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Chapter Thirty-nine

Francesca

We breathe a collective sigh of relief as our taxi pulls up at the venue, all piling out of the car.

I’m sweating, although I can’t tell if that’s because I just spent over an hour packed into the back of a car between Gemma and Leon on a sunny Spanish morning with barely adequate aircon, or if it’s all the adrenalin for what I’m about to do.

The wedding venue is a massive villa sprawling over a beautiful cliffside overlooking the beach.

It’s all white stone walls and terracotta tiles, with manicured gardens full of brightly coloured flowers and palm trees swaying gently in the ocean breeze.

Even out here on the circular tiled driveway in front of a fountain, it screams luxury.

It’s the perfect place for a wedding. So completely, utterly gorgeous.

Gemma half falls out of the taxi, throws her handbag at me, and hoicks up her skirts to sprint into the hotel.

‘I’ll see you two later!’ she hollers over her shoulder, vanishing inside.

The driver gets our bags out of the boot; there’s a porter in a crisp white and gold uniform coming over to take them for us.

And this is all suddenly starting to feel very real .

My dress flutters around my legs and I can taste the salt in the air, feel the lovely heat of the morning sunshine on my skin that seems to soothe my aching muscles, and somewhere inside – somewhere on the other side of this villa … is Marcus.

About to marry the wrong girl. Having feelings for me he’s tried to squash. Mistakenly rejected after the romantic night we spent together. My best friend at work, the great love of my life.

Those things all sound so … hollow , now.

But I’m here. I’ll always regret it otherwise. I have to do this.

Don’t I?

‘Er …’ I turn awkwardly to Leon, holding out Gemma’s handbag. ‘Can you make sure that gets up to Gemma’s room for her, please? I have to …’

‘Right. Yeah. Course.’ He coughs, takes the bag, and then we both stand there awkwardly for several seconds. ‘Uh, good luck.’

‘Thanks. You … you too.’

‘Sure.’

I’m not even sure he’s planning to speak to Kayleigh anymore, after everything Gemma told us. We never got around to talking about it, and then it got too late to ask, and …

‘I hope, whatever you decide to do, it goes alright,’ I tell him. ‘I hope it’s not too painful.’

Leon blinks a couple of times, seeming to let the words sink in, and then gives me a small smile. ‘You too. I hope … I hope you get what you’re looking for. What you deserve.’

If he’d said that when we first met in the airport, I would’ve taken those words as a harsh insult – but I understand, now, what he means. That I deserve more , not less.

Looking unsure of himself, Leon makes an awkward move forward like he’s going in for a hug, and then thrusts out his hand. I almost want to laugh. He was pressed up against me in a toilet stall a few hours ago, but now he’s blushing and offering me his hand to shake.

I take it, but rather than shake it, I squeeze it tight and use it to duck in close so I can kiss his cheek. ‘I’ll see you later.’

I tell the porter that I’ll check in properly later and cast one last look at Leon before I dash inside to do exactly what I came here to do, and tell Marcus how I feel before it’s too late.

It’s like something out of a painting, the kind of scene so breathtaking that it stops you in your tracks while you take it all in.

The lush gardens full of greenery and flowerbeds and topiary, the huge white pavilion adorned in gold accents and flowering vines in the centre of it all, the rows of white chairs surrounded by garlands of peonies and lilac and eucalyptus, the water features and fountains adding a decadent ambiance to the gentle sound of crashing waves from the sea.

There’s already quite a crowd gathered around the pavilion ready for the ceremony, and I spot him. Down at the end, a drink in hand, surrounded by his groomsmen, laughing at something someone just said.

He looks so handsome, even from all the way over here. The crisp sandstone-colour linen suit, the turquoise pocket square, the fact he isn’t wearing a tie but has a few shirt buttons undone. The sunlight gilds his dark hair in a halo of gold, and his laugh rings out, warm and rich and inviting.

I take a breath. My hand shakes as I set it on the stone banister and descend the steps from the hotel terrace to the pavilion.

I feel like Cinderella arriving at the ball, can almost imagine the music swelling and birds twittering prettily as I enter the party in my lovely new dress, with my eyes only for the man I’ve come to see, just waiting for him to glance over – the way the world will stop turning and I will catch my breath, sure he does the same, how he will leave the conversation with his friends to walk towards me, drawn as if by a magnetism he can’t avoid but doesn’t want to anyway, and he’ll reach me as I get to the bottom of the steps, and …

Will he stare? Look bowled over, be speechless?

Say something like, You’re a knockout ?

There are butterflies in my tummy.

And – nothing happens. None of it happens.

This is not a movie; I am not the main character. Nobody pays me any attention and the world doesn’t come to a stop for the two of us, and I get all the way up to Marcus and his friends before he even notices me.

‘Fran! Shit, there you are! You made it!’

He slings an arm around me, kissing my cheek.

‘I made it. I promised, didn’t I?’ The words feel like a script, though. ‘Listen, I just wondered, could we maybe—’

‘All alright? Leon and Gem get here okay, too?’

‘Yes. Yeah, they’re—’

‘Great stuff. Damn, you look good for someone who spent the night at an airport! Give us a twirl, babe, go on.’

Marcus takes my hand, lifting it over my head to spin me around.

It doesn’t feel like I’m the centre of his world, like this is flirty and sweet. It feels cheap, and like I am on display.

Can he tell I’m wearing the new underwear? Why was I stupid enough to believe Gemma when she said it was to make me feel confident, not for his benefit? Right now it feels like just another way I’m a joke.

He laughs. The others join in. A girl – one of his uni friends, someone I’ve met at the dinner parties and get-togethers Kayleigh hosts – compliments my lipstick. I wait for that familiar flutter when Marcus’s eyes linger on me for a moment, but it’s nowhere to be found.

There’s only the sound of my pulse roaring in my ears like the ocean.

Can we talk? Can I just borrow you for a moment? Can I have a quick word, please?

And I’ll take his arm and we’ll step to one side, and …

He presses his empty beer glass into my hand. ‘Couldn’t get me another one, could you, babe? Peroni – you know me, can’t resist.’ He winks, and where my heart would normally be in freefall, I’m only numb.

There’s another girl in the group, an old housemate. She’s saying something to Marcus and the others, picking up a thread of conversation I missed.

Marcus throws his head back when he laughs. He winks at this other girl, says to her, ‘Don’t tempt me, babe. I’m not married yet, hey?’

It’s not like being doused in a bucket of cold water. It’s not like being woken roughly out of a deep sleep, either.

It’s a cold, sickening trickle down my spine, a medley of guilt and shame and stupidity and self-pity and fury bleeding through me in a great, tangled mess, and none of them quite win out because the dominant feeling is just numbness .

All that time I wasted loving him …

All those daydreams, the effort and energy and emotion, all the times I fretted over what I did wrong and should’ve done differently, the smiles and texts I read too much into …

I stand a little straighter, a little taller. I feel more sure of myself now than ever before.

How did it take an overnight layover with total strangers for me to finally see?

I interrupt to say, ‘I hope you have a really great day, Marcus. Congratulations.’

And when I walk away, I set his beer glass down on a passing tray, and go wait quietly out of the way until it’s time to take our seats for the ceremony.