by Ella Hayes
‘Five and a half.’
‘That’s Rosie’s size!’ Lily was beaming. ‘This was clearly meant to be. After we’ve had our coffee we’ll go get you fitted out. I know you’ll look perfect.’
Milla swallowed the last of her misgivings and allowed herself to feel a little excitement. An invitation to Rosie’s wedding wasn’t exactly what she’d been expecting, but if Cormac wanted her there then that was reason enough to go.
He’d looked so happy when she’d accepted, and the more she thought about it, the more enthusiastic she became. She could tell it was going to be a beautiful wedding. A marquee by the loch, lights in the trees, champagne, a traditional ceilidh, and most importantly Cormac at her side.
She caught his eye as he spooned coffee into a large cafetière and blushed at the heat she saw in his gaze.
She turned her attention back to Lily. ‘Well, as long as Rosie won’t mind lending me something—’
‘Of course she won’t mind—’
‘Won’t mind what?’ Rosie had come through the door, an envelope in her hand.
‘You won’t mind lending Milla something to wear for tomorrow.’ Lily smiled. ‘She’s coming to the wedding!’
‘How fantastic!’ Rosie’s eyes darted to Cormac, her lips twitching in amusement, then she turned to Milla and smiled warmly. ‘I’m so glad you’re going to join us, and of course I don’t mind lending you something.’
Cormac slotted the lid onto the coffee pot. ‘I don’t remember you being so happy when I said I was coming.’ He reached into a cupboard for mugs.
‘You were a sure thing—but if you need to hear it, I am delighted that you’re here...’
She worked her finger into the flap of the envelope she was holding and pulled out a slim white card. Milla watched as her face lit up all over again.
‘Oh, my goodness. You’ll never guess what... Emma’s coming to the wedding after all.’
There was a loud clatter as two of the mugs fell onto the worktop. Cormac muttered an apology, but Rosie and Lily carried on talking as if they hadn’t noticed. Milla studied Cormac’s back as he made the coffee, noticed the sudden tension in his shoulders. She tried to catch his eye, but he seemed intent on his task. Perplexed, she refocused on what Rosie and Lily were saying.
‘That is good news.’ Lily smiled. ‘It will be lovely to see her.’ She caught Milla’s eye. ‘Emma’s a friend of the family. She’s...’ She raked the air for words. ‘A good friend. We thought she might not be able to make it.’
Milla saw Rosie fire a warning look at Lily, and there was a moment of awkward silence as Cormac brought the mugs to the table. He didn’t look at her and she felt that it was deliberate.
Puzzled, she tried again to catch his eye, but he was lifting his coffee and walking towards the door. ‘They need me outside, so I’ll go get on. Please excuse me.’
Without a backward glance he left the room.
* * *
Rosie pulled open the doors of a wide mahogany wardrobe and rummaged through the hangers, pulling out garments and hanging them along the top rail.
‘Just shout out if you see anything you like.’
Milla sat on the bed, feeling wretched. She couldn’t wipe away the image of Cormac’s averted gaze as he’d set her coffee mug down, the casual indifference in his manner as he’d left the kitchen without so much as a glance in her direction. She’d wanted to go after him but it had been impossible to extricate herself, and now she was trapped again.
Those mugs had fallen from his hands and bounced on the worktop. Cormac was physically adept; he wasn’t clumsy. He’d cursed under his breath, but she’d sensed that his frustration had nothing to do with dropping the mugs.
What had she told him days ago? ‘You can always see more; you just have to open your eyes a little wider, that’s all.’
As Rosie pulled out dress after dress Milla forced her eyes to open a little wider. Someone called Emma was coming to the wedding. Rosie and Lily were pleased, but Cormac had dropped the coffee mugs.
‘So, what do you think?’ Rosie was holding up a silk chiffon dress in a shade of eau-de-nil.
Milla eased herself off the bed and stepped closer. ‘It’s beautiful.’
Rosie was examining the label. ‘It’s still got the tags on—it’s never been worn.’ She held it out at arm’s length and frowned. ‘I think I bought it for a charity event but then I got the flu and couldn’t go.’ She held it up to Milla’s frame. ‘If it fits, it’s going to be perfect.’ She smiled. ‘Go and try it on.’
Milla took the hanger from her hand and entered the adjoining bathroom. Slowly she pulled her tee shirt over her head and slipped out of her jeans. She checked her fingernails for traces of paint before touching the dress. The fabric was sheer and soft, dauntingly expensive. She stepped into it and pulled up the zip as far as she could; Rosie would have to help her with the rest.
As if sensing that she was needed, Rosie put her head around the door. ‘You probably need a hand...’
Milla felt the dress slide into its proper place across her back and shoulders as Rosie carefully eased up the zip and then stood back.
‘Wow! You look stunning—Cor’s going to die when he sees you—sorry! That just slipped out... I hope you don’t think—’
‘It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.’
Milla turned to look in the mirror and caught her breath. The dress was exquisite, with soft folds of silk chiffon spilling from a fitted bodice. The neckline was high, slashed in a wide curve across her collarbones and resolving into neat cap sleeves perched on her shoulders. It could have been made for her.
She resisted a girlish impulse to swish the skirt. ‘Oh, Rosie, it’s beautiful.’
‘Shoes! I bought matching shoes and never wore those either.’
Rosie skipped out of the bathroom to retrieve them. Milla stared at her reflection. Would Cormac ‘die’ when he saw her? She attempted a smile, but it wouldn’t come. Something about the way he’d left so quickly...
‘Here you are.’ Rosie reappeared, brandishing a pair of elegant two-tone heels in cream and eau-de-nil, silk bows with diamanté on their toes.
Milla slipped them on, felt the unfamiliar surge in height. She tried a hesitant step or two.
Rosie regarded her with interest. ‘How do they feel?’
‘They make me feel like someone else,’ she said, and then, in case Rosie took offence, she added quickly, ‘But in a good way.’ She shifted her weight backwards and forwards, trying to get used to the unfamiliar sensation. ‘Can I ask you something?’
‘Of course.’
‘Who’s Emma?’
Rosie sucked in a low breath. ‘Ah...that ever so slightly awkward moment didn’t get past you, then...’
‘I wondered if I was imagining it...’
‘You weren’t.’ She frowned. ‘Has Cormac told you what happened in Afghanistan?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, that’s progress, anyway.’ She sighed and cast her eyes to the ceiling. ‘Mentioning Duncan in front of Cormac, or anything connected with Duncan, is a bit like talking about Lord Voldemort—he who shall not be named and all that.’
Milla felt her brow wrinkle. ‘Okay, but I still don’t understand. Who is Emma?’
Rosie stood up and eased down the zip of Milla’s dress. ‘Emma is—or perhaps I should say was—Duncan’s wife. You saw how Cor reacted just now? We all loved Duncan, but he just can’t get over it. They were friends—I’d have thought he’d be pleased to see her.’
Rosie seemed to be contemplating something, then she smiled at Milla’s reflection in the mirror.
‘Look, we’re having a little pre-wedding party tonight—all the nearest and dearest. I think you should come. You’re good for Cormac, and I think he’d like you to be there. You could stay the night and then you’ll alre
ady be here for the wedding.’
Milla was about to protest, but Rosie stopped her with a smile.
‘We won’t tell him—it’ll be a nice surprise. I’ve even got the perfect little black dress for you to wear...’
* * *
Milla laid the garment bag and shoes on the back seat of the four-by-four and closed the door. How effortlessly she’d been woven into Rosie’s wedding plans—and now she was to make a surprise appearance at the pre-wedding soirée. Rosie was so excited about the whole thing that Milla had found it impossible to refuse, but now, as she looked around for signs of Cormac, she felt an overwhelming desire to run a million miles in the opposite direction. She was troubled by that scene in the kitchen. Perplexed at the way he’d avoided her gaze before disappearing.
The stretch of driveway closest to the marquee was filling up with a growing assortment of vehicles—a compact yellow van with a livery of scrolling letters circling a wedding cake, a larger square van with the doors thrown back, two cheery ladies decanting an assortment of large letters spelling out the word LOVE.
She set off across the lawn in the direction of the marquee in case he was there. Rosie seemed to think that any mention of Duncan was enough to throw her brother into a tailspin, and that his reaction to Emma’s acceptance of the wedding invitation was simply part of that, but she wasn’t so sure. She needed to see him. Find out what was going on.
The marquee’s interior was soft with milky light. The air was filled with the sweet, earthy aroma of damp grass overlaid with fragrant notes of the narcissi and hyacinth from the floral centrepieces being set out on circular tables by a short, lively girl. At the far end another girl was tying hessian bows to the backs of chevalier chairs while she chatted to a colleague.
There was no sign of Cormac.
She turned to leave—and walked straight into a large cardboard box being carried into the marquee by another girl. A dismal clash and tinkle caused the florist and the venue stylist to look up, and Milla felt a hot rush of embarrassment.
‘I’m so sorry. That didn’t sound good. Have I broken it, whatever it was?’
The girl steadied herself and tugged the box to rights. ‘No. It’s fine—it’s just the tea light holders, and they’re indestructible.’
Relieved, Milla ventured a question. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen Cormac Buchanan, by any chance...?’
The girl set the box down and pushed her hair away from her face. ‘I think he’s checking some deliveries behind the caterer’s tent.’
‘Thanks. And I’m sorry about—’
The girl smiled. ‘No worries.’
Milla stepped out of the marquee and drew a steadying breath. Crashing into the box of tea light holders had shredded her nerves even more. All she needed was to look into his eyes and then she’d know that everything was all right.
Around the back there was an assortment of smaller tents, a tangle of cabling and a grumbling generator. She picked her way carefully through the maze and finally found him in a forest of wine crates, signing off on a delivery. She was about to call out when Sam’s head popped up from behind another stack of boxes.
‘How many cases of the Pinot Noir should we have?’
Cormac flipped over a sheet on the clipboard in his hand and ran a pen down a row of figures. ‘I think it’s...’
She stepped backwards out of sight, then retraced her steps. He was busy, and she couldn’t talk to him about Emma while Sam was there. She’d go back to the bothy and get on with Rosie’s painting. She’d talk to him later.
Despite her misgivings, she felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. The black dress Rosie had given her was exquisite. He’d only ever seen her in her work clothes. Tonight he’d get the surprise of his life and she couldn’t wait to see his face.
CHAPTER TEN
CORMAC WORKED HIS tie into a Windsor knot and stared at his reflection with unseeing eyes. This morning he’d told Milla that wild horses wouldn’t stop him from seeing her today. He’d told her he wanted her to come to the wedding, and when he’d said it he’d meant it, but now everything had changed.
He’d spent the day in purgatory, trying to think of another way, but he couldn’t dodge his miserable errand any longer. If Emma was coming to the wedding, then Milla couldn’t be there. How could he walk into the wedding reception with a beautiful girl on his arm when Emma was all alone? It would be like flaunting his happiness, shouting from the rooftops that he was done with grieving and had moved on with his life.
He’d never escape this guilt. He could see now that it was always going to be this way—catching him out, nipping at his heels. He’d lowered his defences, started to believe that he could have a relationship with someone, but he’d been a fool. This time he’d dropped some mugs; next time it could be something far worse. He couldn’t burden Milla with his erratic moods, his nightmares, his fear. It would be better for everyone if he was alone.
He glanced at his watch. If he left now, he could make it to the bothy and back before anyone missed him—it would only take him a few moments to tell Milla that it was never going to work between them and then he’d be free. Broken-hearted, but free.
On the landing, he hesitated. He could already hear the hum of voices downstairs, the musicians tuning their instruments. He had no idea how he was going to get through the evening. After he’d seen Milla he knew he wouldn’t want to come back—he’d rather go to a bar and get drunk—but his family would never forgive him and so he was trapped. He’d have to play the part of the dutiful Calcarron heir, endure it somehow.
He forced his legs to move forward, and was halfway down the stairs when he froze mid-step, mesmerised, tongue-tied and bewildered. Milla had stepped out of the drawing room and was looking up at him, a shy smile on her lips. He felt his eyes clouding. He’d never seen her like this—elegant in a black dress and stilettoes, her hair swept up in a diamanté clasp.
Before he had time to collect his thoughts, Rosie skipped into the hall, giggling.
‘We thought we’d surprise you.’ She slid an arm around Milla’s waist. ‘Doesn’t she look gorgeous?’
He could hardly summon the breath to speak. ‘Yes.’
Milla’s eyes were searching his, and he couldn’t bear the flicker of confusion he could see there. His collar suddenly felt too tight. They’d planned this and blown him out of the water. As he descended the final steps he was seized with bitterness. Why did she have to look so irresistible?
With difficulty he met her wounded gaze. ‘You look beautiful. I never expected—’
‘That’s the beauty of surprises, Cor. You’re not meant to expect them.’ Rosie squeezed his shoulder and motioned to an overnight bag parked on a chair. ‘I insisted that Milla should stay tonight—it’ll make it so much easier for the wedding tomorrow.’ She leaned in to kiss his cheek and whispered, ‘You can thank me later.’ She stepped back and smiled. ‘I’ll leave you two to say a proper hello.’ She threw him a playful glance and disappeared into the drawing room.
For a moment, he stood in a kind of daze.
‘You look very handsome.’
Milla’s faltering smile made him feel even worse and, desperate to escape, he reached for her bag.
‘Thank you. I’ll take this up for you.’
He started up the stairs and knew immediately that she was following. Behind him, he could feel her anguish shimmering through the air along with her perfume, could hear her bottled silence straining at the cork.
As he neared his own room he hesitated, then walked past, turned a corner and led her to the room she’d used before. Perhaps it was a good thing she was following, because at least they’d have a few moments alone. It would have been easier to say what he had to say at the bothy, but now he had no choice. He’d have to do it here.
After she’d gone he’d tell Rosie she hadn’t been feeling well and ha
d decided to go back to Strathburn.
He closed the door behind them and opened his mouth to speak, but she spoke first.
‘What’s wrong, Cormac? If I’ve done something wrong you’ve got help me out, because I have no idea what’s going on in your head right now.’
Her eyes were wide with incomprehension and the trembling hurt choking her voice almost shattered his defences.
‘Rosie said it would be fun to surprise you, but I’m sensing you’re not seeing it that way.’
‘It was a shock, that’s all.’ He felt the muscles tighten in his jaw. ‘I—I was actually on my way to see you...’
Her eyes softened, and her voice steadied with relief. ‘You were coming to see me?’ She stepped towards him, her lips curving into a smile. ‘Well, I’m here, dressed to the nines, just for you.’
One of her shoulders was bare, the skin smooth and milky. It was all he could do not to reach out and touch her. He swallowed hard.
‘I was coming to tell you that you can’t come to the wedding tomorrow.’
Her voice was a broken hush. ‘Why?’
He blanked his gaze. ‘I changed my mind.’
Incredulity mangled her voice. ‘You changed your mind...? Just like that?’ She was shaking her head, her eyes suddenly steely. ‘That’s not good enough. I need an explanation.’
He might have guessed she’d pursue him, make him twist the knife.
He masked his shrivelling heart with a shrug. ‘I don’t want to give you the wrong impression—about us. About where this is going.’
She recoiled, her gaze seeming to turn inwards. ‘Am I so easy to cast aside? What’s happened to you? I don’t recognise you any more.’
He looked down at his feet—anywhere was better than her eyes. ‘I told you before; I’m a screw-up. I’m unreliable.’
He watched her eyes fill with indignant fury. She squared herself in front of him, her hands balled into fists.
‘How dare you?’ She spat out the words. ‘How dare you hide behind all that?’ Her eyes were gleaming with tears now. ‘I don’t know what’s going on, but I know you’re lying. You’re lying to me, but worst of all you’re lying to yourself.’ She walked to the door and turned. ‘It’s a pity. I thought you were someone I could love. I thought that behind the tortured silences and the wounded eyes there might be something worth treasuring—’