Chapter Text
Jamie summons a sharp breath through her nose, and then another.
It’s just the reception left. She can do this.
She rubs her face with one hand, careful not to smudge the thin layer of makeup she’s wearing.
What if she just stays in her hotel room? They don’t really need her, right? The ceremony already happened. In the eyes of Hannah’s Catholic man in the big cloudy house, and more importantly in the eyes of the British state, the marriage is done, all finalized and ready for shipment.
Everyone knows the reception is just for showing off. Owen and Hannah would probably have an easier time showing off if the scruffy little best woman wasn’t there, and spare them the embarrassment of having Jamie fumble through her speech. They might not even notice.
She clenches one hand in the bed cover she’s sitting on, letting out a rueful sigh. Even she knows that’s not true. They would notice, hell, they might have already noticed she’s gone. Because they wanted her there, like they’d said so many times. The memory of that clear autumn morning in their clean little living room flashes so readily before her eyes, when they sat her down and explained with beaming, tearful smiles that they were getting married, and Owen wanted her to be his best woman.
The request had struck her like lightning, the two best people she knew getting married after a long, tortuous courtship and years of building, sickeningly sweet brick by sickeningly sweet brick, a magnificent palace of gentle companionship and care that ran afoul of all of Jamie’s cynicism on love. Of course she said yes, without hesitation, without even thinking what such a prestigious role would actually entail.
That was October, and it’s May now, how the wedding had materialized so fast on the horizon like a sudden storm, Jamie didn’t understand. It was easy to say yes to being in a wedding seven months before it happened, but actually being in one?
Jamie lets out another long sigh, letting her head tilt back with her eyes closed. It’s only 2:41, and she’s already exhausted. She’s been up since 6AM, helping Owen and the other groomsmen with their bowties, putting out last minute fires with the caterers, running items between the groom and bride’s parties, all before standing for hours in that sweltering church while Father Creighton prattled on and on about the divinity of love.
The hate she had for her loafers was personal by the end of the ceremony, and she knew she’d need at least a few minutes with them off before she could stand the reception.
Or maybe that was just an excuse. Jamie just needed to be alone for fifteen minutes. She’d never smiled so much in her life, both sincerely and perfunctorily, had never shaken so many hands and talked to so many people, and this was before the reception. Owen and Hannah’s wedding isn’t even particularly big, but it was still so overwhelming for Jamie.
She jumps at the sudden sound of her phone going off. Reaching across the bed, Jamie slides the timer off.
Okay, she thinks, 15 minutes. Enough feelin’ sorry for myself.
She takes a deep breath through her nose, scrounging through her mind for Tamara’s advice on breathing techniques. Unfortunately, the words remain indistinct after all these years.
Maybe she should go back to prison. No need for speeches while serving at His Majesty’s pleasure.
She almost laughs at the thought as she ties the laces of her wretched loafers, plotting all manner of retribution for when the wedding was over. Quickly checking her jacket, suspenders, slacks, and bowtie in the mirror, Jamie takes a peek at her phone.
2:47. The caterers should be done setting up by now, and guests still weren’t going to be arriving for another thirteen minutes. She’d chosen her moment to slip away well.
With a final check, knowing she probably wouldn’t be back in her hotel room for six or seven hours at least, Jamie slips her room card into her wallet and pulls open the heavy hotel door.
Her phone buzzes as she makes her way down the hallway to the elevator. It’s from Stu in the groomspeople (a term Owen has rigorously enforced) group chat asking Jamie where she is since they want another photo before the guests arrive.
Jamie groans audibly, before remembering she was in public and snapping her head to confirm no one was around. If she had to guess, Jamie would say they took about three million photos in the church garden that morning, so she couldn’t imagine what angle could possibly exist that was still yet to be captured on film.
Busy firing off a text confirming her imminent arrival, Jamie forgets for a few seconds to press the down button on the lift. By the time she does, the little light above the doors says 1, and she has to wait as the numbers slowly tick back up to 4.
While she waits, Jamie idly checks off the remaining logistical details of the reception; the DJ, the cardboard sign pointing from the front of the hotel to the conference hall where reception was taking place, sorting out Hannah’s little brother Lewis so he didn’t drink too much. By the time the lift finally dings to a stop at her floor, Jamie’s mind is so totally occupied she doesn’t hear the sound of a door opening and closing down the hall.
Waltzing into the elevator, Jamie turns to press the “G” button and the “close door” buttons, even though she knows it does nothing. For some reason, the doors take several seconds to begin closing, Jamie had already noted with annoyance during the last few days she’d been at this hotel.
Just as they finally began to close some ten seconds later, though, Jamie hears a nervous voice from down the hall.
“Hold the door!”
Jamie groans again. Without even seeing her, Jamie knows just who it was. That half-flighty, half-polite American voice so pretty it made Jamie’s teeth grind.
Dani Clayton.
A lift ride with Dani Clayton doesn’t sound appealing to any part of Jamie, but for some reason she holds her hand out between the closing door and the frame to stop it, baffling herself in the process.
Goddamn Tamara and all her goddamned lectures on “anti-social behavior.”
A moment later, pretty little Dani Clayton comes clacking into view in her high heels and her pale blue bridesmaid dress, a perfect compliment to the bright blue of her eyes, Jamie notes with fetid annoyance, as if Hannah had picked out the colors just for her.
“Thank you so much,” Dani Clayton rushes out, slipping into the lift alongside Jamie, “these elevators take forever, I didn’t want to miss one and have to wait.”
Jamie credits herself for not grunting at Dani’s small talk, which is the response she wanted to give. Of course I know the “elevators” take forever, how the hell d’you think I got up here, would have worked as well.
Instead she just gives a noncommittal hum before pressing the “close door” button again.
It’s ten seconds before the doors begin to slide closed again with a low whine that hadn’t been there before, and Jamie can’t help but rue the loss of those ten seconds because of stupid, slow little miss perfect American, who’s huffing a little from the dash to the lift and fixing her hair.
Wouldn’t want one of those perfect blonde locks an inch out of place now, would we? Jamie thinks bitterly, before admonishing herself. Even she knows she’s being mean, and Dani Clayton can’t help being an annoyance. She is American, after all.
Jamie had no idea where Hannah met Dani Clayton when she first primly wandered into the church during the rehearsal, and still doesn’t because Jamie isn’t actually curious at all how Dani Clayton managed to ensorcel her friend into letting her be in her wedding party. Not that Jamie knew every detail of Hannah’s life, but Hannah was fairly private and demure, not seeking out friends but loyal like a sister when she found them, and Jamie had never heard of Dani Clayton until her name appeared on the wedding list.
Whatever she’d been expecting, it hadn’t been so…well, American. There weren’t so many of those in their part of England, fewer still that weren’t tourists or students, and apparently Dani Clayton wasn’t either. What she was, Jamie could scarcely say beyond her first impressions. Short (though she seems to tower over Jamie now in her heels), delicate, a dimpled smile that seemed to win over most everyone she met, and a boisterous, coquettish energy that seemed to win over everyone else. Not a few of the groomsmen seemed to gravitate to her as the rehearsal dinner dragged on, and she caught some teasing triumph from Vernon that he would be the one to walk with her down the aisle. Even Cleo, the bridesmaid Jamie was walking with, kept turning her eyes over her shoulder to look back at the irresistible Dani Clayton.
The shudder of the lift momentarily distracts Jamie from her thoughts. Not that she cares, she thinks, even as she has to consciously loosen the scowl that had settled on her face. Who cares what people think of Dani Clayton, if they’re so instantly charmed by her beaming smile and inviting eyes that they all talk easily with her for hours, while talking to Jamie while she’s trying to organize everything is like pulling teeth? Who cares if Jamie’s stomach turns whenever Owen calls her Ms. Clayton, or Hannah lays a protective hand on her forearm like she’s a sweet little flower? Who cares–
“Nice wedding,” Jamie hears from her left, interrupting her internal tirade.
Oh god, please don’t make small talk with me, Dani Clayton, Jamie thinks, even as she sputters, “Oh, uh…yeah.”
“Yeah…so beautiful,” Dani Clayton sighs, powering through the awkwardness. Jamie clocks the lift just slip past three to two, somehow even slower than usual. “I’m not really a…church person, but the building was really–”
Right as Jamie is resigning herself to a mildly uncomfortable remaining lift ride, the lift shudders again, this time having Jamie sway back and forth slightly.
Dani Clayton puts a hand up to brace herself against the side of the lift dramatically.
“Oh wow,” she huffs an awkward laugh, “I hate whenever elevators do that, it always makes me think they’re gonna–”
Then a loud bang emanates out from above them and the lights flicker ominously. This time Jamie’s hand also shoots out on instinct to brace herself, her head turning up to uselessly examine the ceiling of the lift.
“The fuck…” she murmurs, before the lift gives another great shudder and Jamie’s stomach momentarily flips as she feels more than sees the elevator come to a sudden stop.
Out of some instinct, Jamie and Dani Clayton look at each other with wide eyes, as if the other person is likely to know something they don’t.
“Did we just…” Dani Clayton begins, her breath noticeably more labored.
“No,” Jamie whispers, increasing in volume as she says, “no, no, no, no,” because yes, they had just what Dani Clayton was going to say, Jamie knew immediately without any other confirmation.
They just got stuck.