She wrinkled her nose as she looked up at him – several inches up, despite the heels. “I guess this is different to how you usually spend your weekends.”
He lifted his shoulders. “Yes.”
“What would you have been doing? Were it not for my catastrophic meltdown in the office?”
“I had no plans.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Since Yaya had her stroke, then Raf had his accident, we’ve all been spending more time at Villa Fortune. I’d probably have flown back for a couple of days.”
Her eyes softened. “How are they both?”
“Surprisingly well. Yaya looks like she’ll make a full recovery and with any luck, so will Raf.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
As they walked, the sound of a party became louder, and he could feel Bronte’s tension hitching up. The offer to accompany her had been surprising and uncharacteristic but standing at the top of the staircase, preparing to walk with her to a cocktail party about which she was clearly terrified, he was very glad he’d made this decision.
“This is it,” she explained unnecessarily, at the large doors to the library. Her heart was racing, and she couldn’t have said if she was nervous at the prospect of seeing Ashton for the first time in six months, or because of the man standing beside her, his large hand clasped around hers.
She fidgeted her fingers in his grip, not daring to look up at him because she knew she’d see him then as her family would – and what would they say! She should have warned them that she was turning up to Alice’s wedding with a bloody Montebello. That wasn’t the kind of detail you omitted. Only this had all happened so quickly and up until he’d arrived at her door earlier that day she’d been prevaricating about the sense of this, tempted to cancel their hastily made plan.
Only one thing had made her stay the course.
Ashton.
They’d broken up six months earlier but she hadn’t moved on. She couldn’t. They’d been together a long time, living together, in love – she’d thought she would be the one walking down the aisle at a place like this. Instead, all her dreams were in tatters at her feet, and the reality of seeing him here with another woman had made her cling to the lifeline Luca had thrown her.
“This is going to be fine,” he assured her, his voice deep and rumbly, and so easy to believe despite the fact he had no way of knowing how this weekend would turn out.
“Let’s just – get it over with.”
He laughed quietly, then nodded, taking a step with her into the room with vaulted ceilings and thousands of ancient books.
When Bronte and Alice had visited the wedding venue a month earlier, the owners had showed them through the space and described how everything would be. Then, the room had been empty, an enormous space awaiting occupation. Now, it swarmed with elegantly dressed guests. Bronte recognised some faces – Alice’s friends from school and of course their aunts and uncles, cousins. She felt the overwhelming weight of needing to socialise with them now, with a new ‘boyfriend’ in tow. The humiliation of knowing Ashton would be here with his new girlfriend, and that the whole world would have this very visual clue as to their messy, final break up.
Her heart hurt.
“Champagne?” A waitress passed by carrying a tray loaded with drinks. Bronte swiped one gratefully. “Luca?”
He shook his head, once.
She frowned. “You’re sure?”
“Certain.” He put a hand in the small of her back and little arrows of warmth darted beneath her skin.
“I don’t see him,” she whispered, her eyes darting around the room.
Luca moved to stand in front of her, a frown on his brow. “Don’t look for him.”
“I can’t – what do you mean?”
“Don’t look for him. Don’t look as though anything is missing in your life. Smile as though you’ve never been happier.”
She stared up at him, her heart missing a beat. Happy? What was that like? She forced a smile to her face; it felt strange.
“Not like that,” he laughed, shaking his head. “Relax.”