Lynne Marshall - Hot Single Docs - London's Calling

Her dress was gorgeous. Simple but striking with cap sleeves of the lace that overlaid the rest of the dress and a slim belt with a silver buckle above soft folds of fabric that flowed over the stairs and then grazed the black and white marble of the chequerboard floor. The bouquet she carried was simply a bunch of the same perfect white roses that were the centrepieces on the tables. Leo and Ethan had matching white rosebuds as buttonholes in their classic, dark morning suit jackets over pinstriped grey trousers.

The wedding vows exchanged were traditional. The same words that Rafael and Abbie had said to each other.

To have and to hold... For better or for worse... In sickness and in health...

To love and to cherish, from this day forward, until death us do part...

Maybe the memories of her own wedding day weren’t that blurry after all. The words echoed in her head but something strange was happening in the rest of her body. Her heart was back in that registry office. Full to bursting with so much love.

So many hopes and dreams for her future with this wonderful man.

Her breath must have caught audibly. Not that anyone else would have noticed Rafael’s attention being diverted but his body was suddenly closer. Touching hers. With no conscious thought on her part, Abbie found her hand stealing into Rafael’s. Their fingers laced together and the grip was tight enough to know that she wasn’t the only one being swamped by emotion.

They had vowed to love each other. In sickness and in health. Did it matter if it was Ella’s health rather than either of theirs?

Of course it didn’t.

Had they broken their vows? They were still married, weren’t they?

Abbie was fighting tears as she watched the tender first kiss of the newlyweds in front of them.

Yes. She and Rafael had broken their vows because they hadn’t cherished each other. And the fault was on both sides.

But how could they have given each other what they’d needed when they hadn’t really known each other? They had both wanted the best for Ella. Rafael must be feeling so guilty now, thinking that he had been ready to give up, and here she was, defying the odds.

Abbie squeezed his hand more tightly and was grateful for the answering pressure. And then they both turned their heads as the clapping around them started and Abbie could have drowned in the depths she saw in Rafael’s eyes. She couldn’t pull her hand free to join in the congratulatory clapping. She couldn’t look away from Rafael’s gaze either.

This moment took her straight back to their own wedding. To the way Rafael had looked at her in the heartbeat after the celebrant had told him he could kiss his bride.

It was the most natural thing in the world for him to tilt his head towards her now and for Abbie to raise her face.

A soft kiss. Nothing like the explosive release of need that had happened in the changing room. This was tender. Too brief but long enough.

A cherishing kind of kiss...

‘You’re crying, cara.’ Rafael studied her face as he raised his head again. He used the pad of his thumb to brush away a tear.

‘It’s a wedding.’ Abbie sniffed and dipped her head, pressing her fingers against the bridge of her nose to force back any more tears. She looked up and tried to smile. ‘You’re allowed to cry.’

‘Si...’ Rafael was smiling back at her. ‘You’re lucky we didn’t get married in Italy. The whole village might have been crying.’

Abbie snorted softly but the sound was poignant. The registry office had only been supposed to be a first wedding—getting the formal paperwork out of the way—because Abbie hadn’t wanted to be a pregnant bride. Rafael had promised he would take her to Italy as soon as the baby could travel and they could do it all again in a village church on his beloved Amalfi Coast. She would have a beautiful dress and their families would be able to share the celebration not only of their union but the start of their family.

Was it another dream that was nothing but dust now? She had to clear her throat. ‘Happy crying, I hope.’

‘Of course. What else?’ But Rafael’s gaze had moved. Somebody was turning from a chair in the next row to greet him and conversations were starting again around them as the newlyweds moved on to sign the register. They would disappear for photographs soon and Abbie knew that the gathering would become a glittering social occasion as the wider circle of guests arrived. There were rumours that royalty was expected, even, as some of the Hunter brothers’ clients had been invited to share this celebration.

Suddenly Abbie didn’t want to be part of it.

She wanted to be alone somewhere.

With her own husband.

Maybe he felt the same way. Maybe that was why Rafael kept hold of Abbie’s hand when they were free to move around and mingle.

Abbie wasn’t complaining.

It felt better than good. It felt right.

* * *

There was no shortage of people they knew to talk to and groups formed as champagne and canapés were served by an army of waiting staff. Friends and family of the bride and groom drifted into one group and the medical personnel from the Hunter Clinic, the Lighthouse Children’s Hospital and Princess Catherine’s made up another.

‘Abbie...what a gorgeous dress.’ The office manager from the clinic, Gwen, was balancing a glass in one hand and what looked like a tiny square of rye bread topped with caviar in the other.

Rafael nodded his approval of the compliment. The new rose-pink dress was gorgeous but, in his opinion, it only worked because it made Abbie’s skin and hair look irresistibly beautiful. An elegant version of the picnic frock she had worn to the park the other day when she’d taken his breath away.

‘Thanks, Gwen. I love your hat, too.’ Abbie was eyeing the froth of flowers and feathers on Gwen’s head. ‘Though it’s more of a fascinator, isn’t it?’

‘A hybrid.’ Gwen smiled. ‘I believe it’s called a “hatinator.” Whatever next?’ She looked at the canapé her hand. ‘This is my second one of these. They’re simply delicious.’ She glanced from Abbie to Rafael. ‘You’re not eating?’

‘I wanted to hold my wife’s hand,’ Rafael said solemnly. ‘But I couldn’t refuse a glass of champagne. What is a man to do?’

He could feel an increase of pressure from the fingers entwined with his. Was Abbie privately expressing her approval of this contact?

He really didn’t want to be here, being sociable, any more. He wanted to be alone somewhere.

With Abbie.

Gwen laughed. ‘Now, there’s an idea. A new kind of diet. You could write a book and become famous.’

‘He’s already famous.’ Another figure joined their conversation. ‘I hear that they want to make a movie about transforming the lives of Afghan children and Hollywood is demanding Mr Rafael de Luca as the star.’

The deadpan manner in which this information was delivered made it sound quite plausible. But this was Edward North who was speaking, a microsurgeon who was known for being slightly eccentric and a bit of a loner. He was awkward enough in social settings for it to be quite surprising to see him attend an event like this at all.

‘Yeah, yeah...’ Rafael’s tone was mocking but he smiled to take any sting from the tone.

As if sensing a sudden tension in the air, Gwen moved away to talk to someone else and he could feel Abbie’s fingers stiff and still in his hand now.

Rafael wasn’t sure who released the contact first. Maybe it just didn’t feel right to be standing here holding hands while they were talking to Edward. Because he’d been the cause of the trouble their marriage was in now?

Or perhaps Abbie had heard that his relationship with this particular colleague had not been the best recently. He had been angry with Edward and they’d barely spoken in the last few months, but he’d been justified, hadn’t he?