Desperately fighting for control, she tried to focus on the lush gardens that surrounded the old courtyard. The air was scented with the sweet smell of jasmine and out of the corner of her eye she caught a flash of bright pink bougainvillea that painted the terrace in a riot of colour. It was incredibly pretty. The perfect place for a wedding.
Unable to help herself, she lifted her gaze to Cristiano.
Across the terrace, their eyes met.
She wanted to look away but she didn’t, and neither did he. Couldn’t? Wouldn’t? She didn’t know. All she knew was that he was looking at her as if he was trying to see into her mind, those deep-set black eyes fixed on hers as Dani and Raimondo exchanged vows.
This was us.
His lips didn’t move and yet in her head she could hear him saying it.
We had this and you destroyed it.
Heart pumping, she snapped the connection and looked at Dani.
Maybe she was the one who had done the walking, but he was the one who’d destroyed it.
As the couple leaned forward to kiss, Laurel discovered that her skin was covered in goose bumps. What had begun as a slight trembling turned to a shiver. Sickness bloomed inside her and she felt the blood drain from her face as she witnessed their heartfelt declaration of love.
Her own emotions stripped bare, she gripped her flowers and tried to hold herself together.
The rest of the ceremony blurred into one big torture session. One big test of her self-control. She was dimly aware of Dani flinging her arms around her new husband—of sighs from the assembled guests and of the fact she was growing colder and colder.
Somehow she managed to smile, to endure the endless photographs, to say what needed to be said—congratulations, so pleased, yes, she looks beautiful, very happy together—all the while aware of Cristiano taking charge and making sure his sister enjoyed every moment of her special day, his own pain ruthlessly subdued by his awesome willpower.
He was capable of caring, she thought miserably. But sometimes he got it horribly, horribly wrong.
Clumsy, not cruel.
Secure in the knowledge that all attention was on the bride and groom, Laurel slowly turned her head. Seeing that Cristiano was occupied by the bridesmaids, she allowed herself a long indulgent look, knowing it would be her last. After today she wouldn’t see him again.
Storing up images, she allowed her gaze to linger on those thick lashes, travel over that strong jaw and the tempting curve of that mouth. The longing was a great tearing feeling in her chest, which made no sense at all.
She had no wish to turn the clock back.
Deep down she knew that even if he had prioritised her over work on that awful day, it wouldn’t have changed anything. They might have taken a different road, but they would have ended up in the place they were now.
They didn’t work well together. A relationship needed more than fiery chemistry to hold it fast.
With no warning he turned his head and caught her looking.
A frown touched his brows, as if he saw something in her face that puzzled him.
Those broad shoulders squared under the exquisitely cut suit.
Trapped by that searching, questioning gaze, Laurel ceased to breathe. She watched with her heart in her mouth as he tried to read her, saw him use that acute brain of his to draw a conclusion from the facts at his disposal.
One of Dani’s numerous little cousins, unsettled by the size of the gathering, nestled against his legs, seeking security. Cristiano responded instantly, dragging his gaze from Laurel’s pinched white face and swinging the child into his arms, offering that security instinctively and without question. The little girl buried her head in his shoulder and he lifted a hand and stroked those blonde curls, his hand strong and reassuring, his lips moving as he soothed and calmed.
It was like a slap, the display of masculine protectiveness so perfectly timed that it snapped the nostalgia that had rendered her immobile. This was Cristiano at his best. With everyone around him depending on him.
It was ironic, she thought, that the one time she’d allowed herself to do that he hadn’t been there for her.
Feeling control slide from her grip, Laurel slid discreetly out of the group and forged her way through the guests to the other end of the terrace. If she took the long way round she could make it back to the villa unseen. This was her opportunity to make her final exit from his life with the minimum of fuss. She’d pack now and make her way to the airport. Forget waiting until the morning. She was willing to take a flight anywhere, as long as it meant getting out of Sicily tonight.
‘What’s going on, Laurel?’
Santo stood in front of her and the fact that it should be him who witnessed her distress was all the more humiliating. ‘I need to be on my own.’