Читать книгу Wish Upon a Wedding - Kate Hardy, Jessica Gilmore - Страница 21

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

IT SHOULD HAVE been a night of celebration.

Not wanting to jinx things before the wedding show, Claire hadn’t booked a table at a restaurant in advance; though she’d planned to take her family, Sean, Ashleigh and Luke out to dinner that evening, to thank them for all the support they’d given her in the run-up to the show.

But now the food would just taste like ashes; and she didn’t want her misery to infect anyone else. So she smiled and smiled and lied her face off to her family and her best friend, pretending that her heart wasn’t breaking at all. ‘I’m fine. Anyway, I need to get the van back to the hire company, and start sorting out all these enquiries...’

Finally she persuaded them all to stop worrying about her, and left in the van on her own. But, by the time she’d dropped all the outfits back at her shop, delivered the van back to the hirer and caught the tube back to her flat, she felt drained and empty. Dinner was a glass of milk—which was just about all she could face—and she lay alone in her bed, dry-eyed and too miserable to sleep and wishing that things were different.

Had she been unfair to Sean?

Or were her fears—that he’d be overprotective and stifling in the future, and they’d be utterly miserable together—justified?

* * *

Claire still hadn’t worked it out by the time she got up at six, the next morning. It was ridiculously early for a Sunday, but there was no point in just lying there and brooding. Though she felt like death warmed up after yet another night of not sleeping properly, and it took three cups of coffee with extra sugar before she could function enough to take a shower and wash her hair.

Work seemed to be about the best answer. If she concentrated on sketching a new design, she wouldn’t have room in the front of her head to think about what had happened with Sean. And maybe the back of her head would come up with some answers.

She hoped.

She was sketching in her living room when her doorbell rang.

Odd. She wasn’t expecting anyone to call. And she hadn’t replied to any of the messages on her phone yet, so as far as everyone else was concerned she was probably still asleep, exhausted after the wedding show.

And who would ring her doorbell before half past eight on a Sunday morning, anyway?

She walked downstairs and blinked in surprise when she opened the door.

Sean was standing there—dressed in jeans and a white shirt rather than his normal formal attire—and he was carrying literally an armful of flowers. She could barely see him behind all the blooms and the foliage of delphiniums, stocks, gerberas and roses.

She blinked at him. ‘Sean?’

‘Can I come in?’ he asked.

‘I...’ Help. What did she say now?

‘I’ll say what I’ve got to say on your doorstep, if I have to,’ he said. ‘But I’d rather talk to you in private.’

She wasn’t too sure that she wanted an audience, either. ‘Come up,’ she said, and stood aside so he could go past and she could close the door behind them.

‘Firstly,’ he said, ‘I wanted to say sorry. And these are just...’ He stopped, glanced down at the flowers and then at her. ‘I’ve gone over the top, haven’t I?’

‘They’re gorgeous—though I’m not sure if I have enough vases, glasses and mugs to fit them all in,’ she said.

‘I just wanted to say sorry. And I kind of thought I needed to make a big gesture, because the words aren’t quite enough. And I know you love flowers. And...’ His voice trailed off.

‘You’re carrying an entire English cottage garden there.’ She was still hurt that he didn’t truly believe in her, but she could see how hard he was trying to start making things right. And as he stood there in the middle of all the flowers, looking completely like a fish out of water...how could she stay angry with him?

‘Let’s get these gorgeous flowers in water before they start wilting.’ She went into the kitchen and found every receptacle she had, and started filling them with water. ‘They’re lovely. Thank you. Where did you get them?’ she asked. ‘Covent Garden flower market isn’t open on Sundays.’

‘Columbia Road market,’ he said. ‘I looked up where I could get really good fresh flowers first thing on a Sunday morning.’

She thought about it. ‘So you carried all these on the tube?’

‘Uh-huh.’ He gave her a rueful smile. ‘I had to get someone to help me at the ticket barrier.’

He’d gone to a real effort for her. And he’d done something that would’ve made people stare at him—something she knew would’ve made him feel uncomfortable.

So this apology was sincerely meant. But she still needed to hear the words.

When they’d finished putting the flowers in water—including using the bowl of her kitchen sink—she said, ‘Do you want a coffee?’

‘No, thanks. I just need to talk to you,’ he said. He took a deep breath. ‘Claire, I honestly didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted to help. But I realise now that I handled it totally the wrong way. I interfered instead of supporting you properly and asking you what you needed me to do. I made you feel as if you were hopeless and couldn’t do anything on your own—but, Claire, I do believe in you. I knew your designs would make any of the fashion houses sit up and take notice. But the wedding show was so busy, I didn’t want to take the risk that they wouldn’t get time to see your collection and you wouldn’t get your chance. That’s the only reason I went to talk to Pia Verdi.’

His expression was serious and completely sincere. She knew he meant what he said.

And she also knew that she owed him an apology, too. They were both in the wrong.

‘I overreacted a bit as well,’ she said. ‘I’d been working flat out for weeks and, after the way everything had gone wrong from the first...well, I think it just caught me at the wrong time. Now I’ve had time to think about it, I know your heart was in the right place. You meant well. But yesterday I felt that you were being overprotective and stifling, the way Dad is, because you don’t think I can do it on my own. You think that I need looking after all the time.’

‘Claire, I’m not your father. I know you can do it on your own,’ he said softly. ‘And, for the record, I don’t think you need looking after. Actually, I think it would drive you bananas.’

‘It would.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I want an equal partnership with someone who’ll back me and who’ll let me back them.’

‘That’s what I want, too,’ Sean said.

Hope bloomed in her heart. ‘Before yesterday—before things went wrong—that’s what I thought we had,’ she said.

‘We did,’ he said. ‘We do.’

She bit her lip. ‘I’ve hurt you as much as you hurt me. I was angry and unfair and ungrateful, I pushed you away, and I’m sorry. And, if I try to think first instead of reacting first in future, do you think we could start again?’

‘So Ms Follow-Your-Heart turns into a rulebook devotee?’ Sean said. ‘No deal. Because I want a partner who thinks outside the box and stops me being regimented.’

‘You’re not regimented—well, not all the time,’ she amended.

‘Thank you. I think.’ He looked at her. ‘I can’t promise perfection and I can’t promise we won’t ever fight again, Claire.’

‘It wouldn’t be normal if we didn’t ever fight again,’ she pointed out.

‘True. I guess we just need to learn to compromise. Do things the middle way instead of both thinking that our way’s the only way.’ He opened his arms. ‘So. You and me. How about it?’

She stepped into his arms. ‘Yes.’

‘Good.’ He kissed her lingeringly. ‘And we’ll talk more in future. I promise I won’t think I know best.’

‘And I promise I won’t go super-stubborn.’

He laughed. ‘Maybe we ought to qualify that and say we’ll try.’

‘Good plan.’

He arched an eyebrow. ‘Are you going to admit that planning’s good, outside business?’

She laughed. ‘That would be a no. Most of the time. Are you going to admit that being spontaneous means you have more fun?’

He grinned. ‘Not if I’m hungry and I’ve just been drenched in a downpour.’

‘Compromise,’ she said. ‘That works for me.’

‘Me, too.’ He kissed her again. ‘And we’ll make this work. Together.’