Page 47

Chapter Forty-two

Francesca

It really is a beautiful wedding, and Kayleigh has such immaculate taste.

The venue is made soft and romantic with flower garlands and lanterns and candles, the turquoise accents tasteful and understated (with perhaps the lone, garish exception of Gemma’s dress …) and the band play acoustic covers of love songs.

It’s pleasantly warm without being swelteringly hot, a nice breeze rolling in off the sea.

The signature cocktails are delicious, the cake is to die for, and the food is some of the best I’ve ever tasted.

It is such a perfect day.

Apart from the fact that … I would rather be anywhere else.

It feels like I’ve stumbled into the wrong place – the wrong life, wrong body – and I’m just waiting for someone to notice that I’m a fraud and I don’t belong.

I can’t believe I was ever planning to try to break off the wedding.

I can’t believe I ever thought it was a good idea to come here at all, or that Marcus thought it was even halfway acceptable to invite me in the first place.

It’s a beautiful wedding, but I shouldn’t be here.

The main subject of discussion at our table throughout dinner is the arrival of David the stripper.

I find myself blurting out that we saw him in the airport, which causes a riot of laughter as everyone wants to know more, even though I haven’t got much to say.

I don’t mention the sparkly thong; it doesn’t seem very fair to humiliate him further, even if he’s long gone.

As if I didn’t already feel silly enough for the feelings I was clinging to for Marcus, the entire embarrassing display David made proclaiming his love for Kayleigh was sobering, to say the least. A wake-up call that yesterday’s version of me desperately needed.

Every time I look over at Marcus, it’s like I’m seeing a stranger.

Did I really find that smarmy smile so charming?

His coiffed hair is always styled so pristinely and he frequently jokes about how long Kayleigh takes to get ready, but he surely can’t be much better.

And he does constantly interrupt; his voice is the loudest in the room, most people can hardly get a word in edgeways. Did I really find him so endearing?

Not just endearing, but so everything that I was willing to put my dignity, my heart, my soul on the line to see if he returned my feelings?

I keep looking over at him as the day goes on, trying to find a hint of those emotions, remember that spark – but there’s nothing . And I breathe a sigh of relief each time I don’t find it, glad that it seems to have vanished without a trace.

I’ve wasted more than enough of my time and my feelings on Marcus. I don’t need to waste even more in getting over him.

Even the crowd from work have lost their usual lustre: I’m normally so happy to be included and feel part of the cool, popular gang that I get swept away in their bawdy jokes and heavy drinking, but throughout the day I can’t help but realise that I’m not truly having any fun with them.

The girl from Marcus’s uni days is lovely, though, and her husband is really interesting, so I spend a lot of time chatting to them.

And Kayleigh’s family are brilliant, all good-humoured and smiley, so I spend a while with some of her cousins and aunts.

I catch Gemma a couple of times, but always only briefly because she’s so busy tending to an endless stream of wedding tasks for Kayleigh, and …

Well, I’m not sure if I’m avoiding Leon, or if it’s only right to give him some space. He seems to be enjoying himself so I assume that, whether or not he spoke to Kayleigh, he’s made his peace with it.

I just feel like such an intruder.

I came here for Marcus, to steal him away and break up the wedding. Leon wouldn’t have even given me the time of day if we hadn’t been stuck in that airport. We wouldn’t even have met if …

There’s a distant little whisper of a thought that says, Maybe that’s fate.

But I’m being ridiculous. If there’s one thing I have learned about myself in the last twenty-four hours, it is that I am very ridiculous. Especially when it comes to romance.

As the evening draws in, the tables are moved away to clear space on the terrace for a dance floor. The band is replaced by a DJ and the drinks flow more liberally. The first dance will be coming up soon; I wonder if I’ll be able to sneak off to bed a bit early once the party has started.

I nip inside to check into my room, which I never got around to this morning, and after collecting my key and being told my things will be taken up for me, I stop by the loos on my way back out to touch up my lipstick.

Gemma was right; it is my colour.

I’m not sure if it’s the lipstick or the lingerie nobody but me knows I’m wearing or the release of finally letting go of Marcus, but I feel rejuvenated. Like a better version of myself, someone I was too scared to be before now.

Someone a bit bolder, and a bit more confident.

When I come out into the corridor outside the toilets, I collide with someone leaving the men’s.

‘Oof!’

‘Sorry, sorry, I – oh,’ Leon says. He’s caught my elbow to keep me from toppling over in my heels when he bumped into me, and doesn’t let go. ‘It’s you.’

‘Fancy seeing you here,’ I joke.

He pulls a face before laughing. ‘Come on, let’s get back out before we’re accused of fornicating again.’

He says this just as Marcus’s grandmother rounds the corner. She yelps, startled, and rushes past us. I lift a hand to my face, trying not to laugh as Leon flushes with embarrassment. He tugs on my elbow, leading us back to safer ground.

‘Are you alright?’ I ask him. ‘About … Did you speak to Kayleigh, in the end? I didn’t know whether to come and ask you earlier, or if … I didn’t want to intrude, or put my foot in it at all.’

‘You came out here to break up a wedding, and you’re worried about putting your foot in it?’

‘Oh, shut up. You know what I mean.’

He grins, but it fades quickly. ‘I didn’t speak to her.

I was going to, but … I don’t know. Felt like a losing battle.

I figured she’ll come around on her own if she wants to, and I don’t need to sacrifice my peace and happiness for her sake.

I didn’t need to put my neck on the line just to end up making things worse, you know? ’

He’s not holding onto me anymore, but I slip my arm through his. ‘I’m glad. You’re worth more than that, too, Leon.’

‘Thanks, Francesca.’ He looks at me earnestly and his voice is low, and slow, and the way he says my name sends a pleasant shiver down my spine; it makes me think of the almost-might-have-been kiss.

I wonder if it makes him think about it, too, because suddenly he clears his throat and looks away, focusing on the ground in front of us as we walk back to the party. ‘So, um … Marcus. You didn’t …?’

‘I didn’t.’

‘Oh. I thought …?’

‘I was going to, but … At some point last night it stopped feeling like this grand romantic gesture and more like ripping off a plaster – like I was too far in to back out now, and like I owed it to myself to be honest with him and see how he felt, but … I didn’t need to put my neck on the line, either.

’ Leon glances at me from the corner of his eye, and I smile.

‘It doesn’t matter how he feels – if he ever did feel anything for me. ’

I don’t need to know; I won’t carry that uncertainty and regret around with me.

Because I finally know my own worth, and that’s more than enough.

‘It’s not … going to be weird for you at work? Seeing him all the time?’

‘Believe me, that office is more than big enough that our paths don’t have to cross if I don’t want them to. I think it’s about time I found some different work friends, anyway. They’re really not my sort of people. I only hung out with them for Marcus’s sake; I’m sure they won’t miss me too much.’

‘Speak of the devil,’ Leon mutters, snatching his arm away from mine, and I look up to see Marcus jogging away from the terrace to go to the loo.

‘Alright, you two? Leon, how’s it going?’ Marcus gives him one of those bro-hugs, smacking him on the back, then winks at me with his usual grin. ‘Keeping this one out of trouble?’

Oh, God, did I really fall for lines like that?

I need to get out more.

‘Aren’t you supposed to be having the first dance any minute?’ Leon replies instead.

‘Yeah, but you know how it goes. One too many beers, lethal. And I don’t think this lot would be best pleased with me if I took a whiz in the shrubbery.

’ He laughs, and I grimace, and wonder yet again why I thought this man was so perfect.

His hand rests on my arm when he moves past and he says, in a quieter voice, but one Leon must surely still hear clearly enough, ‘Real shame you didn’t make it here last night, babe. Save me a dance later, yeah?’

His hand is sweaty, and I push it off, unable to stop myself from pulling a face.

‘No, I don’t think I will,’ I tell him curtly.

His face is a picture – a blank, slack look of shock.

I wonder how long it will take him to notice I’ve blocked his number and unfollowed him on socials. Probably quite a while. He’ll get over it, I don’t doubt.

It’s only after we walk away that Leon stops, laughing so hard he has to hug a stitch in his side.

‘I don’t think that man’s ever been told “no”’ for anything in his life! Did you see his face? Oh, man. Wish Gemma had seen that, too. You’re something else, Francesca, you know that?’

When he straightens up and catches my eye, I find myself throwing him a cheeky smile in response.

‘Some might even call me a knockout.’

‘They’d be absolutely right.’

This time, his arm loops around my waist on the way back into the party, and he turns to face me when we stop near the bar. ‘So is it all dancing that’s off-limits for you, or just a dance with the groom?’

‘Is that you asking me for a dance, Leon?’

His eyes glitter. ‘It’s me hoping you’ll say yes.’

‘Then, yes.’

Which is how, half an hour later, when a slow song plays, I end up on the dance floor with Leon’s arms around me and our bodies pressed close together, and I could just sink into his embrace.

He’s a terrible dancer and keeps tripping over his own feet, but he holds me so gently that when he spins me around, it feels like my feet hardly even touch the ground.

At one point, I notice Kayleigh glaring daggers at me, and faintly wonder what sort of story she will paint of me – first stealing her man, and now her brother.

I decide that I really don’t care. I am not going to allow her or Marcus to take up any more space in my life.

I rest my head on Leon’s shoulder and his arms curve around my waist. The dance feels so strangely intimate, especially when we haven’t even shared a kiss, but I let my eyes slide closed as I relish the moment, my heart fluttering in my chest.

Maybe romance doesn’t have to be dramatic grand gestures that put everything on the line.

Maybe it can just be like this.

I think, in hindsight, I know which I’d rather choose.

When Leon speaks, his voice rumbles through his chest, and I feel it against the palm of my hand pressed there. He says, ‘Do you think maybe when we get back home, I could take you out on a date?’

I lift my head to smile at him. He’s so close that our noses brush, our breath mingles. I can feel his own heart thudding hard against his chest, too.

‘I’d really like that.’

‘I can’t promise any fornicating in toilets,’ he jokes, all mock-seriousness.

‘And I can’t promise any deplorable behaviour.’

‘Or pizza on the floor of an airport.’

‘Or drinking games fuelled by duty-free booze.’

‘Or taxis stolen from lovelorn strippers,’ he says, and then, more earnestly, ‘And I can’t promise that sometimes I won’t have to cancel because my family need me, or—’

‘Leon,’ I interrupt, and I press two fingers to his lips to shut him up just like he did to me last night, and it really is unerringly effective. His eyes widen a little, and darken. I lower my hand back to his chest, and go up on my tiptoes to press a feather-light kiss to his lips instead.

It’s hardly a kiss at all.

But, God, is it so much more than anything I’ve ever felt before.

It’s dizzying and grounding all at once. It feels like a promise, and a homecoming, and we both inhale sharply at the same time before I move away.

‘I’d really like to go on a date with you,’ I repeat.

He breaks into a smile so wide that my heart skips a beat, and I’m grinning back at him.

The music changes – moving all too abruptly from a classic John Legend ballad into an upbeat, catchy new Dua Lipa song.

Some of the crowd around us cheer as they start singing and dancing along, and before I can quite catch my breath from the finally-kiss, someone hurls an arm around my shoulder, and around Leon’s, making my forehead smack into his chin and both of us yelp.

Gemma, a little bit tipsy, with an open bottle of last night’s limoncello in her hand, shouts, ‘I love you guys so much. Can I be your maid of honour too?’

I’m not sure if it’s me or Leon who’s blushing more, but I wrap an arm around Gemma to hug her back.

‘Do you guys want to get out of here and go drink on the beach? I’ve got macarons, too.’ She moves her arm away from Leon to reveal a Ladurée bag. ‘I stole the ones David brought Kayleigh; I feel like he’d really want us to have them.’

‘Absolutely yes,’ I say, unable to imagine anything better than spending the rest of the wedding – well, not at the wedding, but with these two instead.

Gemma and I have already made plans to meet up when we get home, and to hang out tomorrow, too, before we have to leave.

I take the bag from her. ‘Macarons sound perfect. When in France, right?’

‘Dibs on the pistachio,’ Leon says.

Which maybe isn’t a grand romantic gesture, but it sure feels like one.

He slips an arm around my waist and Gemma links her elbow with mine, and the three of us leave the wedding behind.