OF ALL the ways to spend a Saturday, attending a wedding when she was feeling so miserable and wretched wouldn’t have been her number one choice, thought Bella bleakly, staring at the flowers at the front of the church and swallowing back the ball of misery that seemed to be lodged in her throat pretty much permanently these days.
She really hadn’t wanted to come. Not when she was feeling so listless, so lacking in energy and sparkle and so damn sad.
But Phoebe, who’d prised the whole sorry story out of her over a bottle of wine one evening—thankfully managing to refrain from battering her with a string of ‘told you so’s—had begged her to think about it, and in the end she’d refused to let her wretchedness spill over onto her friend’s happiness.
So she’d hauled on a suitable outfit, slapped on several gallons of anti-puffiness eye cream and an entire tubeful of highlighter, and here she was. Sitting several pews back from the altar, next to one of the many single eligible men Phoebe had told her were in attendance, and trying to focus on the colourful array of hats instead of the ache in her heart.
At least there wasn’t any danger of bumping into Will, she thought dully. Phoebe had told her that he’d sent an email from the Cayman Islands saying he wouldn’t be able to make it, and Bella had managed to convince herself that this was a huge relief.
How she’d got through the last fortnight she’d never know. At first, like a fool, she’d envisaged scenarios in which Will came to his senses, pitched up on her doorstep, told her he’d been an idiot and swept her into his arms. Because she’d been so sure he loved her, so sure that they’d connected in a way that went far deeper than sex.
But how wrong she’d been. He hadn’t pitched up on her doorstep and swept her into his arms, and as the days had passed she’d sunk further and further into despair. Work had been impossible and wafting around her flat, every inch of which held one memory of Will or another, had been agonising.
Eventually, unable to stand London and moping around it any longer, Bella had gone to stay with her mother. After a couple of days, however, the goats and the homoeopathic advice had got too much and she’d come back because no amount of arnica could heal her battered soul.
It was so frustrating, she thought as her heart squeezed and her vision blurred. She knew she and Will could have been happy together if only he’d given them a chance. Why couldn’t he see that nothing in life was guaranteed? That nothing was certain. That all that anyone could hope for was to have love and respect and trust, and hope that that was enough.
She really didn’t want to have to come to terms with the fact that Will, the stubborn jerk, might be too damaged by what he’d done to ever let himself get close to anyone ever again. But what alternative did she have?
The image of his face, his smile, the light in his eyes when he shot her a glance, floated into her head and her throat tightened. She hiccuped and stared determinedly at the ceiling. At least here if she burst into tears, as she was prone to do at the drop of a hat, everyone would think she was overcome with emotion at the happiness of the occasion.
With any luck, she told herself as the organ struck up and she got to her feet, within an hour or so her emotions would be overcome with champagne.
What in God’s name was he doing here? Will wondered for the millionth time, shifting on the pew at the back of the church and running a finger around the inside of his collar. He was supposed to be at h
ome. Five thousand miles away. Working. Or at least trying to. At the very least he was supposed to be staying away and giving Bella the chance to get over him, the way he was getting over her.
So what had made him leap up from his desk at three o’clock yesterday afternoon and tell his team that they’d be holding the fort for the next few days? What had made him pay a fortune for a last minute plane ticket to London, grab his morning suit and instruct his butler to prepare the house for him? And what had made him take a trip to Bond Street the second he’d landed?
It was so rash, so out of character, that it scared the hell out of him. But then he couldn’t remember the last time that his behaviour had been in character.
Nor could he remember a time when Bella wasn’t in his head.
Getting over her? Ha. That was a joke. So much for telling himself as he watched her walk away the evening they’d parted that the memory of her would fade. So much for convincing himself he’d done the right thing. That he’d been protecting them both.
The anguish in her eyes and on her face when he’d told her that he wouldn’t ever risk loving her had been haunting his dreams. The accusations she’d flung at him had been battering away at his brain constantly until he’d been forced to acknowledge that walking away might not have been the right thing to do at all.
Bella, on the other hand, had been right about everything. How could he ever have thought that there was nothing special about her? How could he ever have convinced himself that he’d have spilled his guts about his parents and the truth about the collection to anyone? How could he have been so blind? How could he have rejected everything she’d offered?
God, he was sick of running and hiding. He was sick of being alone and tired of the endless guilt. Didn’t he deserve a stab at happiness? Didn’t Bella? Didn’t everyone?
Look at Alex, standing at the altar looking down at Phoebe as if they were the only two people in the church, and saying the vows that Will had always been so sceptical about. There was no way Alex could be certain that what he had with Phoebe was going to last. No way he could know that he wasn’t going to let her down ever.
But maybe that was the point, Will thought, the blood pumping around his veins a fraction faster than normal as all the random strands of thinking he’d unwillingly done over the course of the last few weeks merged into one.
Maybe no one could ever know anything for certain. Maybe if you loved someone enough, if you’d found everything you’d ever wanted in that one person, you just had to take a leap of faith. Maybe if you believed in yourselves and each other, you could get through anything.
He rubbed his chest as his stomach churned and his head pounded and all the hopes and dreams he’d managed to bury for years sprang to life. His pulse began to thunder as the possibilities opened up before him and for the first time in his life he caught a glimpse of what he could have if only he gave himself a break.
‘Are you all right?’
Will blinked and turned to the elderly lady on his left.
‘I’m not sure,’ he murmured. He didn’t think he’d been all right for quite a while.
She brought out a flask from beneath her coat and offered it to him. ‘Brandy. Have some.’
‘No, thanks,’ he said, with the hint of a smile. He didn’t need brandy. He didn’t need anything. Except Bella. God, how he needed her.