leery I much preferred it if he just fell asleep after a belly full but that wasn’t often the case.” She paused, remembering the times he’d passed out fully dressed. “And that had disadvantages, he snores anyway, but when he’s been drinking, my God, it’s like an express train in the bedroom.”

“Lovely,” Georgie said, pulling a face.

“Well, no snoring this time,” Brendon said. “He apparently got leery with a member of bar staff when he didn’t get served fast enough. He refused to leave when asked by the bouncers so they hauled his ass out of there and left him on the pavement.”

Megan winced. How humiliating. She was glad Dylan was nothing to do with her anymore.

“Doesn’t sound like drowning his sorrows in alcohol is working out particularly well for him.” Georgie stood, went to the fridge then passed Megan the milk.

“Thanks.” Megan splashed some into each cup. “I can’t help but feel a bit guilty, though. I mean, it was pretty embarrassing what I did to him.”

“Hell yeah,” Brendon said, nodding. “But you did what you had to do.”

“It would have been worse to go through it and then decide you didn’t want to be married to him,” Georgie said.

“I know, I know.” They’d been through this a hundred times, but still, Megan knew that Dylan’s erratic behaviour was because of her running out on him in church. If the shoe had been on the other foot and she’d been jilted, she would have felt bloody dreadful.

“And you don’t need to feel guilty,” Brendon said. “You did him a favour. Who wants to be married to someone who doesn’t really love them?”

“I suppose.” She paused and poured the tea. “I keep having this weird dream, though.”

“Oh, what’s that?” Georgie helped herself to a mug and cradled it in her hands.