Love to Hate You

by Anna Premoli

  If only it were all that simple. “I'm afraid this illness will be very long and painful,” I admit, becoming immediately gloomy.

  “I take it there wasn't a clean split, then,” says Eliott. We both know who he's talking about, we don't even need to say his name.

  I look at him in resignation.

  “Clean? Is there any such thing as a clean split? Let's say that in our case, external causes played a role,” I confess. It must be obvious to him that the wound is still raw. “Never get the families involved,” he says, sensing the problem immediately.

  “I know, I know. But ours are so difficult that we had to involve them. It would have been totally irresponsible not to,” I explain.

  Eliott looks at me as if he was actually dealing with a little girl. “And what does Ian say about it?” he asks. Just hearing his name makes me wince.

  “I don't know, to tell you the truth. I haven't had any idea for two weeks,” I admit, not particularly proud of myself.

  “You mean you haven't spoken since?” he asks, in surprise.

  “Frankly I feel too awful to talk to him. I suppose he feels the same way, because he's never tried to talk to me about it. And if we pass in the hallway, we just try to ignore one another. Perhaps he didn't love me as much as he wanted to believe after all—” I say, pretending not to feel as horrified at the idea as I do.

  Eliott laughs. “Believe me, the man I met that evening was one who was very determined and very much in love.”

  “We can agree about 'determined', at least.”

  “Excuse me, Jenny, but if being apart makes you feel so bad, why not try to get back together?”

  It's a question that's anything but stupid. I have asked myself it several times.

  “It's not like I haven't thought about it, believe me. I don't like admitting it, but of the two of us, the one who was most certain was Ian. Without him, I don't know how to do it. It's as if I'm suddenly wandering around in the dark.”

  Eliott looks at me kindly, with understanding. “So if you could go back in time, you wouldn't break up with him?” he asks.

  I look at him with sad eyes. “No, I don't think I would. It was a stupid thing to do. Now I understand that our families are important, but not as much as us. They can't tell us how to live our lives. I'm afraid I've learned the hard way that they either accept us the way we are, or… or they can piss off!”

  Eliott looks very satisfied with my answer. “So what's stopping you from going to get him back?” he asks.

  I rest my elbows on the table and hide my head in my hands in desperation. “But how?” I moan. “He's bound to have got somebody else already. His diary's probably full of dates with one of his brain-dead barbies.”

  I hear my psychologist friend chuckling softly. “Something tells me that it isn't—” he says, enigmatically.

  I lift my head. “What do you mean?”

  Eliott points to the figure of a man who has just entered the restaurant. Unfortunately, I'd recognize Ian anywhere and at any distance. As he walks over, I realise with surprise that he's not looking too great either: he's got a few day's growth of stubble and his eyes are lacking their usual electricity.

  With long, determined strides, he approaches our table.

  “Ian,” I exclaim in surprise, with an expression that must be a mixture of joy and terror. What the hell is he doing here? And above all, how did he know that he would find me here?

  Ian says a quick hello to Eliott, who greets him in an almost amused tone, and then stares at me intensely. “Jennifer—” he says, sounding very resolute.

  I'm about to speak but he cuts me off with a gesture of his hand. “I know that it wasn't a great idea just turning up here like this—” he says.

  “I'm not—” I say, but he cuts me off again.

  “Please don't interrupt me,” he says, and gets even closer. “I prepared a bit of a speech while I was driving over here and I'm afraid I'll forget the lot if you don't let me finish. I haven't been sleeping that well for the last couple of weeks, so I'm not quite myself.”

  “Tell me about it,” I reply softly, but he doesn't hear.

  He takes my hand as soon as I stand up, while the entire restaurant around us watches the scene.

  “First of all, I shouldn't have gone off like that during lunch. I should have stayed there and tried to make you think straight,” Ian says. “Because I know that eventually I could have talked you round.”

  “Actually—” I tell him, but he stops me again.

  “Second thing, I shouldn't have gone on about moving in together, because the truth is that I'm not really the living-together type.”

  I look at him blankly, not understanding what he's talking about: so in the end he didn't even want to live with me after all? I try not to show how hurt I am, but it's hard.

  “Jenny, I'm not that type of guy. I'm sorry, but I have to do this and I have to do it my way. When I've finished you can answer me and send me packing for good, if you want. I swear that I'll never barge in on you while you're having dinner or you're out on a date again.”

  What on earth is he talking about?

  “And so—” he starts, as he hunts for something in his jacket pocket. He pulls out a small blue velvet box and takes a deep breath as he visibly steels himself.

  Suddenly I start trembling and feeling as though I might be sick. Still holding my hand, which in the meantime has gone very cold, Ian kneels down in front of me. The whole restaurant breathes a unanimous sigh of surprise.

  “Jennifer Percy, I know that you're going to tell me to get lost, and maybe I deserve it, but I have to ask you anyway.” For a moment there's a pause during which there is no sound, not even of cutlery.

  “Will you marry me?” he asks, the emotion audible in his voice.

  And so saying, still looking me straight in the eyes, he opens the box containing the biggest diamond I've ever seen in my life. I guess this is the famous five carats the Duke was talking about that day…

  I stand there for a moment, speechless and too surprised to answer.

  From behind me, I hear a girl say, “I swear to God, if she doesn't marry him, I will!”

  The phrase brings a slow smile to my lips, because at that moment it's suddenly clear to me that there's nothing for it but to marry him. I, who'd never even dreamed of doing anything like that, am sure that I've finally met the only person in the world to whom I can say yes.

  Ian continues to look worriedly at me. “I understand that it's a shock… and I'm slightly embarrassed myself to be standing here in front of everybody—” he says, half seriously.

  “You were the one who decided to do it in such a public place, Ian,” I tease him with a smile, “I'd have thought you'd have learned something from all those years of having the paparazzi on your back.”

  My smile melts away some of his tension. “I will admit that I didn't waste much time when your sister called me to tell me that you had a date tonight,” he explains in his defence.

  “My sister did what?” I ask him in amazement. Apparently Stacey had a diabolical plan when she talked me into going out.

  “Anyway, this isn't really a date—” I explain.

  “Yes, but she also said that without me you were a mess,” admits Ian.

  I was much more than a mess, I think.

  “Right, now that I have gone through with this madness, can I get up? I know that you'll need time to reflect… and frankly I'd rather be rejected in private, now that I think about it.”

  But I stop him as he starts to rise. “Stay where you are,” I say.

  “It's not very comfortable—” Ian complains with a grimace.

  “You're only going to suffer for a little bit longer. How many more times you are ever likely to ask a woman to marry you?” I ask him seriously.

  “If you give me the answer I'm hoping for, I swear it'll be the last.”

  I pretend to be thinking. “Are you sure, Ian? Our life together will be a mess,” I
remind him.

  He sighs impatiently. “Would I have been on my knees for twenty minutes in front of half of bloody London if I wasn't sure?”

  He says it so sweetly that I can't help melting. “No, I don't suppose you would.”

  “Jennifer, an answer please,” he says, nervously.

  I watch as those beautiful blue eyes slowly start shining again.

  “Of course I will,” I say in a faint voice. “And you knew it.”

  He finally gets up off the floor and with a sudden gesture grabs me and kisses me until I'm not sure I know what's going on any more. All around us I hear comments of approval and applause.

  “I hoped you would,” he confesses, “but I'm never sure of anything when it comes to you.”

  He squeezes me tightly to him as though he really is afraid of losing me. What is he thinking? From this moment on he won't have a chance of getting rid of me, no matter how hard he tries.

  “Sorry, but where the hell did the famous ring disappear to?” I ask him, laughing.

  “All yours,” he says as he shoves it onto the ring finger of my left hand.

  The stone is so big and shiny that if I keep staring at it I'll probably pass out.

  “It weighs a ton!” I complain.

  “Of course – that way you'll never forget that you're mine. And neither will anybody else.”

  I look him in the eyes, and try to sound serious. “I swear, I would've said yes even if it had been a half carat zircon.”

  He takes my face gently in his hands and carries on kissing me.

  “I know, Jennifer. Believe me, that's exactly the point.”

  Epilogue

  from The Sunday Telegraph, Sunday the 13th of May

  In a fairy-tale ceremony held yesterday in the enchanting castle of Revington, Ian James Henry St John, Earl of Langley, married Miss Jennifer Percy, tax lawyer at a prestigious investment bank in the capital.

  The couple apparently met at work, and had been colleagues for some time before discovering their mutual attraction.

  Miss Percy, who will keep her own surname after the marriage, is slightly older than her husband, and is the daughter of Mr and Mrs Michael Percy, the proprietors of an organic farm in Hampshire.

  Reliable sources report that there were about five hundred carefully selected guests present, of which four hundred and fifty were invited by the groom and fifty by the bride.

  It seems that Miss Percy insisted upon wearing a dress rented from an unknown London shop, being of the opinion that spending money on a wedding dress (we quote verbatim as reported by our anonymous source) is ‘total nonsense’.

  At the insistence of the mother of the groom, the Marchioness of Lotwell, the bride did wear an antique tiara which has been in the Revington family for several centuries. It seems, however, that as a sign of changing times, the bride refused to wear a veil.

  Witnesses present at the ceremony describe the two newlyweds as radiant and very much in love.

  Thus it seems that the English nobility has definitively turned a page: after the wedding of the future King of England to a young girl of anything but royal origins, the future Duke of Revington too has chosen to marry a girl who is no blueblood. In a speech made during the reception, at which only vegan and vegetarian dishes were served, the current Duke, grandfather of the groom and well-known hunter, declared of the bride, “She frightens even me. Not one of us would have dared serve meat today.”

  The newlyweds left for their honeymoon in the Seychelles, and will be moving into a newly-built apartment in a residential area of London which they have purchased together. Sources claim that the current Duke had wished to give the young couple an entire building in the centre of the city, but that the proposed gift was politely declined.

  All that remains is for your humble scribe to exclaim: what altogether bizarre people these new nobles are!

  Thanks

  Me and writing only found each other a few years ago because of the almost unbearable pressure of my first pregnancy – I'd say it was a perfect anti-stress tool. But that's all it would have remained had it not been for the insistence of my husband Alessandro, who decided to ignore my remonstrances and promote what I had written. So please be aware that this is all his fault.

  I'd like to thank my dear friend Rossana, who was an enthusiastic reader of the story as it took shape. Obviously, being a friend she is biased, but I swear to you that at times her passion for this book exceeded even my own.

  I'd also like to thank Alessandra Penna, my editor at Newton Compton who finally forced me to re-read it carefully and weigh every word. No one before had managed in such an impossible undertaking. I'm also very grateful to her for having put up with my bizarre timetable: as a full-time-working mother, the only space I could dedicate to revisions were the evenings and weekends.

  Finally, thanks to all of my family, who helped me to cultivate a passion for reading when I was still a small child: if I hadn't run out of books to read, I might never have started writing.

  We hope you enjoyed this book!

  Anna Premoli’s next book, is coming in January 2017

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  About Anna Premoli

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  About Anna Premoli

  ANNA PREMOLI was born in Croatia and lives in Milan, where she graduated in economics at the Bocconi. She has worked at J.P. Morgan and, since 2004, for a private bank. Mathematics has always been her strong point; writing came by chance, as an ‘anti-stress method’ during her first pregnancy. Love to Hate You stayed at the top of the bestseller lists for months and won the 2013 Bancarella Prize; the film rights have been bought by Colorado Film.

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  Aria is the new digital-first fiction imprint from Head of Zeus.

  It’s Aria’s ambition to discover and publish tomorrow’s superstars, targeting fiction addicts and readers keen to discover new and exciting authors.

  Aria will publish a variety of genres under the commercial fiction umbrella such as women’s fiction, crime, thrillers, historical fiction, saga and erotica.

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  First published in Italy in 2015 by Newton Compton

  First published in the UK in 2016 by Aria, an imprint of Head of Zeus Ltd

  Copyright © Anna Premoli, 2016

  Translation © Richard McKenna, 2016

  The moral right of Anna Premolito be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

  The moral right of Richard McKennato be identified as the translator of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN (E) 9781784977504

  Jacket Design © Lucy Stephens

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