Their room was on the second floor, at the end of a corridor whose carpet grew softer underfoot. Tom opened the door and stood aside for Lena.
'We've got a view.'
The window overlooked the terrace, with the sea beyond it. There was a double bed, a wardrobe and a small sofa upholstered in blue. Someone had folded the towels into squares and balanced two wrapped biscuits on top.
Lena put her tote on the sofa. She had spent the journey imagining this room. The toothbrushes together by the basin. Her clothes beside his. Two more mornings of pretending to be asleep when he reached for her.
In fact it was only a room. Too warm, with a radiator that ticked, and one lamp shade set crooked. She straightened the shade.
Tom opened the wardrobe. 'Give me your dress.'
She handed him the garment bag. He hung it where it wouldn't touch his coat and checked the zip, as carefully as Bea had.
'I could have done that.'
'I know.'
He sat on the bed and bounced once. 'Good mattress. Very good. The car's ruined me.'
She took her coat off. In the mirror she looked pale, hair flattened on one side. The green dress would look wrong on her tomorrow if she looked like this.
'I might wash my face.'
'You look fine.'
'I'll wash it anyway.'
When she came back he was emptying his pockets onto the chest of drawers. Coins, keys, the little folding tool he always carried. Her phone buzzed. Bea wanted them downstairs in twenty minutes, with jackets if they had them. It wasn't a rehearsal dinner, she had written, because that sounded grand. It was checking where to stand and then eating.
Lena showed Tom.
'I'll get changed,' he said. 'Could you find the charger? In the front bit of my bag. My phone's about dead.'
He went into the bathroom with a clean shirt. She unzipped the front pocket of his holdall.
The charger had worked itself under a rolled pair of socks. She lifted them and a small box slid against her hand.
Dark green. A hinged lid. She knew what it was before she picked it up.
For a second she simply held it. The fabric was smooth under her thumb, warm from being pressed between the clothes. Tom was running the tap. A pipe knocked in the wall.
She opened the lid.
The ring was a small oval stone with two smaller stones beside it, set in a fine gold band. Nothing huge. Nothing he would have bought to show off. It looked like something he had chosen by looking at her hands.
She shut the box.
Tom came out of the bathroom with his shirt unbuttoned. He stopped when he saw her.
'Lena.'
'Are you going to ask me to marry you?'
He looked at the bag, then the box. His face had gone red, all the way down his neck.
'I wanted to surprise you.'
'When?'
'Can we—' He reached for the shirt buttons, missed the first one and tried again. 'Can you put that down?'
She placed it on the chest of drawers, away from the coins.
'Tom. When?'
'This weekend.'
She had known. Of course she had known. A ring brought to a wedding wasn't a thing he was storing until Christmas. Yet hearing it made her want to sit down.
'Tom, we need to talk.'
'I thought you'd be happy.'
She couldn't answer quickly enough. He looked away.
'Right.'
'I need to tell you something.'
The room phone rang.
They both stared at it. Tom let it ring three times, then picked up. She could hear Bea's voice, high and clear, though not the words.
'Yes,' he said. 'We're coming.'
He put the receiver down. 'She's got everyone there. They want to run through it early, before the dinner guests arrive.'
'I can't do this and then sit beside you all evening.'
'We don't have to do it now.'
'Yes, we do.'
He rubbed his mouth. 'I don't want Bea calling up here. Or coming up. Give me a minute, Lena.'
She could see his hands shake as he buttoned the cuffs. Until she'd asked the question, he had expected something entirely different from the next few minutes. Her joy, perhaps. Her crying and kissing him. She'd given him no reason to imagine this.
Someone knocked on the door. A hotel employee wanted to check that they had got the message about the rehearsal. Tom said yes, thank you, they were just coming.
Lena watched him close the door again.
'Tonight,' she said. 'After dinner. Before we go to bed. We have to finish talking tonight.'
He nodded once.
'And you're not asking me in front of anyone.'
'I wasn't going to do it at dinner.'
That was too particular an answer. She looked towards the box, but he had picked it up already. He put it back in the bag and zipped the pocket.
She found the charger underneath the socks. The small, ordinary object looked ridiculous in her hand. She placed it on the bed.
Tom took it and plugged his phone in.
They finished getting ready on opposite sides of the room. She changed her shoes; he straightened the collar of his shirt. When she reached for the door, he was still beside the bed.
'Tonight,' she said again.
'I heard you.'
His voice wasn't angry. She would have preferred angry.