The Corporate Bridegroom. Liz Fielding
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out her mirror and lipstick and made a big performance of retouching the colour. ‘Got to look good in the photographs,’ she said, beyond shaking. She wasn’t feeling anything very much at all, just a sort of numb weightlessness, and she bared her teeth in the nearest approximation to a smile she could manage. ‘Now I’m ready.’ She handed the lipstick and mirror to Niall. ‘Any last-minute advice?’
‘Don’t look down?’ He picked her up from behind and for a moment held her hard against his chest. The warmth was welcome, and for the first time since she’d stepped onto the hoist she felt safe. Then he took a step forward.
A gasp of fright escaped her. ‘Are you going to throw me over?’ She’d intended to whisper, but the microphone attached to her sweatshirt picked up every syllable.
‘Not this time,’ he murmured, his response covered by a burst of laughter. Then he placed her carefully on the edge of the platform, with her toes sticking out into clear space. Her toes didn’t like it, and clawed desperately at the inside of her shoes. Only his hand, still on her shoulder, was keeping her from fainting. Actually, that wasn’t such a bad idea…
‘On the count of three,’ he murmured against her ear. ‘And don’t forget to scream.’
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