Winning Back His Runaway Bride

by Jessica Gilmore

  ‘Impossible,’ he said flatly. ‘I will, of course, try and cut down, but...’

  He stopped as Charlie took his hand in hers, her fingers sliding through his. ‘Matteo, you nearly died.’ He could hear the wobble in her voice and hated that he was responsible for it. ‘If the knock had been just an inch, less than an inch...’ She paused and swallowed. ‘Please,’ she said. ‘Listen, for once. There are things more important than work. You are more important.’

  The echo of her ‘for once’ reverberated around his aching head, as if he had heard those words before. He shot a keen look at his wife. There was so much about her, about his marriage, he didn’t know and the enormity of that struck him. He was always in control, always knew exactly what he wanted, when and how. This accident hadn’t just physically weakened him; the loss of his memory had put him on the back foot, an intolerable situation. Returning to work, to order, would help him regain that control.

  But then Matteo saw the tears brimming in Charlie’s eyes and his conscience stirred. He looked up at the doctor. ‘How long?’

  ‘For you to stay quiet? At least two weeks. Allow your body, your brain some rest, Mr Harrington. Switch off and your memory will most likely return quite naturally. But push yourself too hard too soon?’ She shook her head. ‘My strong advice is don’t.’

  He sighed. ‘Okay. You win. I’ll do my best to rest.’

  He felt Charlie relax beside him, heard her gasp of relief. ‘Really?’

  ‘Will it make you happy, cara?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then let me discharge myself and we will head home. I think we’ve trespassed on the good doctor’s time long enough, don’t you?’ He started to pull himself to his feet, trying to hide his wince of pain as his broken ribs protested and his head swam.

  ‘I would prefer you to stay in overnight for observation,’ the doctor said and Charlie nodded.

  ‘Besides, Matteo, we need to figure out where is the best place for you to recover. I don’t think you should return to London. Far too tempting for you to start browsing the internet or watching the news and before you’d know it you’d be back at work.’

  ‘True,’ he conceded. ‘Your house—I mean, your grandmother’s?’ Because, of course, Charlie would long have left the quirky cottage to move in with him. To his surprise she firmly shook her head, her expression unreadable.

  ‘Too noisy. There’s building work going on.’ She chewed her lip again and then turned to the doctor. ‘Can he fly?’

  ‘It’s not advised, but a short distance should be fine. No reading, no looking at screens, no bright lights and if you can lie flat then that would be best.’

  ‘Then how about Italy? Matteo owns a villa overlooking Amalfi. Would that work?’

  ‘Amalfi?’ The doctor smiled. ‘I honeymooned on the Amalfi coast. I can’t imagine anywhere nicer to recuperate. As long as you take the journey slowly and steadily, you should be fine. But when you are there, rest.’ She gave Charlie a stern look. ‘Don’t let him even read an email, keep him away from all news and try not to prompt him. Just live in the moment for a couple of weeks and let his memory try and come back naturally. No stress, no shocks, no over-exertion physically or mentally and he should be just fine. Just try and relax and enjoy yourselves.’

  Amalfi. Italy. Home. For all he had been born and brought up in London, sent to school in the home counties, for part of him, Italy would always be home. Matteo half closed his eyes. He could feel the warmth of the sun, smell the all-pervasive scent of lemons mixed with the salt of the sea, see the vibrant blues and greens of that God-blessed coastline. ‘We honeymooned there too.’ He smiled at Charlie. He might not remember the honeymoon but he remembered the planning. ‘Paris, then the Orient Express to Venice because the book is one of your favourites...’ But at the shuttered look on Charlie’s face he paused, uncertain, hating the holes in his memory. ‘Have I got it wrong?’

  ‘No, that was the plan, but we didn’t get any further than Paris.’ She looked away, her cheeks pink. ‘A business deal gone wrong. We postponed the rest.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said futilely. What had he been thinking? They had planned the honeymoon together and she had been so excited.

  Charlie waved a dismissive hand. ‘I understood. It’s ancient history. I mean...’ She stopped, a stricken look on her face. ‘I am so sorry. Ancient history to me, but the future to you.’

  ‘No, don’t apologise.’ This was ridiculous. They were married, in love, and yet they were dancing around each other like guarded strangers. ‘I should apologise, for not having taken you to Amalfi yet. It shouldn’t take an accident and memory loss to prompt me. But let me make it up to you. This can be a second honeymoon.’

  He smiled but, to his surprise, Charlie avoided his gaze. Dread curled around his gut. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Lovely.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘YOU’RE DOING WHAT?’ Phoebe froze in her chair, her wine glass held up to her half-open mouth. ‘Are you insane?’

  Charlie plonked her bag onto the kitchen table and sank wearily into the opposite seat, pulling the wine bottle and spare glass waiting next to it to her. She had no idea how to truthfully answer that question. ‘It would look weird if I didn’t go with him, and the doctor said very clearly that Matteo wasn’t to get any shocks. He knows we’re married; there’s no good reason why I wouldn’t go.’ Besides, she couldn’t help replaying the moment she’d first seen him, lying so still, hooked up to all those machines, the doctor’s words echoing in her head. He is very lucky. She had to make sure he was on the road to recovery before walking away. Again.

  Phoebe looked over at their grandmother for backup. ‘Can you hear this, Gran? No good reason? There’s plenty of good reasons, Charlie. Number one, you’re getting divorced. Number two, you’re supposed to be flying out to Vietnam on Friday. What is Lexi going to say?’

  Charlie poured a generous glug of the wine into her glass and gratefully accepted the bowl of soup her grandmother held out to her, helping herself to bread from the plate in the middle of the table. ‘This smells incredible, Gran, thank you. I don’t think I’ve had a chance to eat since breakfast; there’s something about hospitals that makes you lose all sense of time and appetite.’ She took a bite of her gran’s home-made bread, still warm from the oven, and immediately felt a little better.

  ‘Pheebs, you know that Lexi has fallen in love—or lust—with some rugby-playing New Zealand backpacker. From what I can tell, she’s at the smitten, can’t-spend-a-second-away-from-him phase. Honestly? I think she’ll be relieved if I don’t turn up to be an awkward spare wheel on her holiday romance. And as for your number one, that’s kind of the problem. Matteo doesn’t know about the divorce, Phoebe. He doesn’t even remember getting married. As far as Matteo is concerned it’s last year. The day before our wedding.’

  ‘But it’s not. A lot has happened since then and you have wasted enough of your life on him. You don’t owe him anything, Charlie.’

  ‘No, but we are still married and I am still his next of kin, for the next six weeks anyway. It’s my responsibility to get him safely to the villa and keep an eye on him until his concussion heals. Then, I just need to think of a good excuse to come home and by the time my absence looks suspicious hopefully he’ll have remembered.’ It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was all she had. ‘I did promise “in sickness and in health” after all.’

  ‘Oh, Charlie. You promised for ever and ever, through good times and bad. And they are lovely sentiments, but that’s all they are.’

  ‘Phoebe!’ her grandmother scolded, and her cousin looked shamefaced.

  ‘I’m sorry, Charlie, but you have to admit, even by your standards this is a terrible idea.’

  Charlie rubbed her eyes. All the adrenaline that had fuelled her through the long afternoon of tests and doctors ha
d faded away, leaving her as worn-out as her grandmother’s ancient tea towels. ‘Phoebe, I know you’re just trying to help, that you’re looking out for me and I appreciate it, I really do. But I have to do this.’ She hesitated, trying to find the right words. ‘This isn’t me doing something crazy because someone told me not to or because it looks like fun. This is me trying to do the right thing. I hate that we failed, Matteo and I. I hate what happened to us. That in the end I couldn’t make it work.’ She took a large gulp of her wine, looking for the courage to say the next words. ‘You don’t know how many nights I’ve lain awake and gone through every argument, every disagreement, every moment we just didn’t connect and wondered if there’s a way I could have played it better, if there’s a way we could have fixed it.’

  ‘Are you thinking that this might get you back together?’ Phoebe couldn’t have sounded more incredulous if Charlie had announced she was heading off to Mars. ‘That because he’s gone back to being the Matteo from before the wedding it’s like a reset? Charlie, I know you love him but...’

  ‘No.’ She wasn’t that naïve, not any more. Although how she wished she was, that this could be exactly what Matteo had suggested: a second honeymoon. Her cheeks heated as she remembered the touch of Matteo’s hand on hers and the way her body had leapt to attention, just as it always had. Her mind knew that it was over, but her heart and body clearly had some catching up to do. ‘No,’ she said again, more strongly this time. ‘It’s too late. But something beautiful turned so bitter, so sad, it hurts me here.’ She touched her heart. ‘If I help now, if I do the right thing, maybe I’ll finally manage some closure, whatever that is.’

  ‘But...’

  ‘That’s enough, Phoebe,’ their grandmother said from her usual chair by the big range cooker. ‘Charlie’s made up her mind and you need to respect that. For what it’s worth, I think she’s right. I just hope you’re careful, darling. You’ve been through enough.’

  ‘Nothing I didn’t bring upon myself.’ Charlie smiled wryly. ‘Thank you for never saying it, Gran.’

  ‘For not saying what?’

  ‘That you told me so. And for giving me a place to come back to.’

  ‘What else would I do? This is your home, Charlie. It will always be, as long as you need it.’ Her home and her sanctuary. Charlie looked around the vibrant, warm kitchen with affection.

  Both she and Phoebe had spent their teenage years here in this cottage. Phoebe’s parents were in the RAF and often stationed all over the world, whilst Charlie’s mother was an increasingly high-ranking diplomat, moving from posting to posting every few years. Charlie had hated the stifling restrictions of diplomatic life and when her grandmother had announced that Phoebe would be coming to live with her for her secondary education Charlie had insisted on doing the same, despite her parents’ protestations.

  ‘What’s the plan?’ Gran asked. ‘Are you taking Matteo back to London before heading to Italy?’

  Plan seemed like a very grand name for a hurried series of spur-of-the-moment decisions. ‘Going back to London for a night would probably have made the most sense,’ Charlie said. ‘But the problem with deceiving is the tangled web I’m weaving. None of my things are back at the London house. I mean, all those fancy dresses and the jewellery might be, I don’t know what Matteo did with it all, but none of my own belongings. My photos, my own clothes, books, the picture Mum and Dad gave me, I brought them all back here. He’d be bound to notice I had nothing personal there.’

  ‘So you’re heading straight to Italy tomorrow?’

  Charlie nodded. ‘As soon as he gets released. I called Jo—you remember Jo, his PA? I got in touch with her while he was in X-ray. It was more than a little awkward, because obviously she’s been doing the paperwork for the divorce. But when I explained what had happened and what the doctor said, she was really helpful and agreed that this is the best course of action.’ Jo’s instant acceptance of the situation had removed some of the doubt from Charlie’s mind. ‘She’s going to arrange for a driver to meet me at the hospital tomorrow, and from there we’ll head straight to London City Airport, where the Harrington plane will be waiting for us.’ She took another gulp of wine. ‘Turns out there are some advantages to being married to an obscenely rich man.’

  ‘And then what?’ Phoebe motioned to Charlie to pass her the bottle of wine and poured herself a healthy second helping. ‘Matteo is surgically attached to his phone and his tablet and his laptop, usually all three at the same time. How on earth are you planning to stop him checking his email and seeing a nice communication from his solicitor telling him the divorce is on track? Oh, I can see why you think this is the right course, Charlie, but there’s no way it’s going to work.’

  ‘It’s all taken care of.’ Charlie wasn’t exactly comfortable with the subterfuge, but Phoebe was right. It wasn’t just the possibility of Matteo realising the truth about their marriage that worried her; it was his inability to switch off. There was no way he’d follow the doctor’s orders if he had access to the outside world. The only solution seemed to be to up the deceit levels. ‘The hospital handed everything that had been in the car to me. So I might have told him that everything was destroyed in the crash and Jo will sort out a new phone and courier it over.’

  ‘Kidnapping him and cutting off all contact to the outside world? Nice work.’ Phoebe grinned as she swiped the last piece of bread.

  ‘I’m not kidnapping him!’ Charlie’s protest was half-hearted even to her own ears. She felt on pretty shaky moral ground, no matter how good her intentions. ‘He owns the house in Italy and agreed, wanted to go there. And I have his stuff in my bag—when he gets his memory back, everything will be there waiting for him. But for the next couple of weeks, until he’s outside the rest period the doctor prescribed, all contact comes through me. Luckily, Jo agrees; I am not sure how I would manage without her. Chauffeured limousines and private jets are making this whole situation easier.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know.’ Phoebe stared dreamily into the distance. ‘Private jets have never been in my existence. But I’d love the chance to find out.’

  ‘Take it from me,’ Charlie said bleakly, ‘there are worse things than flying economy.’

  ‘Tell me that again when you finally reach Vietnam. Several hours crushed up against the person next to you while your seat is constantly kicked by the person behind and you’ll be begging for the luxury of a private jet again.’ She looked meaningfully at Charlie’s left hand, where the paler skin showed clearly where her rings had been. ‘Good thing you didn’t sell your rings yet. It will be strange wearing them again, I guess.’

  Charlie’s stomach swooped and she automatically covered her left hand with her right. Taking the rings off had felt like such a huge step; she didn’t want to wear them again, perfect as they were. Because they were perfect. ‘I’ll tell him they are being resized. I’ve lost some weight over the last few months.’

  ‘You seem to have thought of everything. Okay, Charlie. If this is really what you feel you have to do then I’ll support you in any way you need me to. Just let me know if you need anything at all. Especially onsite support. It’d be a sacrifice for me to spend a few days in a villa in Italy but anything for you.’

  ‘Thank you. I can’t tell you how much better I feel with you onside.’ Another wave of weariness hit Charlie and she yawned. ‘I’d better head up; it’s been a long day and tomorrow won’t be any easier.’ She gave her cousin a quick hug and kissed her grandmother. ‘I’ll be gone very early tomorrow, but I’ll call from Amalfi. Love you.’

  She made her way to the door and paused, doubt filling her. Was pretending that their marriage was still okay the right thing to do, or would this deception just lead to more heartbreak in the future? But the doctor had been very clear; Matteo needed quiet and stability. Once he was well, he’d understand. And if he didn’t? Well, what could he do to her now? His power to hurt he
r was over.

  Or so she hoped.

  * * *

  ‘I can’t believe Jo didn’t have a phone ready for me; she is normally so competent.’ Matteo sat back in the car, his hands idle. It felt wrong to be doing nothing; he was always holding something, a phone, a laptop, a steering wheel. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d just sat with his hands heavy in his lap. He flexed them and scowled down as the bruises on his arms twinged, a reminder that this was no pleasure trip. The physical pain didn’t bother him as much as what it signified: weakness. The loss of his memory, the instructions to rest, the ceding of control all ate away at him. He shifted again, ignoring the protest in his ribs.

  ‘Competent doesn’t begin to describe Jo,’ Charlie said. ‘She managed to pack our suitcases, organise the plane, the car from the hospital, this car to take us to the villa, all in less than twenty-four hours. She has also made sure that the villa has been aired and stocked with everything that we need, and she offered to tell your grandfather that you need two weeks’ peace and quiet. I think you can let her off not replacing a phone within twenty-four hours. Not to mention the small fact that the doctor explicitly said no phones, remember?’

  ‘Okay,’ Matteo conceded. ‘You may have a point.’ He sat back and tried to concentrate on the scenery, which got even more stunning as they left Naples and its environs behind them and headed south along the famous Amalfi coastal road. But he couldn’t relax, something Charlie had said niggling away at him. ‘Didn’t you speak to my grandfather yourself?’

  Charlie reached for her bag and avoided meeting his gaze, her blue eyes clouding momentarily. With a chill, the sense of wrongness Matteo had felt yesterday returned. ‘I didn’t get a chance. I’ll call him when we get to the villa.’