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There was a narrow wardrobe in the corner and on a hunch she moved to it and opened the door. Sure enough, his suits were hanging up in their dry cleaning bags, his shirts too.
Of course they were – what else would he have done with his suits? But seeing them like that pulled at something in the region of her heart. It was such a small sign of normality and easy domesticity – it was something she definitely hadn’t expected.
The bathroom door creaked open and she jumped back from the wardrobe with a guilty expression, like a kid who’d been caught raiding the cookie jar.
“I didn’t leave you much room. Do you need me to take some things out?”
She shook her head.
“You don’t have a dress?”
“I can iron it.”
“For the wedding?”
“Oh,” she nodded. “My bridesmaid dress is in my sister’s room. It’s fine.” She moved away from the wardrobe, but there was nowhere in the room she could go that would give her enough space from him.
“Bronte?”
She lifted her eyes to his, gnawing on her lip.
“You were drunk. You don’t need to beat yourself up about last night.”
With eyes wide, she stared at him. “I’m – not.”
“Yes, you are. I can tell. Just forget about it. You’re not the first person who’s had too much to
drink and done something they then regretted.”
She nodded jerkily, telling herself she should be glad he was giving her such an easy way out. But she wasn’t glad. If anything, it was frustrating, and she couldn’t say why.
“I’m not offended by nudity,” he tacked on, his smile cheeky and charming, pulling at her, the casual flirtation making a bubble of hysteria burst silently beneath her ribs.
“Thank you.” What else could she say? He was letting her off the hook, forgiving her transgressions, acting as though it barely mattered that she’d thrown herself at him in the way she had.
He lifted his shoulders. “Let’s go eat. I’m starving.”
She laughed at that. “You were starving last night, too.”
“That was hours ago.”
She lifted her hands in surrender, a wave of post-alcohol nausea making her uncertain she’d be able to eat anything at all.
The sprawling home had been converted a decade or so earlier into a wedding venue, the various wings at one time used for one family were now pressed into service as guest accommodation. The restaurant would have been, historically, a great hall, with high ceilings and views out over the lake, but now it was set up to cater for the hotel’s guests. Tables were spaced evenly, covered in white cloth, and at the wide doors, the woman they’d met the night before, Jane, greeted them with a smile.
“Good morning! Lovely to see you. I trust you slept well?”
“Like a log,” Luca responded, sliding a casual arm around Bronte’s waist and pulling her closer to him.
Her breath escaped on a rush and she jerked her face to his, surprise on her features.
“Would you like a table for two? Or are you joining another party?”
Bronte hadn’t even thought about that. If she were here on her own she’d have sat with her parents, or her sister. “I –,”
“We’ll sit with Bronte’s family,” Luca interjected, smiling at her encouragingly.
She supposed it should have been a relief. Sitting across from just Luca would have meant making conversation and despite the fact he’d allowed what had happened to be swept under the carpet, she still wasn’t sure she was up to small talk.
