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Despite the sweetness of those words, dread groaned inside her. She didn’t respond.
“I hope that, after this, you can find someone who deserves you.”
The music was slow, each note stretched out, the evening coming to a close and the frenetic pace of the earlier dancing winding down to something much more low-key. She pressed her head to his chest, listening to his heart, allowing his words to settle inside of her, allowing their full meaning to expand. It was a break up speech, without the need. They weren’t a couple. They never had been and she’d known all along they never would be. Why was he belabouring that point?
“Maybe.” She sucked in a levelling breath, forcing her voice to remain neutral. “But honestly, I think once this weekend is over, I’m just going to focus on my career and getting my life in order. Men are pretty low on my list for now.”
His eyes probed hers and then he nodded and grinned, a grin so like normal that she relaxed. It made her feel as though everything was going to be okay.
11
THE COUNTRYSIDE CHANGED VERY quickly. For the first few miles it was all green fields and little stone houses and then they were on the motorway, only rest stops, fields and speeding cars surrounding them.
Everything had happened so quickly. From the conclusion of the wedding, to their last night together, to the morning – breakfast with Bronte’s family – and then this, the drive back to London. Time had seemed to run at double time.
“You’re quiet,” he remarked, as the landscape became increasingly familiar, and she knew they were only minutes away from Hampstead.
“Hmm,” she agreed, forcing a smile to her face. Forcing, she assured herself, because she was tired, that was all. “I’m just relieved it’s over.”
He didn’t react at first. She spun to look out of the window, not reading anything into his silence.
“It went well.”
She fluttered her eyes closed. “Yes.”
Silence.
She concentrated on keeping her breathing level, on not letting it get too noisy, nor to fast.
“I liked your family.”
Her smile was wistful. “I’m glad.”
“When will you tell them we’ve broken up?” The question was infused with amusement; her smile slipped.
Her teeth pressed into her lower lip. “I guess I’ll wait a few weeks. Once Ally’s back from her honeymoon.”
He didn’t say anything in response.
“There’s no point worrying mum and dad. And they do worry about me, you know. I’d rather just let sleeping dogs lie for now, then tell them in a ‘by the by’ kind of way, if that makes sense.”
He pulled up to an intersection just a short drive from her place. They had moments left. Last night they’d made love and she’d known it would be the last time. She’d ignored that fact, not pretending they were anything other than what they were, but simply choosing not to focus on it.
But now, it was all coming to an end. They had minutes left. But minutes of what? It had all been pretend, all for show. Not the sex – that was something else – but nothing that meant anything or would change him – or her – now that it was over.
No, that wasn’t true.
&nbs
p; Bronte had been irreversibly altered by the weekend, by him. Luca had made her see things differently; he’d made her see herself differently, and the life she wanted. He’d made her see – without intending to, she suspected – that she’d been settling for Ashton, taking a short cut to what she presumed would lead to a lifetime of stability and a mild sort of happiness. He’d made her see that wasn’t enough.
And she doubted he’d ever even know he’d done that.
He was driving to her house without GPS, without directions, just remembering the way because he was Luca Montebello – some kind of God-like creature who did everything perfectly.
“Thank you.” The words were dredged from the depths of her soul. “You didn’t have to do this, and yet, the fact you did –,”
He brought the car to a stop on a double yellow line, turning to face her, his eyes running over her features. “It was my pleasure.”
