Katrina Cudmore - Second Chance With The Best Man

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.