The Toronto Girls series continues on March 16...

Louise hadn't meant to set the drapes on fire.

Admittedly, Louise probably shouldn't have lit a cigarette so close to curtains that she had — just recently — spilled tequila all over. And she certainly shouldn't have dropped the lighter on them in a moment of drunken stupor.

Most crucially of all, Louise really shouldn't have done all of this at her older sister Millie's wedding.

But alas.

Here she was.

She swore colorfully, stamping on the delicate fabric with her heel. Stupid, flammable curtains. What bloody idiot put Italian lace in a barn? They were at a country estate in Devon, for god's sake. Not a castle in Monaco.

"What the hell is going on here?"

Louise spun around and then groaned inwardly. Fabulous. Just what she needed.

Ben sodding Langford.

He was frozen in the doorway, looking offensively handsome in a black suit. His dark, curly hair had pink confetti in it, and he was clutching a glass of fizzy water in one hand. Louise shifted to conceal the curtain.

"Nothing."

"Louise," he said slowly. "Is that curtain on fire?"

"No."

"Then why do I smell smoke?"

Louise could feel a tongue of flame licking at her left calf. She darted in front of it, praying that her dress wasn't particularly incendiary.

"Aren't you meant to be giving a speech?" she prompted. "Like, right now?"

As brother to the groom, Ben was scheduled to give a toast to the happily married couple, which Louise intended to entirely ignore in favour of the champagne bar. And possibly a cute waiter. Maybe both at once, actually.

"I am," Ben said slowly.

"Go on, then."

"Well, I was going to." Ben crossed his arms. "And then I came across a raving pyromaniac in the corridor."

She scowled. "I told you, I didn't—"

Louise cut off with a howl. Pain exploded along her left calf, and she dove out of the way, clutching her foot. She was painfully aware of what she must look like: messy brown curls falling out of their updo, her burgundy dress singed, and heat spreading fast as a lie across her cheeks. Her short stature wasn't helping, either.

She must look like an elf.

Like a tiny, maniacal elf, hopping up and down on one foot.

Ben stared at her. "Holy shit," he breathed. "You actually did set the curtains on fire."

"You already said that!"

"I know, but I didn't think—" Ben broke off, shaking his head. "You're a real liability, Bentley, you know that?"

He surged forward, throwing his fizzy water on the curtain. The damp fabric hissed, and Louise watched — frozen — as Ben shrugged off his jacket, beating the curtain with it. His brow was furrowed in concentration.

She watched, mortified, as the flames went out.

"There." Ben wiped at his brow. "That should do the trick."

Slowly, Louise set down her burnt foot.

"Thank-you."

She ground out the words. Out of the dozens of guests at this wedding, Ben Langford was the very last person she would choose as her savior; he was the sort of superior prick that scoffed at anyone that didn't read philosophical treatises. In fact, the first time they had met, Ben had taken the piss out of her for thinking John Locke was just a fictional character on Lost.

No, Ben would never let her live this down; she was sure of it.

As if on cue, Ben smirked.

"Had a little too much tequila, then?"

"Oh, shut-up," she muttered.

"Seriously, can you stand on your own?"

Her eyes narrowed. The idiot was enjoying himself, Louise realized sourly. He probably couldn't wait to tell all his little friends at Oxford about this incident.

She fished around in her purse, producing a plaster. "Has anyone ever told you what an arsehole you are, Langford?"

"Careful." Ben's smile was dangerous. "We're family, now."

She shuddered. "In your dreams."

To this day, Louise was amazed that someone like Ben could be related to someone like James. Millie's fiancé — no, husband, she corrected herself — was an absolute legend. James Langford drank like a fish, swore like a sailor, and had once stripped naked and run through Clapham to the cheers of drunk strangers.

Yes; James was exactly the sort of person that Louise would pick as a friend.

Ben, on the other hand, spent all of his time shut up in some dusty old library, reading books on law and generally being a bore. His wardrobe was composed solely of button-up shirts. Louise didn't have confirmation of this, but she heavily suspected it was true.

She set her purse down on a wooden sideboard, pressing the plaster on to her burn. "Break a leg, I guess."

"During my speech?"

"No." She smiled sweetly. "In general."

And with that, Louise swept out of the corridor.

Louise's afternoon improved only marginally.

Firstly, her elderly Aunt Susan spilled wine on her dress. Then, she tripped over a decorative golden balloon. And then Louise was so distracted sponging off her dress in the toilets that almost missed the wedding cake. She managed — through sheer brute force — to claim the last piece, but it had been a close call.

"I hate people," Louise groused, collapsing into a seat beside her friend Ella. "I think I should become a hermit. Do you think I'd like the mountains?"

Ella grinned. "Bad day, huh?"

"I set the curtains on fire," she muttered.

"Huh?"

"I said, the situation's dire."

"Oh." Ella propped her chin on her hands. "Anything in particular?"

"No," Louise sighed. "Just people in general."

Ella smiled. She looked almost absurdly pretty today, Louise reflected fondly. Her golden ringlets cascaded over her shoulders, and she was dressed in a satin pink slip dress. Louise had already caught two groomsmen staring at her.

Not that Ella cared.

She had been dating Louise's older brother, Max, for close to six months now. Personally, Louise thought she was insane; she had no idea why Ella would want to date someone that put marmite on his grilled cheese, but you know. More power to her.

She picked up her fork.

At least the cake would be delicious, Louise thought happily. Dark chocolate ganache with raspberry. Her favourite.

Ella looked at it wistfully. "Oh, you lucky thing. Max and I were so busy dancing that we missed the cake."

Louise paused, her fork hovering over the cake. She looked down sadly at the delicious slice. Goodbye, chocolate happiness.

"Here." She shoved the cake toward her. "It's yours."

"Oh, no," Ella said immediately. "I couldn't possibly."

"I've already had one," Louise lied. "You go on."

After a few more protests, Ella caved, digging into the cake. Louise glanced wistfully at a passing tray of champagne, taking a sip of water. Stupid Ben Langford. He was right, though; she really had drank too much tequila.

Not that she would ever admit it to him.

Her eyes wandered to where Millie and James were whirling around the dance floor, a blur of white taffeta and black silk. James murmured something in her ear and Millie flushed, swatting at his shoulder. Louise's throat tightened.

God, she missed her parents today.

It had been almost a decade since their skiing accident in the Alps, but she missed them a little more on days like this. Louise could see the oysters that her father would have gleefully dug into. The pink peonies that her mother would have fussed over.

James didn't have any parents here, either. Louise didn't know the exact details — Millie had been pretty tight-lipped about the whole thing — but from what she had gathered, his father was an alcoholic that had left when he was young. His mother had passed away two years ago. Breast cancer.

So it was just their closest friends, today.

Well, except for Max, Ben and herself, Louise thought sourly. And she could easily do without one-third of that equation.

"What is it?"

She jerked to attention. Ella was looking at her in amusement. "Your face," she elaborated. "You're making a weird expression."

Louise took another sip of water. "It's Ben."

"Ben Langford?"

She gave her a long look. "Do we know any other Ben?"

"Point taken."

Louise swirled the water around her glass. "He's just so pretentious," she huffed. "And supercilious. And arrogant. And—"

"Immune to your charms?"

Louise scowled at her; Ella took an innocent bite of cake.

"What?" She shrugged. "That's why you don't like him, right? Because he's the first man not to fall all over you."

"That's not true!"

"Isn't it?"

"I hate him," Louise said decisively. "I wouldn't date Ben Langford if he were the last man alive on earth. Or in the galaxy."

"Trust me," a voice drawled. "The feeling's mutual, Bentley."

She whirled around. Ben was standing there, a cool smile on his face. She flushed as he held up something small and glittery. Her purse.

"You left this in the corridor," he said.

And with that, Ben walked away.

It was the last time they would speak for the next five years.