It's the summer break, and for the first time in his life, Mike would rather stay in the bloody classroom.<br><br>It's wedding season, and Mike is doomed to spend all summer sipping cheap champagne and pretending he likes tiny portions of posh food. From the passive-aggressive torment of Mike's mother-in-law to the insulting incredulity of his colleagues over what his mysterious husband actually looks like, Mike would voluntarily teach sex education to fourteen-year-olds for the rest of his life if it would only get him out of one more wedding. Even his husband in a kilt isn't going to save this one.<br><br>But there's nothing like watching someone else get hitched to remind him of where he's come from ... and where he's determined to go from here.

Married Ones

The car bounced onto gravel, crunched loudly enough that they might have run over a wild haggis, and slid into place between a freakishly clean Jaguar, and an obscenely large Land Rover that was too spotless for its owner to actually need a Land Rover.


It was the latest model, too, but the personalised number plate was familiar.


“Damn—I mean Dame—Black is here.”


Not two feet inside the architect’s-wet-dream of a lobby, Mike could hear the braying laugh of Dame Mary Ann Black. Or DAM3 MAB, as her number plate insisted. Stephen’s jaw tightened, and he made for thedesk like he’d caught fire and the stuck-up looking receptionist had the only bucket of water for the next thousand miles.


“Parry,” he snapped. “We have a double suite.”


A perfectly plucked eyebrow rose. Lips pursed. A hand perused the register all too slowly, as that bored gaze slipped past Stephen to narrow on Mike.


Chapter 6