‘We all think we know what we’re doing...’
Raoul studied his younger brother’s expression for a moment. ‘Is everything all right with you?’
‘Sure.’ Remy gave him an overly bright smile. ‘Everything’s just fine.’
‘Rafe told me you’re dealing with Henri Marchand.’
‘I’ve got it covered.’
‘Sure?’
‘Sure.’
Raoul wasn’t so sure. There was something about Remy’s expression that alerted him to an undercurrent of worry. Henri Marchand was a sly man, ruthless and conniving. He would sell his grandmother to make a buck. The only near relative he had was his daughter, Angelique, and God only knew what the price was on her head. He only hoped Remy wasn’t the one who had to pay it. ‘If ever you need an ear...’
Remy gave him a high five. ‘I’ve got to get on the move. People to see. Deals to wheel.’
‘What? You’re not staying for the toss of the bouquet?
Remy gave a visible shudder. ‘Not my turn.’ He landed a playful punch on Raoul’s shoulder. ‘You’re next in line. Ciao.’
* * *
When Lily came back to the reception after freshening up in the ladies’ room the crowd was jostling for the bridal bouquet toss. She stayed well back in the room, pretending a disinterest that was at odds with everything inside her. She would have loved to be up there pushing and shoving in the mad grab for the bouquet. It was such a high-spirited, girly thing to do.
But she watched from the sidelines, feeling disjointed, displaced, lonely.
‘I’ve got it!’
‘No, it’s mine!’
‘Get out of my way, you fat cow, it’s mine.’
Lily moved aside as a wall of women surged towards her. She put up her hands to shield her face and suddenly found herself holding a bunch of flowers. Not just any bunch of flowers, either.
‘Oh...’
Every single female eye in the room was on her. There was a massive round of applause and loud cheering.
‘This is not meant for me.’ Lily thrust the bouquet at the nearest pair of grasping hands. ‘Excuse me...’
Raoul intercepted her as she left the reception room. His expression was dark and brooding, just like the first time she’d met him. His eyes were hard, his mouth was tight and his jaw was clenched. ‘Did you do that on purpose?’
Lily felt a nervous flutter pass through her stomach. ‘Pardon?’
‘The bridal bouquet.’ His gaze was bitter. ‘A not-so-subtle hint to get me to come to the party, so to speak.’
‘Party?’ She looked at him blankly. ‘What are you talking about?’
His mouth was so thin it looked almost cruel. ‘You thought by catching that bouquet it would prompt me to ask you to stay with me, especially with the whole crowd watching and cheering.’
Lily opened and closed her mouth. ‘What?’
‘It won’t work, Lily.’ His tone was hard, brittle, angry. ‘I’m not asking you to stay with me. I’m asking you—no, strike that, I’m telling you—to leave.’
She could barely speak for the pain his words were causing. She hadn’t been expecting him to ask her to stay but neither had she thought he would accuse her of such appallingly manipulative behaviour. Didn’t he know her at all?
‘You want me to leave, what, now?’