Second Chance with the Best Man

by Katrina Cudmore

  The seating plan had placed the younger generation to her left—the tension of earlier forgotten, Lara and François were chatting with their close friends who had travelled from around the world to celebrate with them. And to her right were Lara’s and François’s parents along with old family friends and associates, all busily chatting.

  It was only she and Laurent who seemed like lone islands cast aside from the noisy anticipation that came before a big life event. Laurent was seated at the head of the table. At the pre-dinner drinks on the terrace he’d easily moved between the guests, being his usual charming self. It was only when Nicolas Couilloud had taken him aside and spoken to him that Hannah had seen him tense. He and Nicolas had ended their conversation with much shaking of heads. Instinctively she’d moved towards Laurent wanting to ask if everything was okay but, on seeing her approach, he’d turned away and spoken instead to Lara’s sister and bridesmaid, Stella.

  Already halfway across the terrace, suddenly without purpose, Hannah had faltered before she’d forced herself to continue, skirting past Laurent and Stella without a glance in their direction, hoping it looked to the other guests as if it had been her intention to step inside the château all along. She’d washed her trembling hands in the downstairs cloakroom, trying not to think about how beautiful twenty-four-year-old Stella looked in her red silk sheath dress with its daring slash to the thigh.

  She had to give Laurent his due. He was doing an excellent job at avoiding her this evening. Which she should welcome. Wasn’t that what she wanted after all—for them to keep their distance from one another? But it was so at odds with the intimacy of their conversation at lunchtime. Was he regretting having been so open with her?

  She closed her eyes for a moment. Suddenly exhausted by this whole weekend. Exhausted by the wealth and culture of Laurent’s life now. The opulence of the dining room, the sophistication oozing from the other guests, all reminders of the contrasting squalor of her early years. This wasn’t her world. Even after she’d been rescued she’d been brought up in the warm simplicity of country life. Her dad wouldn’t know a derivative, a Chagall, the difference between a Saint-émilion and a Médoc, even if they all bit him on the bottom. And she loved him for that. Love, loyalty, family and his animals were all that mattered to him.

  She was also exhausted from being so physically close to Laurent. Not only was she struggling to contain her attraction to him, but after what he’d told her today, opening himself up to her, she stupidly, crazily, felt more connected to him. The very opposite of what she’d hoped to achieve this weekend.

  Why was this weekend turning out so different from how she’d imagined it would? Only this evening, Lara had decided, with the encouragement of her parents and in a nod to tradition, that she should spend tonight away from François. So now Lara, Stella and their parents were spending the night with Laurent’s parents in their lodge but there weren’t enough beds for Hannah to move too. It shouldn’t matter but she felt excluded by this change of plans. The vulnerability, that deep fear of disconnection that sat at the core of her being, was being stirred back into life by this weekend and she hated how out of control it made her feel.

  She opened her eyes. Blinked at the brightness of the room and then was dazzled by the opulent diamonds hanging from the ears and throat of Nicolas Couilloud’s wife sitting opposite her.

  Her gaze unconsciously moved up the table, past the other guests, her heart performing an impressive leap to find Laurent staring towards her with concern. She twisted away, trying to tune back into the conversation between Nicolas and a glamorous French movie star seated across the table from him about redevelopment plans in Cannes, where they both owned summer houses, which they were vehemently opposed to, grumbling about the effect on the already chaotic traffic.

  Laurent stood. Immediately all of the chatter around the table died as all heads turned in his direction. Was it his height, his powerful build, his ridiculously masculine features that were so exaggerated and beautiful that when people first met him they were often silenced by the need to study him, or was it simply his aura of command that so effortlessly had people respond to his movement?

  He gave them a smile. A closed-mouth smile. The smile he gave when being polite. ‘Thank you for coming to dinner tonight. I hope you’ve had an enjoyable evening.’ He paused and nodded in the direction of François and Lara, his smile widening in affection. ‘But as we have an important and busy day ahead of us tomorrow we need to draw this night to a close.’

  The guests nodded, chairs moved backwards, some of the women picked up their evening purses, but all came to a stop when from the opposite end of the table Antoine called out, ‘One more drink out on the terrace.’

  For the briefest moment a pulse twitched at the side of Laurent’s jawline. ‘We can party tomorrow. For now, we all need to rest.’

  Antoine stood. The entire table swivelled in his direction. ‘One more won’t do us any harm.’

  Now everyone turned back towards Laurent and waited for his response. His eyes narrowed.

  Without thinking Hannah stood. ‘As wedding celebrant I agree with Laurent. I don’t want any of you tired tomorrow.’ She smiled at a frowning Antoine. ‘I’m expecting you to dance with me, Antoine.’

  Antoine’s blue eyes twinkled. ‘It will be my pleasure.’

  Hannah said her goodbyes to her dinner companions and then, after a quick hug with Lara, encouraging her to try and get some sleep, she slipped out of the dining room before everyone else, averting her gaze when she saw Laurent unhappily follow her hasty departure.

  * * *

  Laurent went to knock on Hannah’s bedroom door but at the last second pulled his hand away. In the aftermath of their lunch, as the hours had passed by in a blur of work meetings and telephone calls, a chasm had opened up in him as to the wisdom of having been so frank with Hannah. Would she think less of him, knowing his background? Now, after deliberately keeping his distance from her all evening, was he really about to throw all of that good work away? It was an easy question to answer. The tension that had been etched on her face earlier when she’d sat with her eyes closed at the dining table was too profound to ignore.

  He knocked on the door. Swallowed when the consideration that Hannah might answer the door in her nightwear dawned on him. Despite himself he smiled at that thought.

  The door swung open. Hannah eyed him, her gaze narrowing when it honed in on his smile. She folded her arms. He mirrored the action, propping himself against the doorframe, unbalanced not for the first time at how striking she looked in her figure-hugging knee-length purple halterneck dress that accentuated every glorious curve of her body. The urge to step forward and release her hair from its tight bun had him tense every muscle in his body. ‘I had the situation downstairs under control.’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘Have you come all the way to my room to tell me that?’

  Despite himself he laughed at her deadpan expression. Then, taking in the paperwork in her hand, he said, ‘Come outside, there’s something I want to show you.’

  She shook her head. ‘I need to prepare for tomorrow’s ceremony.’

  ‘You’re nervous about tomorrow.’

  She stepped back. ‘No, I’m not.’

  He pushed away from the doorframe. ‘Come outside—what I have to show you might help you relax.’

  Shoving a hand onto her hip, she answered, ‘For the last time, I don’t need to relax.’

  Something about the tilt of her hip got to him. Shrugging off his tuxedo jacket, he stepped into the room and threw it onto the back of a bedroom chair. His bow tie soon followed.

  She looked at the jacket and his bow tie with dismay. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  Her horrified expression only fuelled his need to push her to be honest. ‘This damn heat. Prove to me that you’re okay about tomorrow by coming with me.’

  S
he gave him a disbelieving look before slamming her paperwork down on the bedroom console table next to her open laptop and then storming out of the door. He walked behind, his eyes taking in the angry sway of her hips as she hurried along the corridor and down the stairs in her high heels.

  The château was silent. Earlier, François and he had waved all the guests goodbye, but no sooner had the tailgate lights of Lara’s parents’ car disappeared in the direction of his parents’ lodge when François had raced to his car, shouting that he needed to see Lara one more time.

  Laurent had stood watching the trail of François’s tail lights, envying his brother’s ability to throw himself into love so wholeheartedly. But then he’d shivered despite the heat of the night and prayed that life would be good to François and Lara, that time, and the dimming of passion, the reality of committing yourself to another person for eternity, the lure of others, the selfishness that was at the core of every human being, would not destroy their marriage.

  Outside he led Hannah in the direction of the estate’s farm. The farm’s single and double stone outbuildings were built around a cobbled courtyard, a water pump in the centre. Opening the door of one of the smaller buildings, he stepped inside, to a chorus of chirping, inhaling the scent of the heavy blanket of fresh straw on the floor.

  She paused at the entrance and gave him a dubious look. Then as she peered through the doorway her expression lit up. ‘Oh, wow, they’re so beautiful,’ she whispered, taking small tentative steps towards the hen and her seven yellow fluffy chicks.

  Stopping a distance away from them, she crouched down and watched the chicks stumble around their mother, chirp, chirp, chirping away. ‘When did they hatch?’

  The knuckled wave of Hannah’s spine was exposed by a gap in the back of her dress. He swallowed against the memories of running his fingers along her back when she lay beside him, a slow sexy smile forming on her lips when it was a prelude to sex, a sated smile when it was in the aftermath. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked to stand next to her. ‘Earlier today.’

  She stood. ‘They’re adorable, but why did you bring me to see them?’

  ‘Remember the endless photos of newborn animals that your mum sent to you, which you then forwarded on to me? I thought seeing these little guys might help you forget about tomorrow.’

  She eyed him curiously. ‘Do you think I should be nervous?’

  ‘You’ll ace tomorrow.’ He paused and watched the chicks stumble away from their mother and then with a jolt of alarm race back to her as though terrified they were about to lose her. Then turning to Hannah, the unease in her brown eyes slamming into his heart, he added, ‘You’re amazing. Always remember that.’

  Reddening, Hannah gave a faint smile and backed towards the door. Outside she looked around the near-empty courtyard, a single tractor the only sign of any farming activity. ‘I’m guessing there isn’t a working farm here any more?’

  ‘There was in my grandfather’s time. My father let it go. I’ve recently employed a farm manager. He’s reintroducing some livestock. I want the château to be self-sufficient.’

  She nodded to this. ‘Good idea.’ The night sky was clear, a fat moon shedding bright light down on their surroundings. Into the quiet of the night she said in an almost whisper, as though she was telling him something very intimate, ‘The option of moving to Singapore isn’t the only one I’m considering. I’m also thinking about moving to Granada in Spain to become a full-time wedding consultant.’

  ‘Really? Your career is in the city. Why would you give up everything you’ve achieved?’

  She shrugged, the long delicate lines of her exposed collarbone lifting and falling. ‘I fell in love with Granada when I was there for Emily’s wedding. It would be an exciting option, a new start for me.’

  He’d always thought of her as being ambitious in the corporate world only. These new ambitions made him uneasy. Unfairly and irrationally, he hated the idea that she was forging a new and unexpected life. ‘What about your promotion? Your transfer to Singapore?’

  ‘Granada is only a short flight away and Emily and her husband are planning on buying a holiday home there. Singapore is so far away from everyone I love.’ Wounded eyes met his for a moment. Guilt and regret slammed into his chest. Then with a brief grimace she added, ‘Do you want to talk about your conversation with Nicolas Couilloud earlier?’

  When they had dated, they had been a sounding board for one another over work issues. Hannah’s advice had always been solid. For a moment he considered telling her, realising how much he missed having someone to talk to about issues that were troubling him. But talking about work would feel as though they were dropping back into their old relationship. ‘It’s just a business issue.’

  ‘A sizeable business issue, I’m guessing.’

  He gestured for them to walk back through the lightly wooded copse that separated the farm buildings from the château. He tried to resist talking but Hannah’s patient silence, the worry, the frustration of his discussion with Nicolas had him eventually blurt out, ‘Nicolas is one of my father’s oldest friends but he also owns the company who distributes our cognacs. He’s vital in our supply chain. He has the whole market sewn up—he has no competitors with the same market reach. He told me tonight that he’s going to increase his fees when our contract with him is up for renewal next month.’

  They emerged from the shade of the copse. Hannah came to a stop and asked, ‘Why?’

  ‘He’s citing increased transportation costs.’

  ‘You don’t believe him?’

  He inhaled a deep breath, frustration clogging his lungs. ‘I can’t help but think that it has something to do with my father.’

  Hannah’s eyes widened. ‘Surely not. Why would Antoine have anything to do with Nicolas’s decision?’

  He could not help but smile at Hannah’s innocence, part of him deeply envying her for never having experienced the soul-destroying destructiveness of a dysfunctional family.

  ‘Why are you smiling?’

  He jolted at the anger in Hannah’s voice. Then, shrugging, he walked away, answering, ‘Not all families are sweetness and light.’

  She caught up with him on the terrace. ‘Do you think that I’m that naïve, that I don’t understand how people hurt others driven by their ego, by fear, by insecurity? I’ve seen it time and time again in my work, partnerships falling apart, family businesses not surviving. And do you know what the common denominator in all of it is? A lack of communication, a lack of connection and honesty.’

  He sat on the arm of an outdoor sofa and crossed his arms. ‘Being an outsider is easy. Try getting mangled up in the politics and personalities and history of a family business—then such logical analysis goes right out of the door. My family aren’t like yours...so bloody normal.’

  Hannah eyed him angrily before shifting her gaze towards the pool and the river beyond. She folded her arms, her delicate chin jutting out furiously. ‘There’s nothing normal about my family.’ She paused and then added softly, ‘My real family.’

  Laurent stood. Confused by her words. ‘Real family?’

  She bit her lip, her gaze refusing to meet his. Silence descended between them. He waited, thrown by the emotion playing out in her expression as she made several attempts to answer his question. Eventually she answered in a faint whisper, ‘I’m adopted.’

  His brain tried to process what she’d said. ‘Adopted?’

  Her gaze met his, a flicker of disappointment soon being replaced by anger. ‘Yes. Adopted. It happens.’

  ‘You never said before...why not? Dieu! Why not?’ He knew he was saying the wrong things but frustration, the awful feeling he hadn’t known Hannah at all, drove him on, ‘Why tell me now?’

  She blinked at his questions. ‘After what you told me today about your parents... I guess it seemed right that you know.’

/>   He cringed at the now calm softness of her voice, which only emphasised his own angry torrent of questions. He breathed in and out to the count of four, trying to focus on Hannah rather than his hurt that she’d never told him before. He sat on the sofa properly, gestured that she should sit on a chair opposite.

  Reluctantly she did so.

  ‘What age were you?’

  She raised a hand and kneaded her collarbone. ‘Seven.’

  For a moment he flailed for the right way to talk about it all. He’d been an insensitive sod up until now and he desperately wanted to get this right. He gritted his teeth against the ball of failure that was rapidly growing in his gut—what type of boyfriend had he been that Hannah had never felt inclined or able to tell him this before? ‘What happened?’

  For a moment her concentration seemed to be on running her fingertips against the interwoven rattan reeds of her chair. But then she tilted her head in his direction, pride burning from her eyes. ‘My birth parents were both drug users. My memories are hazy, as you can imagine, but I remember a lot of parties and being left alone in the house on many occasions.’ She stopped and swallowed. Her bottom lip gave a quiver. ‘One night the police came and took me away.’

  ‘You were scared.’

  She gave a humourless laugh. ‘Terrified.’

  He fell back into his chair and stared up at the night sky for a brief moment. Then with a sigh he sat forward. ‘I’m so sorry, Hannah. I wish you had told me before now.’

  ‘What difference would it have made?’

  Her question was a challenge. She wasn’t hiding that fact in her direct gaze as she waited for his response, in the tension of her body, one leg wrapping around the other tightly at the calf. Would knowing about her adoption have changed anything? He swallowed and admitted, ‘Maybe I would have been kinder...maybe I would have taken better care not to hurt you.’