Second Chance with the Best Man

by Katrina Cudmore

  But when she did answer with a hesitant, ‘Hello,’ he was so surprised after the frustration of yesterday that he jerked back and stared at the silver mouthpiece.

  ‘Hello,’ Hannah repeated.

  ‘It’s me.’

  A long silence followed. He began to speak. ‘Can I—’ But the buzz of the front door opening interrupted him.

  He walked past the bicycles belonging to the other tenants, stored in the hallway, and up the stairs to her first-floor apartment, remembering the time he’d carried her up to her apartment when she’d twisted her ankle one evening when stepping off a pavement wearing impossibly high heels.

  She was standing at her door dressed in black yoga pants and a loose white top, a black and white sports bra visible underneath, her hair tied up in a bun, her expression and crossed arms screaming impatience and annoyance.

  He paused a few feet from her, thrown at seeing her again, realising how much he’d missed her, not just during the past two weeks but for all the past year since they had split up. Yet another thing he’d deliberately blinded himself to in a bid to protect himself from ever exposing his heart to the world.

  He clenched his hands, hating what an idiot he’d been.

  Hannah shifted away from the doorframe she’d been leaning on, her expression growing ever more irritated.

  Had he read too much into what she’d said about caring for him? What if that was all that she’d meant, that she cared for him, but she had not meant that she loved him as he’d assumed?

  ‘Why so early?’

  He tried not to recoil from her icy tone and answered, ‘I called several times yesterday. I wanted to catch you before you left today.’

  She didn’t even try to argue that she hadn’t planned on escaping from her apartment for the day in a bid to avoid him and said instead, ‘I know I could spend the next ten minutes arguing with you about why I don’t want you to come in, why there’s no point in us talking, but I know how stubborn you can be.’ Turning, she walked into the apartment, adding, ‘You can have five minutes. After that I want to get back to my yoga.’

  He nodded towards the yoga mat set on the floor beneath the opened sash window, the laptop on the kitchen table, the screen on pause showing a woman reaching her arms skywards, a foot pressed against the opposite thigh. ‘Is that the yoga teacher you follow?’

  ‘Yes, Kim Ackerman.’ She went and sat on the piano stool in front of her upright piano, the farthest point from him in the combined kitchen and living space. ‘What do you want to talk about?’

  ‘I’m here to apologise.’

  Her jaw tightened; her eyes took on a cold glint.

  When he realised she wasn’t going to say anything in response, he added, ‘I’ve missed you...and I’ve come to realise how much you mean to me.’

  She exhaled a disbelieving breath at that.

  Uncomfortable, anxiety-induced heat flamed at the back of his neck. He wasn’t sure of what to say, how to get across how he was feeling, trying to articulate it in his second language making it particularly difficult, and Hannah’s cool scepticism wasn’t helping either.

  Thoughts rattled through his brain. In the end he decided to try to speak from his heart even though he felt like choking on the words that were so alien to him. ‘You asked me at the beach house what I was so scared about. I had no idea what you were talking about. But since you left, my relationship with my father has changed, things aren’t quite as tense.’ He paused, gave her a wry smile. ‘I listened to what you said about giving him a role in the company. He now works in an advisory position.’

  Hannah’s expression remained unmoved.

  ‘We spoke about his affairs—he admitted to his first affair but I was wrong when I thought he was away having other affairs in the years that followed.’

  ‘Where was he?’

  ‘In hospital, receiving treatment for depression.’

  Hannah gave a swift inhalation of surprise before saying, ‘The poor man. That’s terrible.’

  ‘He said he didn’t tell myself and François because he was ashamed. Which is bloody stupid.’

  Hannah grimaced but then she regarded him with sad compassion. ‘I’m guessing that he thought he was protecting you.’

  A sizeable lump of emotion lodged in his throat when he saw tears in Hannah’s eyes. He swallowed hard to dislodge it before adding, ‘After he told me, I realised that it wasn’t just his supposed affairs that devastated me but how abandoned I felt. When François and I were younger, our family was a happy one—a normal family. But then, when my father took over the business, it all unravelled. He became short-tempered, my mother preoccupied. We stopped being a family. And then the affair happened. And François and I were left in the dark from that point forward.’

  He moved towards the window, suddenly feeling extremely restless. Outside a man was pushing a lawnmower along the footpath. He turned back to Hannah, rolling his shoulders against the ache in his shoulder blades. ‘I wish they had told us that he was in hospital. Things could have been so different. I’d like to think I would have understood and been supportive—between my grandfather and me we could have helped him. As a teenager I felt responsible for François. I had no one I could speak to. I hated how alone I felt, how insecure, how out of control everything around me felt. I hated that lack of stability, feeling so vulnerable. And the constant roller coaster of my father coming and going only added to that. In truth I’m angry with both of my parents for robbing the rest of the family of the opportunity to support them, for not trusting us to care. But I can’t change the past, I can only influence the present and hope for a better future for us as a family.’

  Exhausted, he stopped. For long moments they stared at one another.

  ‘Does any of this make any sense?’ Then he exhaled. ‘I must sound self-indulgent in everything I’m saying. I know I should have coped better in everything that happened, especially in comparison to everything that you went through.’

  ‘Both of our backgrounds were pretty horrible. There’s no point in comparing them. I’m so sorry that you were so alone back then.’

  A jittery sensation ran through his legs at the compassion in her voice. ‘And I’m sorry I reacted so poorly to what you said in Royan.’

  Her gaze turned away from him towards her laptop screen. ‘It hurt, but that’s life, I guess.’

  He moved across the room, coming to a stop by a low coffee table. Some pens and glue were piled neatly in a row on a dark wooden tray lying on top. ‘Now, I can see how much it must have taken you to open up like that to me, given how I ended our relationship before, what you went through as a child.’

  Hannah blinked. Her jaw working. ‘Where’s this conversation going?’

  He pressed his leg against the coffee table, trying to gather his rambling thoughts and words. If any of his ex-banking colleagues who had always commended his negotiation skills saw him now they would scoff at his incompetence. He reeled back everything he’d said in his mind and then tried to answer her question as truthfully as he could, regardless of how uncomfortable it felt.

  ‘I now realise why I was so set against relationships, against ever falling in love. It isn’t because I’m cynical, or have no interest in commitment. It’s because I’m terrified of loving someone and for them to leave me. Up until now I haven’t wanted to give another person that power over me.’

  ‘I’m glad you’ve come to that understanding.’

  He looked at her blankly for a moment. ‘Dieu! I’m really messing this up.’ He cleared his throat. ‘What I’m trying to say...’ He moved around the coffee table and sat down on the nearest chair to her. ‘The reason why I am here...’ He stood back up. His heart felt as if it was going into arrhythmia. He circled back to the other side of the table. ‘The reason we need to talk...’ He closed his eyes and blurted out, ‘We need to talk because I want you
to know that I love you.’

  * * *

  Shooting off the stool, Hannah dodged around the sofa rather than having to pass Laurent, her heart hammering. At the kitchen table she flipped down the laptop screen where Kim Ackerman, the London-based online yoga superstar, had been instructing her audience in ‘inhale love, exhale love.’ It seemed to be a travesty to have Kim’s image in the same room as her right now, because her blood was boiling with rage. And she was scared.

  Scared of believing Laurent.

  She swallowed down the temptation to laugh hysterically.

  He was saying what she had longed for, that he loved her. But it felt wrong. It was too late. She was moving on from him. She glanced over to the mood board she’d spent yesterday creating in a café close to Richmond Park, where she’d hidden away from Laurent having guessed rightly that he would call at her apartment even though she’d said she didn’t want to talk.

  She’d also guessed he would turn up today. Just not this early.

  ‘Hannah?’

  She turned to him.

  ‘Did you hear what I said? That I love you.’

  She was almost taken in by the nervousness in his voice, how drawn and pale he suddenly looked.

  Not that it made him in the slightest bit unattractive. That made her even crosser. Here she was standing in some tatty old gymwear, overheating from too many down dogs and warrior poses, and he looked as if he’d stepped out of a photo shoot for how Europe’s top ten eligible CEOs dressed when off-duty.

  Wearing dark jeans, a white open-neck heavy cotton shirt and a zipped navy bomber jacket, he was carrying himself with his usual understated sophistication. His hair had been recently cut and she hated how it emphasised the beautiful shape of his skull, the sharpness of his jawline, the brilliance of his blue eyes.

  She went and yanked up the already open sash window to its maximum opening. Turning and trying to project a semblance of calmness, she said, ‘I heard you, Laurent. But quite frankly I really don’t understand what you mean when you say that you love me.’

  He went to answer but the anger and fear inside her had her add, ‘And can I point out that you seemed to find it hard to actually tell me that—to say those words? It seemed like you were having to force yourself, so please forgive me if I don’t believe you.’

  He stepped back, almost losing his balance when he banged against the coffee table.

  Hannah turned away and went into the kitchen. She’d been sipping on green tea before he’d arrived but now she needed coffee. And not her usual instant, but strong percolated coffee.

  She bent and searched the corner cupboard for her rarely used coffee maker, refusing to speak to Laurent. He clearly thought he could waltz in here and tell her he loved her and, hey presto, all would be rosy in the garden.

  No way. Not by a long shot.

  Eventually she found the machine at the furthest reaches of the cupboard and, dragging it out, cursed to herself when the cord and plug dropped to the floor, the plug whacking against her bare toes.

  Her mood didn’t improve when Laurent came and stood beside her. He said nothing but instead watched her wash out the jug and the water reservoir and then search her freezer compartment for some ground coffee.

  When she couldn’t take another minute of silence she turned to him and said, ‘You’re welcome to leave, you know.’

  ‘Not until I tell you why I love you.’

  She tried desperately to hold on to her anger, but the softness in his voice, the sincerity in his eyes was a much too strong opponent.

  Backing against the counter, she eyed him sceptically, telling herself not to fall for his easy words, not to lose herself to her lousy judgement again. She needed to protect herself.

  ‘When we first met, I was instantly attracted to you. You’re the most beautiful and beguiling woman I have ever met. You project a cool calmness, a wariness, but behind that you’re gentle, kind and forgiving. At times I wanted you to dislike my parents, I wanted to feel justified in my pain, but instead, while you understood my feelings towards them, you were also non-judgemental about them. Your openness to them, and especially now that I know about my father’s depression, has made me stop and realise that I need to be more understanding, to realise that I haven’t walked in their shoes.’ He came closer. ‘There’s so much more I love about you—how in tune we seem to be with one another...’ he smiled ‘...the synchronicity of our thoughts, our shared sense of humour. With you I feel complete, whole. Without you, I feel incredibly alone and lost. The past two weeks have been horrible.’

  Hannah’s heart felt as though it were a lead weight in her chest—the loneliness in his voice was so real. ‘What has changed, Laurent? Why are you telling me now that you love me? Why not before?’

  His gaze shifted to her fridge where there were numerous photos of her holding Diana, as a newborn, in her christening gown and at her dad’s birthday party last month. Something altered in his expression and when he looked back at her it was with almost a pleading look.

  ‘When we were together in London I was still carrying the emptiness and fear that had been in me for years.’ As though anticipating how she was about to argue that he’d always seemed so confident, he added, ‘My confidence, my self-esteem, despite outward appearances, was terrible. I hid that fact from myself as much as everyone around me. But being back home in Cognac, knowing that I’m making a difference to the business’s future, understanding my parents a little better, have all helped restore how I feel about myself. All along I thought I wasn’t capable of loving other people, when in reality the issue was that I couldn’t accept love. I didn’t think I was worthy of it and I worried about leaving myself open to pain. But your honesty at the beach house, knowing the courage it must have taken you to tell me that you cared for me, I now appreciate how much you must have meant those words.’ His hand reached out as though to touch her but then, bowing his head, he pulled it back. ‘I’ve messed you around, Hannah. I’ve hurt you. I’m truly sorry that I did. You said you wanted to be honest with me and I want to reciprocate that truthfulness. The honest truth is that I love you and want to spend my life with you.’

  Hannah sank against the countertop, her legs shaking. It would be so easy to tell him that she loved him too. For a moment she felt dizzy with the wonder of what would happen if she did.

  But just as quickly she dismissed that thought. ‘Spend your life with me—what does that mean?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about how we could make this work. I know you want to change the direction of your career. Why not come to Cognac? You could run your wedding celebrant business from there. Or even join the House—your financial expertise would be of great benefit.’ He stopped and gave her a hopeful grin. ‘I’d get to take you out to lunch that way, commute to work together even.’

  Hannah shook her head, trying to cling to the fragile excitement she’d felt yesterday when she’d finally come to a decision on her future.

  She edged past Laurent and went and grabbed the poster-sized piece of cardboard that formed her mood board for her future.

  She turned it to him, propping it on the kitchen table. ‘I’m moving to Spain.’

  ‘Why Spain?’

  ‘I contacted an established marriage celebrant business in Granada and they’re looking for a business partner. It’s a husband-and-wife team at the moment, and they are struggling with demand. I’ve found an apartment in the city to rent.’

  Running a hand over the image on the mood board of the one-bedroom apartment in an old Moorish building she’d found on the internet, she added in a low voice, ‘I need a new start. Put the past behind me.’

  ‘What about us?’

  She held his gaze for the longest time, seeing bewilderment and hurt and pride all play out in his expression.

  She looked away, trying to control a thousand different voices and emotio
ns flooding her brain and body and soul, and spoke straight from her heart, being honest as he’d asked her to. ‘I can’t trust you. I don’t want my heart broken again.’

  * * *

  Standing outside Hannah’s door, Laurent felt as if he’d stepped into a vortex about half an hour ago and had just been spat back out again. Dazed, he wondered where he would go. What he would do.

  A woman approached him, the straining Labrador on a leash making a beeline for him. The woman apologised as the Labrador’s paws skidded on the pavement in his attempt to get close to Laurent. Crouching down, Laurent stroked the dog, who instantly calmed. Emotion caught him in the throat. He missed Bleu. He missed Cognac. He wanted to go back there. He’d never thought he would feel this way about his birthplace.

  With one final hug for the Labrador, he waved him and his owner off.

  He stepped out onto the road. Looked up to the first floor, the sound of Kim Ackerman’s encouraging instructions just about audible.

  He closed his eyes. He’d blown it. He’d waited too long in recognising what he felt for Hannah.

  He breathed against the panic churning in his stomach. What if this was it? That there was no way back from this?

  Part of him wanted to walk away, the part that always believed that relationships would be toxic and painful.

  But the need to have Hannah in his life was too great. The need to prove to her what she meant to him pushed him towards the train station and then into a café in central London where he plotted for the next few hours how he would get her back. He was not going home without her.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  MONDAY MORNING, AND with the dawn light creeping beneath her blinds Hannah knew she should get up, do something useful, but her body felt as if it belonged to a worn-out rag doll while her mind was spinning around and around, trying to make sense of yesterday, and unfortunately she was making very little progress.

  He’d said he loved her. Had even thought through a future for them together. But it had all felt too easy for her to say she believed him, say that she loved him too and attempt to live happily ever after.