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Lulu did a pirouette in the middle of her room, with its tester bed and its wall hangings—staying here was definitely like living in a National Trust property.
She had a date. She had a date. Alejandro was her date!
Lulu clapped her hands together, aware that she was behaving as if she were seventeen again, and going to a concert with a boy she liked. Which had, of course, been her last real date—if you didn’t count the circumspect dinners she’d had with the odd man over the years.
That last real romantic experience had fallen in a heap when she’d had a panic attack in the crowd and thought she was going to suffocate. At the time it had been terrifying. But, looking back, she remembered how light-hearted she’d been before the incident, and full of hope. She had her hope back this morning and she was proud of herself for getting this far.
Which got her thinking about how it would be if she was brave enough to take this further.
If she got up the courage to tell Alejandro the truth about herself.
He wasn’t a boy—he was a grown man. Surely he could handle it?
If they went forward he would have to know. She couldn’t hide it for ever.
He must want this with her—to have put up with everything and still be so passionate and determined to track her down last night.
She was feeling more certain and her heart was light as she laughed with the other girls on the steps of the chapel and then floated up the aisle, her eyes seeking out Alejandro, resplendent in a morning suit beside the groom.
Gregory Peck, eat your heart out.
All the attention in the chapel had turned to the bride, behind her, but he was still looking at her and Lulu knew she’d made the right decision to tell him.
But this was Gigi’s day. She would wait until tomorrow.
There was no chance for conversation anyway. The wedding party was swept up in the taking of photographs, but Lulu was aware of him all the time. His expression was resolute. She beamed at him as they stood together beside the bride and groom.
Then, as they were released from their duties by the photographer, Lulu kissed Gigi and bravely began to make her way over to join Alejandro. She knew her actions wouldn’t go unnoticed.
But he was already moving off through the crowd of guests waiting for them on the lawn, and as she watched a bright blonde girl in a beautiful yellow dress broke through and made her way over to him.
She held out her hand and he took it. The young woman was chattering to him and he had his head bent, clearly intent on everything she had to say.
‘Who’s that woman with Alejandro?’ she asked Adele, in a voice that sounded remarkably normal, considering.
‘His date,’ said Adele, and then turned back to her escort.
And with that Lulu’s tremulous, sweet world of possibility shattered into pieces around her.
*
For the first time in her life Lulu pictured herself making a scene. She would jump to her feet and upend the table, sending crystal and dishes and all the good wine and champagne flying.
Sh
e could actually feel the adrenalin pouring into her limbs in preparation. But she wouldn’t do it. She wouldn’t make a scene on Gigi’s wedding day. She would sit here, with her stepfather to her right and her mother leaning across him to ask if she was all right, and pretend nothing was the matter.
She was an expert in pretending nothing was the matter.
So what if she’d had sex with someone else’s boyfriend? It happened. She wasn’t to blame. Was she to blame?
Lulu could feel herself withdrawing back into her shell. She’d heard the other girls talking about men they’d slept with who’d never called, or who had wives and girlfriends they’d conveniently forgotten about in the heat of the moment. She’d heard their painful stories and, yes, she’d felt a tiny bit superior, thinking that would never happen to her. But the first time she stepped out of her comfort zone—bang. Alejandro had taken her down like a big game hunter.
A normal woman would have known. Somehow. There must have been signs. But her social life was absurdly confined. She didn’t have the experience to be able to tell. She’d believed everything he’d said to her. What kind of moron did that make her?
All her self-doubt was filling her up again. Making her feel useless. Pathetic.
But she caught herself on that downward slope to self-hatred.
