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your chest last Friday night.”
    “Of course I remember. How are you?”
    Jancis made a lousy show of trying not to listen.
    “I can hardly hear you.” Lacy’s voice rose. “Are you back yet? In Adelaide? Your office said you were at a conference. They gave me this number.”
    He put his finger in his opposite ear to block out the noise. “Still in Sydney. I’m back tomorrow.”
    “Oh. Great.” A pause. “I rang to invite you to my wedding. It’s this Saturday night.
    That’s if you’re not busy.”
    The crowd noise and flat beer and the too‐slow clock blew away. “I’m not busy.”
    “You’re not seeing anyone, are you?” Lacy asked, mother hen clucking over its chick.
    “No. I’m not.”
    “So why haven’t you called Christina?”
    His eyes swung to where Jancis was turning her chair into the leaning tower of Pisa.
    Any second now she’d crash and completely wreck that new hip. He scowled at her until she sat up straight.
    “It’s complicated.”
    “Not you too,” Lacy sighed. “It’s actually very simple.”
    “I meant it’s complicated over the phone.”
    “Oh. I get it. Well you can talk to CC face to face at the wedding.”
    “That sounds great.”
    “Excellent. Seven‐thirty at Veale Gardens. Don’t worry about a present.”
    “I’ll be there. Thank you.”
    There was another pause which Lacy filled with a rush. “I’m trusting you here, Picasso. Don’t hurt her.”
    He lowered his voice even further. “Why would I hurt her?”
    “I know your type. You’re a lost soul. Women want to wrap you to their bosom and give you a big hug.”
    “And you’re inviting me to your wedding because ?”
    “Because Christina’s a lost soul too. You both could do with a good hug.”

Chapter 4
    It was such a beautiful wedding.
    Christina had smiled and nodded till her face ached from smiling and nodding, agreeing with everyone who offered the comment, all afternoon.
    And it had been beautiful. As far as weddings went.
    Certainly the guests seemed happy, and so were the bride and groom. Michael hadn’t taken his hand off Lacy for—Christina checked her watch—three whole hours.
    She was happy for them. Truly.
    “Why the sad face? Have you been stood up, CC dear?” A cloud of honeysuckle perfume in a floral parachute descended into the vacant chair on her right.
    “Hello Aunt Vanda. It’s not eight‐thirty yet. He said he’d be late.”
    Her father’s elder sister frowned over owlish glasses. She must have already had the one and only glass of wine she allowed herself per family occasion because her nose and cheeks glowed fire‐engine red.
    “Well he can’t be stuck in traffic, CC dear. Not at this hour.” Aunt Vanda had a voice like a chainsaw on idle and the woman on Vanda’s right, one of Lacy’s many cousins, threw Christina a sympathetic glance.
    Christina bit her lip. If Lacy survives two plane trips to and from Bali, I’ll kill her when she gets back for this matchmaking crap .
    Aunt Vanda picked up Tate’s name‐card, jogged it up and down, and twirled it just in case she might have missed any clues on the back. Then she set it against the unused tumbler.
    “Cheer up, CC. Maybe tonight it will be your turn to catch the bouquet.”
    Christina picked up her wineglass and dipped it like she was making a toast. “If I’m lucky.”
    “What’s that dear? The music’s so loud in here.”
    She gave her aunt her sweetest smile and lowered her voice. “This music is coming from the PA system, Auntie Vanda. Lacy and Michael organised a band for later.”
    Vanda splayed her hand behind her ear and leaned even closer, shaking her head like a hen with a crust of bread. “Someone has to ask them to turn it down, I can’t hear myself think.” She eased her bulk off the chair with another soft pat for Christina’s thigh. “Don’t forget the bouquet toss, CC. I’ll be looking for you.”
    She gave her aunt a thumbs up and mouthed: “ I’ll be in the loo .”
    Vanda