‘All that money for just one day.’ She shook her head. Her hair feathered out; shoulder length, it was a light wavy brown. He wanted to lean over and feel it fly over his face.
‘Do you know how much she’s spent on the dress?’
So money was some of it. ‘I hate to think.’ His drollery seemed to pass her by.
‘And I’ve got the most hideous bridesmaid’s dress. Hideous.’
‘You’ll look gorgeous.’ She was such a cute package she could wear anything and look good.
‘You don’t understand,’ she said mournfully. ‘It’s a cast of thousands. Celia—the gorgeous cousin—is one too. And there are others.’ The little frown was back.
Her every emotion seemed to play out on her face—she was highly readable. If she could control it, learn to manipulate it, then she’d make a very good actress.
‘The dress suits all of them, of course.’
‘Of course.’ And she was worried about what she looked like—what woman wasn’t? He’d be happy to reassure her, spend some time emphasising her most favourable assets.
She looked up at him balefully. ‘They’re all five-seven or more and svelte.’
Whereas she was maybe five-four and all curves. He’d have her over ten tall blonde Celias any day.
‘Did they go with a gift list?’ He played along.
‘Yes.’ She ground out the answer. ‘The cheapest item was just under a hundred bucks—and you had to buy a pair.’
Money was definitely an issue. He supposed it must be—fledgling actresses and café staff didn’t exactly earn lots. And this resort was one of the most exclusive and expensive in the country. To be having a wedding here meant someone had some serious dosh. Was she worried about not keeping up with the family success?
He laughed, wanting to keep the mood light. ‘Lists are such a waste of time. They’d be better off leaving it to chance and getting two coffee plungers. That way when they split up they can have one each.’
Surprise flashed on her face. ‘Oh, and you call me cynical.’
‘Marriage isn’t worth the paper it’s written on.’ He’d been witness to that one all right—hit on the head with a sledgehammer. It was all a sham.
‘You think?’
‘Come on, how many people make it to ten years these days, seven even? What’s the point?’ Because at some point, always, it ended. Owen figured it was better to walk before the boredom or the bitterness set in—and it would set in. The feelings never lasted—he’d seen that, he’d felt it himself. Now he knew it was better not to get tied into something you didn’t want—and certainly not to drag the lives of innocents into it either. He wasn’t running the risk of that happening ever again. No live-in lover, no wife, no kids.
Bella sat back and thought. She had to give him that—one of her older cousins had separated only last month, a marriage of three and a half years over already. But other marriages worked out, didn’t they? She had high hopes for Vita and Hamish. She had faint hopes for herself—if she was lucky.
She frowned at h
im. ‘Yes, we already know it’s not on your agenda.’ He couldn’t commit to marriage—the monogamy bit would get him. He was too buff to be limited to one woman. Smorgasbord was his style. Well, that was fine. She was hardly at a ‘settle down’ point in life. She was still working on the ‘get’ a life bit.
‘That’s right.’ He grinned. ‘But I’m not averse to helping others celebrate their folly.’
‘So you can flirt with all the bridesmaids?’ A little dig.
‘Not all of them. Just one.’
The shorter, darker-haired, dumpier one with the long straight nose? He was just being nice because he hadn’t actually seen all the others yet. When he did, it would be all over. She looked up from her cleared plate and encountered his stare again. The glint was back and notch by notch making her smoulder.
His stare didn’t waver. And the message grew stronger.
Pure want.
She curled her fingers around her chilled wine glass. She felt flushed all over and had the almost desperate thought that she needed to cool down. Her fingers tightened. Then his hand covered hers, holding the glass to the table.
‘I think you’ve had enough.’