Читать книгу Second Chance With The Best Man - Katrina Cudmore - Страница 11

HANNAH STUDIED LAURENT and marvelled at his ability to forget the past. It hurt her, angered her, but part of her envied him for it. Wasn’t it what she was striving to achieve herself, after all? For a moment she was about to say no to his invite. The last thing she wanted to do was spend time alone with him.

Standing in the doorway, a shoulder propped against the frame, his arms crossed on his chest, his expression untroubled, he waited for her response. He was still the best-looking man she’d ever met. And damn it, she was still attracted to him. As her mum would say, figgity, figgity, fig. Well, if he could shrug off the past then so could she. She popped her suitcase on the luggage rack. Flipped the lid open, pulled out her laptop and placed it on the desk by the window, determined to have some control.

Opening up the laptop, she asked him for the Wi-Fi password and, logging in, she said, ‘I’m doing an online thirty-day yoga challenge and I want to do today’s session now. I’ll need a shower afterwards.’ She glanced behind her in his direction. ‘I won’t be ready for at least an hour so don’t wait for me if that doesn’t suit you.’

‘I didn’t know you practised yoga.’

She shrugged. ‘It helps me to let go of all those small things that irritate me in life.’

He made a grunting sound low in his throat before saying, ‘I’ll see you downstairs in an hour,’ and then walked away.

She closed the door and leant heavily against it. This room, the entire château, was beyond incredible. She’d stolen glances into the endless rooms they had passed downstairs, her breath catching at their delicate elegance.

It was hard to comprehend that Laurent lived here. All alone. She knew from Lara that his parents had moved to a lodge on the thousand-acre estate after he’d returned from England to take up the role of CEO. She’d heard Lara’s description of this magnificent château, had known of the world-famous cognac brand, but until now she hadn’t fully grasped his family’s wealth and standing.

This was not her world. It brought out all the inadequacies she so desperately tried to keep hidden.

Now, more than ever, she was glad that she’d never told Laurent about her early childhood. How could someone who came from this background ever understand her? Not believe she was tainted by it?

She was even more grateful that she’d never fully opened her heart to him, dared to tell him she loved him. She’d felt too vulnerable, too unsure of what his response would be—which should have told her everything she needed to know about their relationship. Though deeply charismatic, Laurent somehow managed to never fully reveal himself or show any vulnerability. For most of their whirlwind relationship she’d been blind to that, too excited by the fact that this gorgeous man wanted her in his life. He’d been attentive and fun with a determined and self-possessed streak she’d found utterly compelling. But he’d never really answered her questions about his background, what he wanted in the future. And in their last conversation he’d told her that he couldn’t give her commitment, a permanent relationship.

Thankfully she’d managed to stop herself from pleading that she was happy to keep things casual, knowing that in truth she only wanted to buy more time to persuade him that he could commit. At least she hadn’t followed that particular deluded path of trying to change another person.

After her yoga and shower, she changed into a knee-length white shift dress, a narrow gold belt cinching in the waist. Brushing out her hair, she let it hang loose and applied some make-up. About to leave, she paused to stare out of one of the four windows in the room. Below her room, set amidst a wide purple border of lavender, sat a huge swimming pool. Beyond the pool an immaculate lawn ran down to a tree-lined river. Laurent used to talk about that river, the Charente, when he spoke about home, which admittedly was a rare occurrence. In London, his whole focus had seemed to be on his career as a fund manager and the busy social life he’d created in his adopted city. He’d lived life with abandon, hungry to experience new places, new things—she’d travelled more in her short time with him than she’d ever previously done.

Downstairs she busied herself with staring at the landscape paintings of country scenes hanging in abundance in the hallway as she waited for him, and when his footsteps tapped, tapped, tapped on the marble stairs as he jogged downwards, she realised how much she missed his endless energy and enthusiasm for life. She gave him the briefest of smiles when he came alongside her, tried to ignore how good he looked with his damp hair, his pale blue shirt open at the neck worn over lightweight navy trousers, tried to ignore how his freshly applied aftershave flipped her heart with the memory of waking to find him crouched beside her, dressed for work, a cup of tea in one hand, a plate with toast in the other, his brilliant smile turning her weak with happiness.

‘Ready to go?’

She nodded to his question and followed him to the front door. As he was about to pull the ancient handle that opened one side of the heavy double oak doors she could not help but ask, ‘Will he be out there?’

He turned, confused at first by her question, but then reached out as though to touch her forearm. Hannah jerked back, unable to bear the thought of him touching her. Afraid for how she would react. For the briefest of moments he looked thrown by her reaction before he dropped his hand. Opening the door, he answered, ‘No. Bleu knows to stay in his kennel when I send him there.’

Tentatively she followed him out onto the gravelled driveway. ‘Did you inherit him from your parents?’

He walked to the side of the château, past a parked four-by-four, and opened the doors of one of the five stone-crafted single-storey outbuildings that were set back from the château. Daylight flooded the building to reveal a silver sports car. Hannah swallowed the temptation to exclaim at its beauty.

‘I didn’t inherit Bleu but this car I did inherit. My father is an avid vintage-car collector. He moved most of his collection to an outbuilding at the lodge but left this car here as there wasn’t enough room for it. He wanted to sell it but my mother persuaded him to keep it within the family. I don’t get to use it as much as I’d like to...’ he paused and glanced out at the blue, cloudless evening sky ‘...but this evening is the perfect night to take it for a run.’

Hannah watched him manually lower the soft top of the car, the pit of disappointment in her stomach at his answer having her eventually ask, ‘So where did you get Bleu?’

In the initial days and weeks after Laurent had returned to France she’d held out vain hope that he might call, change his mind, her heart slowly splintering apart, but after a month of silence, her heart a void, she’d accepted that it was truly over between them. But somehow, the thought of Laurent choosing Bleu, knowing her fear of dogs, spoke more than a year of silence of him moving on from her.

After he’d left she’d been numb, but eventually, when she’d grown exhausted by the emptiness inside herself, she’d insisted that her heart mend. She’d worked harder at fixing her heart than at anything she’d ever tackled before. She had thrown herself into her work and her training course to become a wedding celebrant. She’d filled every minute of every day with work and exercise and reading and meeting up with friends and family.

Only once had she slipped up and shown just how deeply devastated she was. She’d taken her newly acquired wedding celebrant certificate to show to her parents on the day she graduated from her course. Her dad had been out at the weekly livestock market in their local town, but her mum had made a fuss of her achievement, even opening a celebratory bottle of champagne. In the comforting cocoon of her childhood home, once the euphoria of achieving the qualification had worn off, she’d realised how tired and lonely she really was. And when her mum, with her usual gentle perceptiveness, had asked how she was, the tears had come. Hannah had fought their spilling onto her cheek, not wanting to upset her mum. She’d just nodded instead at what her mum said in response to her hiccupped short explanation before quickly changing the subject to a much happier topic—her sister Cora’s pregnancy and the much-anticipated arrival of the first grandchild into the family.

Later, back in London and alone in her apartment, she’d reflected on what her mum had said and taken some solace from her observation that at least she was risking her heart now and living life as she should be, with its invariable ups and downs, joy and disappointments. Hannah had been taken aback; she hadn’t realised that her mum saw through how much she was protecting herself. Which was silly really—her parents were the most empathetic people she knew. Of course they understood why she struggled so much to trust others.

She’d met her parents when she was seven. She hadn’t wanted to be in their house; she hadn’t wanted their smiles, their kind voices. Their encouragement to eat her food, to play with their daughters, Cora and Emily. She had wanted to be back in her old house. With her birth parents. But the police had taken her away and now she had to live with new people. She’d been so scared. Above all else she’d hated change. Because it meant things might get even worse. She’d known how her birth parents operated, but not these strangers.

Now opening the passenger door for her, Laurent moved to the other side of the car. It was only when they were both seated inside the car that he turned and answered her question. ‘I found Bleu one night when out running in the woods of the estate. I heard his whimpering first—the vet believes he ate some poison a local farmer may have put down. He was already an undernourished stray. We didn’t think he’d pull through. But he did. He’s a gentle giant. But I’ll make sure he’s locked away while you’re here.’

Hannah swallowed at the tenderness of his tone, at the emotion in his eyes. Torn between her deep fear of dogs and the guilt of locking away this poor animal who had been through so much already, she answered, ‘No, don’t, that’s not fair on him. I’ll keep out of his way.’

Turning on the engine, which started with a low throb, he turned and regarded her. ‘I can introduce him to you if you want.’

She jerked in her seat, instantly terrified. ‘No, don’t.’

He gave her a concerned look before backing the car out of the garage. When he’d turned it in the direction of the drive he said, ‘You never really explained to me why you’re so scared of dogs.’

She shrugged. ‘I’ve always been petrified of them, it’s just one of those things.’ Which wasn’t true. She could remember a time when she wasn’t scared. But like so much of her early childhood, the story of why she feared dogs was one she’d locked away inside herself years ago.

Laurent’s gaze narrowed. For a moment he looked as though he was going to probe further but then, putting the car in gear, he sped off down the drive and out onto the narrow lanes of the Cognac countryside.

The wind whipped against her hair. She tied it back with an elastic band from her handbag. Despite her anxiousness about the entire weekend, for a moment she felt exhilarated as they zipped along and she smiled to herself as the force of the warm air blasted against her skin. The car was small. Laurent’s thigh was only inches away from hers. She tried to focus on the low hedges they sped by, the endless bright fields of smiling sunflowers, the gorgeous order of vineyards with their row upon row of vines, and not the way Laurent’s large hands clasped the wheel, the assured way he handled the car. They slowed behind a tractor. Hannah felt a jolt of nostalgia for her Shropshire childhood. The rides with her dad out on his tractor. The carefree days filled with her dad’s laughter, the late evenings of drawing in bales of hay. But even then a part of her could not help wonder how she’d managed to escape from what came before, wondering if one day she’d have to go back to it.

Laurent slowed as they approached a village. The road narrowed even further to wind its way past pale stone houses with light blue shutters, then a boulangerie shut for the evening, a bar with some locals sitting outside who waved to Laurent as he passed by. At the other end of the village he pulled into a narrow driveway, a plaque with the name Villa Marchand on the entrance pillar, the viburnum hedging dense with white delicate flowers brushing lightly against the sides of the car. And then a two-storey house appeared, its blue shutters tied back. Jasmine and wild roses threaded their way up the outer walls, curling around the Juliet balconies on the upper floor. To the side of the house stood an ancient weeping willow tree on the banks of a river.

Laurent parked the car and got out. Hannah followed him to the front door. He opened it to reveal a stone-flagged sitting room, large white sofas surrounding a heavy teak chest that acted as a coffee table. The walls were painted in a soft white; a large grey painted mirror hung over the open fireplace.

‘Why are we here?’

He frowned at her question as though he’d expected her to already know the answer. And then, stepping into the room, he said, ‘This is my present to François and Lara. A summer home. It’s where François proposed to Lara. I’m hoping it will tempt them to visit more often.’

She followed him into the room, leaving the front door ajar. ‘You miss François?’

He turned at her question. Her heart lodged in her throat as his blue eyes twinkled and his wide generous mouth lifted in a smile. ‘Don’t tell him.’

Before she could stop herself she heard herself say, ‘You could always move back to England to be closer to him.’

She turned away from how his expression fell, winced when he said, ‘My life is here now. I’ll never leave Cognac again.’

Picking up a small bronze figurine of a cat from the side table, she said, ‘That’s quite a turnaround from before.’ She lifted her gaze to study him. ‘You used to say that there was nothing here for you.’

‘Things change.’

‘But not people. They just reveal their true selves to you.’

‘I never—’

Regretting instantly the bitterness of her voice, that she’d revealed her upset with him, Hannah interrupted with a forced laugh, ‘You’re certainly putting my wedding present of a set of organic cotton bath towels into the shade with this villa.’

Laurent shook his head. ‘The infamous wedding list.’ Pausing, he gave a smile. ‘It has caused a lot of amusement amongst my parents’ friends.’

Hannah swallowed a giggle, imagining the other guests’ bewilderment at some of the items Lara and François had listed. ‘I think water filters, recycled furniture and garden equipment for their allotment are very practical gifts to ask for.’

Laurent’s eyebrow lifted. ‘My father had to explain to a friend of his who’s a guest at the wedding what a wormery is. Trust me, it was a very long telephone conversation.’

Hannah smiled, trying so hard to pretend that she was finding all this easy, a bittersweet thickness forming in her throat at how easily they fell back into their shared humour and banter.

Silence fell between them. Laurent’s smile receded. The room closed in around them. She looked away from him. But even then she felt the force of his gaze. Heat grew on her cheeks, a rumble of attraction stirred in her stomach and, when she glanced back at him, it exploded at the rigidity of his expression—his square jawline fixed, his dark thick brows drawn downwards, his mouth stern. She’d at first been drawn to his easy charm but it was this more private, serious-minded side of him—the responsible older brother who was so protective of his only sibling—this self-assured and professionally astute man she’d fallen in love with.

His jaw moved a fraction. The chemistry that had always been so strong, so potent between them was at work again.

She willed herself to walk away, to break the silence, regretting having come here.

His mouth tightened. The knot of fear and anticipation twisted even tighter in her stomach.

‘How have things been for you?’

She jolted in surprise at his question. His voice, as always, like warm honey trickling through her insides. For a moment she was about to answer in a similarly low intimate tone, but caught herself in time and instead, with a flourish of bonhomie that took even her by surprise, she walked away, pretending to inspect the books in the bookcase. ‘Great. I’ve been busy. Emily married late last autumn in Granada in Spain. We had a great week there—it really is a beautiful city and it was so nice for all of my family to have spent the time together.’ Her forced smile was replaced by a genuine one when she added, ‘And Cora had a little girl. She’s called Diana. She’s gorgeous. I’m totally smitten by her.’

Laurent smiled at her description. For the briefest moment, the old ease that had existed between them flared. Hannah was thrown; her smile faded, and disappeared altogether when she thought of her sisters’ happiness. She loved her sisters with all her heart and would never begrudge them anything...but faced with how content they were, how successfully they managed their personal lives, Hannah not only felt lonely but also doubted she would ever manage to achieve a similar happiness.

* * *

Laurent winced as the wistfulness in Hannah’s expression was replaced with an unsettling sadness. She wanted what her sisters had. Marriage, children, a united family. The things he could never give to her.

He gestured for her to follow him into the kitchen, a sudden urge to keep moving, to be distracted by doing things, taking hold. ‘Let me show you around. I had an interior designer manage the renovations and furnish the rooms but I could use your advice as to whether there are additional items Lara would like.’

Hannah walked around the island unit of the hand-painted kitchen, her gaze shifting out onto the garden and the river beyond. ‘Have they seen the villa since you redecorated?’

Earlier, when she’d asked why they were here, for a moment he’d been thrown by the fact that she didn’t know. Somehow it felt as though she should know everything that was happening in his life. ‘Not since their last visit. They had wanted to stay here before the wedding day but I told François that there was a problem with the electricity.’

‘When are you going to tell them?’

‘I’ll give them the key on their wedding day. They can spend their first night here together.’

The weariness in her expression faded and the warmth he’d so adored about her in London appeared. She gestured around her, towards the kitchen and then the garden outside. ‘Lara is going to be so happy. She has always wanted a garden of her own. Right now they only have their allotment and that’s miles away from their apartment.’ In this enthusiasm, her happiness for her friend, he realised how much he’d missed her. He missed this warmth, her laughter, her sheer presence.

Pointing towards a notebook hanging from the kitchen’s noticeboard, he said, ‘Take a look upstairs and note down anything you think I should get the interior designer to add.’ Then, backing towards the garden door that led out onto the newly laid patio, he added, ‘I need to check out some work that was carried out in the garden today.’

Outside, he walked across the stone patio—as he’d guessed, the contractor had done a good job—hating his need to get away from Hannah. From her smile. Hating the reality of what he’d walked away from.

He was standing on the riverside steps when she came out and joined him ten minutes later, handing him a bullet-point list in her neat and precise handwriting. She’d listed bathrobes, champagne, Belgian chocolates, decaffeinated coffee and a double hammock. He lifted an eyebrow at that last item.

Hannah laughed and gestured towards the giant willow. ‘It’d be fun for them if it was hung from the willow across to the boundary trees. I can see them lying there on their wedding night staring up at the stars before going to bed.’ Her voice trailed off and her gaze dropped down to the new wooden rowing boat that he’d asked his interior designer to organise.

Heat radiated from the stone of the river steps. There was a vague creaking noise as the overheated house and earth shifted in expansion. But the heat on Hannah’s cheeks, the heat in his belly, had nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with her mention of bed. In London, they would meet after work sometimes in the city, other times he would meet Hannah off her train in Richmond if he’d been travelling that day, with the intention of having a drink or a meal, a visit to the theatre, but more often than not they would head directly home and into bed and only surface hours later to eat before tumbling back into bed until the following morning.

Hannah had always craved chocolate after they had made love. She had a particular love for dark chocolate straight from the fridge. ‘Do you still have an addiction to chocolate?’

Her head whipped around at his question, a spark of anger in her eyes. ‘I try to stay away from things that aren’t good for me these days.’

He forced himself to smile, knowing he deserved that comment.

She folded her arms, stared across the river towards the bank of poplars growing there. She bit her lip for a moment and paused in deep thought before saying, ‘Now I know what’s missing in the house—I couldn’t put my finger on it for a while—family photographs. You should get some framed and placed around the house to add a personal touch. I can send you some of Lara and her family.’ She paused and considered him. ‘You don’t think it’s a good idea?’

He rubbed the back of his neck and admitted, ‘I can’t remember the last time my family had a photo taken together.’

She grimaced. ‘Not with your dad being ill and everything.’

He didn’t bother to tell her that it was probably close to a decade since they’d had a family photograph taken. In the years after he’d left home, Laurent had rarely returned to Château Bonneval, and when he had his visits had always been brief. Some briefer than others when he would leave almost immediately, completely frustrated when his father would refuse to listen to his advice on saving the business.

He walked down the steps and, pulling the boat towards himself, stepped into its hull and turned to Hannah. ‘Let’s go for dinner. The restaurant is a ten-minute row down the river.’

Hannah stepped back on the grassy verge and considered him. As she tilted her head to the side her ponytail swept against her shoulder, exposing the arched curve of her neck, and a memory of her giggling when he used to press his body to her back, place his lips on the tender skin of her neck, left him momentarily dizzy. The boat rocked beneath him. He jerked, almost losing his balance.

Hannah laughed. He shook his head at her amusement at his predicament and almost lost his balance again.

When she joined him on board she sat down as clumsily as possible, obviously in the hope of tipping him into the river.

* * *

Laurent effortlessly rowed against the light flow of the water and Hannah studied the neighbouring gardens they passed by, seeing in the long and narrow plots the unfurling of family life. A woman on a recliner reading a newspaper while her husband clipped a bay tree. A family of five sitting at the edge of the river eating dinner beneath a huge oak tree and stopping to wave hello as they passed by. Hannah wanted this domesticity but would it ever happen for her?

A surge of anger towards Laurent caught her by surprise. Why had he come into her life? Why, when she’d lowered her defences for the first time ever, thereby allowing herself to fall for a man, had he broken her heart? And as she watched him pull on the oars, his shirtsleeves rolled up, his forearm muscles bunching with each pull, her anger soared even more. She didn’t want to be so aware of him, so giddy around him, so vulnerable, and her resolve that she would never let him get to her again hardened.

She needed to remember his faults. He liked to eat strong-smelling cheeses that had made her gag whenever she’d opened his fridge. He took work even more seriously than she did—how often had he cancelled dates or forgotten about them, to her annoyance? And despite his gregarious personality, in truth he was a closed book. She knew so little about his background, his family. And he had a birthmark on his bottom. Okay, so she’d admit that that was actually cute.

‘You’re starting to scare me.’

She jumped at his voice. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You look like you’re trying to figure out the most effective way of murdering me. In fact, it reminds me of the evening your work colleagues came to a party in my house.’

Their first fight. ‘You were over an hour late for your own party. My colleagues were wondering if you were a figment of my imagination.’

His eyes glinted. ‘Ah, so, despite your denials to the contrary, you had been talking to them about me as I had suspected.’

I couldn’t stop talking about you. I could see my colleagues’ amusement as I recounted things you had said and done, day after day, but I was too giddy with amazement over you to stop. ‘They wanted to see for themselves if your wine collection was as impressive as I said it was.’ She smiled when she admitted, ‘My senior partner especially. He was rather put out when he saw it was a much more extensive collection than his.’

And then she remembered what had happened that night after the others had left, how Laurent had made love to her in the moonlight that had streamed through the window and onto the floor of his bedroom, his eyes ablaze with passion and emotion.

She dropped her head. Inhaled against the disturbing mix of desire and pain that was grabbing her heart.

‘How’s work?’

She looked up at his softly spoken question. Had he guessed she was remembering that night on his bedroom floor? Her anger resurged. ‘I’ve been offered a promotion which would involve a transfer to the Singapore office.’

Up ahead on a bend in the river, below a string of lights threaded through trees, a wooden sign on the riverbank announced that they had arrived at La Belle Epoque.

Laurent guided the boat towards the restaurant’s river steps, nodding approvingly to her news. ‘That’s fantastic. When are you moving?’

He shifted the oars inside the boat, wood upon wood making a solid thump, a sound just like the thud her heart gave to his enthusiastic congratulations.

She gritted her teeth and eyed him, not caring at the hurt heat flaming in her cheeks. Did he not even feel a single pang that she would be moving so far away? How could he not realise how torn she was about leaving her family behind?

The move to Singapore was an incredible opportunity, but in truth, deep down, she was scared of being lonely...forgotten by her family.

‘Are you going to accept?’

She shrugged at his question. ‘Do you think I should?’

He considered her for a moment and then those blue eyes blazed with an ominous energy. ‘Is something or somebody keeping you in London?’

She folded her arms. ‘Perhaps.’

The blaze in his eyes intensified. ‘Are you dating someone?’

She’d been on some dates during the past few months; wasn’t getting back on the figurative horse the best way to get over a fall? By dating other guys she’d hoped that maybe she could rekindle the hope and optimism and openness that had been growing in her before she’d met Laurent, but her dates hadn’t been a success. She’d felt too wary, had struggled to connect with them. Now she clung to the hope that maybe it was just a case that she’d tried dating too quickly and that with time she would be more open to a relationship...but she feared that maybe she would never find it inside herself to trust a man again. ‘How about you? Are you seeing someone?’ she countered.

* * *

Laurent stood and jumped onto the landing steps, jealousy coiling in his stomach. For the past year he’d immersed himself in work, driven by the need to prove himself as a worthy CEO, but now as he turned to find Hannah’s eyes sparking with anger he realised it was also to distract himself from the pain he’d caused her. He held out his hand and Hannah reluctantly took it. When she leaped, her hand tightened for a split second on his but the moment her foot touched the step she snatched it away.

They stood facing each other, the air between them dense with tension.

Hannah’s jawline tightened. ‘So, are you dating someone?’

‘I’m too busy with work.’

‘You worked crazy hours in London—it didn’t stop you dating then.’

‘It’s different now.’

‘In what way?’

She was testing him, pushing him for an answer and he wasn’t sure what her question really was.

‘Running a family business is complicated.’

Her nose wrinkled at that.

He pulled in a breath and admitted, ‘After what happened between us, I don’t feel like dating.’

‘Yet?’

Would he ever want to date again? Right now, he couldn’t see himself wanting to ask another woman out. But he couldn’t admit that to her so instead he simply shrugged.

She looked at him with a puzzled expression. ‘You’re the one who ended it.’

When he’d ended their relationship, he’d used the excuse of needing to focus on his new life in France. And the fact that they wanted different things in life, namely that he wasn’t interested in marriage. He’d kept from her the actual reasons why he would never marry, how his trust in others had been destroyed as a teenager, because to do so would have meant revealing his true self to her, a self he spent most of the time trying to avoid.

They shifted apart at the sound of footsteps behind them. Gabriel, the owner of La Belle Epoque, greeted them warmly and guided them to an outdoor table with views of a weir and an old mill.

Local teenagers were playing in the river, laughing and calling to one another in the evening sunshine.

After Gabriel had taken their order and poured them a glass of white wine each, Hannah smiled as one of the teenagers swung over the river, whooping loudly before landing with an enormous splash in the water, which earned her applause from her gang. ‘When we were teenagers and the weather was fine, I used to go down to the river that ran through our land with Cora and Emily to swim and hang out. Did you and François do the same?’

‘We spent our summers with my grandparents in Paris.’

She placed her elbow on the table and balanced her chin in the cup of her hand. ‘I thought Parisians left the city for the summer. Why didn’t they come here?’

‘My grandparents moved to Paris after my father took over the family business.’ He stopped with the intention of saying no more, but thanks to Hannah’s expectant silence he found himself eventually admitting, ‘There were arguments. My grandfather didn’t approve of how my father was running the business, so they moved away. When we were old enough I asked my grandfather if François and I could spend the summers with them in Paris.’

‘Did your parents not mind?’

He couldn’t help but give a rueful laugh. ‘They were too busy to even notice we weren’t around.’

She grimaced but then, ever the optimist, asked with excitement, ‘Did you like Paris?’

‘We both loved it. François even stayed and finished his final years of school there.’

Her brows shot up. ‘Wow, I couldn’t see my parents agreeing to that—they even struggled when we left for university. Your parents obviously encouraged you to be independent.’

She was reading the situation all wrong. Not surprising given her background. Once again this evening he felt torn between changing the subject and telling her about his family. Before, he’d never felt that compulsion. In London, he’d been able to block out his past, but being back in Cognac for the past year had stirred up all the memories and emotions of how betrayed he’d felt by his parents’ affairs.

‘Is everything okay? You seem upset.’

He started at Hannah’s words. She’d always been so good at reading his moods.

‘Our family life was rather chaotic. I persuaded François he would do better in a calmer environment.’

‘Have you always been the protective older brother?’

He grinned at the playfulness of her question. ‘Probably.’

Hannah grinned back and then in a flash memories and attraction danced between them.

His throat tightened.

Hannah twisted her wine glass around and around. ‘It was a shame you couldn’t make Lara and François’s civil ceremony in London last week. I know François was disappointed but at least your father was well enough to travel with your mother.’

‘I was travelling in Asia—promoting the House.’

She snorted, clearly not buying his answer. ‘I reckon, given your views on marriage, that you were simply avoiding the ceremony.’

‘That’s possibly true too.’ Seeing her smile of satisfaction that she’d called it right, he added, ‘But before you accuse me of disloyalty or not playing my part, can I point out that there is no tradition here in France of there being a best man at weddings? But as Lara is keen to have her sister as her bridesmaid, to keep some British traditions, I have agreed to be the best man.’

She laughed at that. ‘You make it sound as though you have agreed to take a place on a battlefield.’

Was marriage, commitment, trusting in others, so easy for her? ‘Did you mind being asked to be the wedding celebrant?’

‘I was honoured. What else did you expect?’

He wanted to say that he thought she should have said no to François and Lara. But instead he said, ‘Are you actually enjoying the work? It can’t be easy combining it with your day job.’

‘You still don’t understand why I want to be a celebrant, do you?’

‘It’s not the career direction a young and successful finance director usually takes.’

Their conversation was interrupted by one of the waiting staff arriving with their orders: salade au saumon et l’avocat for Hannah, double carpaccio de boeuf for himself.

After they had eaten for a few minutes in silence, Hannah placed her cutlery on her plate and said, ‘I love being a wedding celebrant because I want to contribute something meaningful to people’s lives.’ She paused and looked at him with a determined pride. ‘I need something positive and uplifting in my life.’

He lowered his own cutlery. ‘I’m sorry that I hurt you.’

She sat back in her chair, folded her arms and stared towards the teenagers who were walking home through the meadow on the other side of the river. ‘It’s in the past.’

‘We’ll see each other in the future. I don’t want to cause you any further hurt.’ For reasons he didn’t understand he felt compelled to add, ‘Nothing has changed...there can be no future for us.’

Her gaze flew back to him. Anger now sparked in her eyes. She stood. ‘It’s been a year. I’m over it... I’m over you, Laurent. I’ve moved on. Don’t overinflate your importance in my life.’