Winning Back His Runaway Bride

by Jessica Gilmore

  ‘Maybe not that exact moment,’ he admitted. ‘But Charlie, I would have proposed to you sooner, much sooner rather than later. Only I would have offended you by booking an expensive restaurant and buying a ring I thought you’d like and waiting for the perfect moment.’ He smiled wryly. ‘I might have even committed the cardinal sin of hiding it in your dessert or in a glass of champagne. And then you would have said, No way, and then where would I have been? Much better that it was then and I wasn’t left humiliated in a restaurant.’

  She laughed at that. ‘I have total faith that you’d have done better than that. But let’s not forget that I was the one who said, Why wait? If it hadn’t been for having to wait three weeks for the banns to be read I’d have married you the next day. I suggested Vegas, remember?’

  ‘I had no doubts, no hesitation. I didn’t need a project plan or a Gantt chart or a SWOT analysis to figure out if it was the right move. I was just as keen to rush it through with you. None of the blame for that is yours alone, Charlie. I was right there with you.’

  ‘You were with me because I was already there. Because I’m the person who everyone knows will do something crazy and then they’ll just say, Oh, that’s so Charlie. None of my friends or family were even slightly surprised when we announced our engagement and wedding date, whereas yours were appalled, even those that tried to hide it.’

  ‘But that’s what I loved about that time, not knowing where we were going next. You were such a breath of fresh air. I had no idea how dull and stale my life had got until you blew into it and turned it upside down.’

  ‘Until you realised you quite liked things a little less windblown. Like I said, I was furious. I changed my hair for you, the way I dressed, gave up my job. Turned into the little wife waiting at home with your dinner drying out in the oven and was all self-righteously angry. I told myself I made all the compromises. But I didn’t, not in my heart. I should have accepted that if you are in the middle of a big business deal you probably can’t take a long lunch break to come picnic with me. I should have known that buying a dress from an experimental designer just out of art college is a privilege, but that doesn’t mean I should wear it to a fundraising ball full of clients you’re trying to impress. I told myself that you married me for me and I shouldn’t have to change for you. But I wanted you to change for me. How is that fair?’

  Matteo sat back and stared up at the moon as he took in her words, took in the truth of them. He loved everything about Charlie, her vibrancy and her warmth and the way she lived every moment to the full. But the asymmetrical orange and yellow and lime-green dress, although probably very stylish in the end-of-year degree show where she had bought it, would have looked outlandish at the fundraising ball thrown by the philanthropic client he was trying to attract. But should he have asked her to tone it down next time, suggested she shop somewhere more conventional? Should he have told her that her hair was all very well for a primary school teacher but it was out of place in the royal box at Ascot?

  He knew the answer.

  Just as he knew that, much as he’d wanted to spend long lunches with her, to knock off early, to take long weekends, he simply hadn’t been able to bring himself to make the time. Those golden weeks after they’d met, his concentration had been on her, not work, and part of him couldn’t help thinking that lapse in concentration had contributed to his grandfather’s stroke, no matter what the doctor said. The problem hadn’t been his lack of time, just as the problem hadn’t been Charlie’s taste in clothes; it had been his reaction. He’d been so curt, so cutting by the end, knowing he was hurting her and taking out the guilt he felt about both her loneliness and hurt and about his grandfather’s stroke and slow recovery on Charlie. Maybe he had subconsciously blamed her after all. He knew that was what she suspected. But no; he had blamed himself. For taking his eye off work, for letting his grandfather shoulder so much while he was off staring at the stars on a beach with Charlie.

  ‘If you’d crashed a week later,’ Charlie said, ‘I wouldn’t be here. I’d have been in Vietnam.’

  Matteo turned back to her, surprised by the apparent change in conversation. ‘Vietnam?’

  ‘Yes, because obviously I wasn’t going to just mope around and feel sorry for myself; I had to do something impulsive. Because that’s what I do. I don’t like to feel sorry for myself or look back. I like to move on to a new adventure and hope I get over whatever’s upset me soon. So I got in touch with a friend who I knew was travelling and arranged to meet her in Vietnam. I told her that I was going to party my divorce away, even though all I really wanted to do was to hide away and lick my wounds. I married you on impulse, walked out on you on impulse and was going to leave the country and put it all behind me on an impulse—only I impulsively decided to nurse you through concussion and lie to you instead.’ She gave a bitter little laugh that tore at his heart. ‘I live my life on a whim. What kind of person does that make me?’

  ‘Going on holiday doesn’t make you a bad person, Charlie.’

  But she didn’t listen, half talking over him. ‘I’ve been taking a hard look at myself since we split up, trying to figure out why I reacted so badly to your suggestions.’

  ‘You have every right to dress how you want. And every right to be furious with me for speaking to you the way I did.’

  ‘I did and I do. But why is it so important to me to be so different? I was always an extrovert, the kind of kid who loves putting on plays and meeting people; embassies can be pretty boring places, full of protocols—where we went, who we went with, even friends had to be vetted. I felt so confined all the time, apart from two things. One was when I danced and the other was when my parents would say, Let’s just have fun today, and we’d head out without an embassy driver and just be normal tourists.’

  ‘That makes sense.’

  She reached out and took his hand, her fingers laced through his, her smile tender as she looked at him. ‘I know it was worse for you, raised by nannies and boarding school. Now I know how lucky I really was to have parents who loved me, the chance to live in such amazing places. But back then I felt very hard done by. When I found out Phoebe was going to live with our grandmother I just decided then and there that I was going to as well. My parents tried to persuade me to come to Singapore with them but I talked them round, and it felt so liberating to make my own decision, to have some control of my own destiny, to do what I wanted when I wanted. I decided I always wanted to live like that, on my terms. My friends always said that there was no Keep Out sign that didn’t entice me to go in, that I considered all rules optional, a no a green light.’

  ‘And you get away with it. I couldn’t believe the way you talked that security guard round that time you climbed into the locked yard.’

  ‘I wanted to see the statues,’ she protested, ‘not wait until the next morning and queue up. But the funny thing is that, for once, coming here to Italy, I had a proper plan. I was going to wait until you were better, and then I was going to find a reason to go back to London. I was going to be mature and stay distant from you. Make sure you were okay but no more. But I couldn’t even follow that plan, could I? Tonight wasn’t supposed to happen.’

  ‘Do you regret it? Because I don’t, Charlie. Even if you told me that it was the last time, even if you walked away, grabbed a bag and headed off to Vietnam, Australia or Timbuktu. I wouldn’t regret it. I’d regret what happened to us, and I’d regret that we hadn’t managed to make it work. I would regret that in the end I couldn’t convince you to give me another chance, but I don’t regret being with you again. Not a single moment of it.’

  She closed her eyes. ‘Neither do I,’ she whispered.

  ‘Why overthink it, Charlie? We made some mistakes, I know that, but we were good together in so many ways. We are good together. This holiday, concussion and all, has been incredible. We are incredible. We can be incredible.’ He paused, looking for the right wo
rds.

  Less than two weeks ago he’d been driving down to Kent to persuade Charlie to give him another chance, to apologise, to try to persuade her to come home. He’d never know if he’d have succeeded or if she’d have turned him away and flown off to Vietnam, determined to party their divorce away. But that was before. Before they’d spent all this time together, before tonight. Surely she could see that it made sense for them to try again with so many regrets—and so much passion—between them.

  ‘We both know better now. We know what we have to get right next time. Learning is a painful process, Charlie. It would be a shame to waste all that progress on the same outcome.’

  ‘I want to say yes.’ Charlie’s gaze locked onto his. ‘You don’t know how much I want to say yes. To not look back and to throw myself into a new start, the way I always throw myself into something exciting. But Matteo, we are on holiday, nothing is as normal. We always worked well when we were living apart from our responsibilities. We were good together when we were dating, living for weekends and evenings in the headiness of falling in love. We are working now because you’re not actually at work, and I’m not embarrassing you and you’re not frustrating me. We know that when things are good we are very good, but is that enough?’

  Matteo could almost see her slipping out of his reach with every word. ‘We don’t have to make any decisions now; let’s see how it goes. Take it a day at a time.’ He was aware of the irony as he spoke. Charlie was urging caution for possibly the first time in her life and here he was, telling her not to plan for tomorrow, to take each day as it came. If they’d both learned these lessons a little earlier they might not be in this position now.

  He tried again, his voice low and coaxing, not letting her gaze slip from his. ‘You said yourself, we’re good on holiday. So let’s have a holiday, let’s have a second honeymoon, let me help you put on the gala. Let’s work together to make it the best ballet gala Ravello has ever seen. In the end, we can take stock and either we can part knowing we gave it our best try, or maybe we’ll know that this is where we are meant to be. Together. What have we got to lose from two more weeks?’

  She didn’t answer at once, a whole myriad of expressions passing over her mobile face. Indecision, hope, wariness, interest and a flicker of the old impulsive excitement that he didn’t realise he’d missed until he saw it flash into her eyes.

  ‘No promises?’

  ‘Not one.’

  ‘We just live each day and enjoy ourselves? No plans?’

  ‘Not even for the next day. We’ll see where our whims take us.’

  She paused for one eternal second and then nodded. ‘It sounds to me suspiciously like you’re daring me and you know that I can’t resist a dare. Okay, I’m in. Two weeks, no promises, no decisions until the end. Besides, I’ve committed to the gala now and it will be a lot easier with you by my side.’

  Matteo sent up a silent prayer of thanks to whatever Roman deities were keeping an eye on them—hopefully Venus and not one of the more mischievous gods. He’d acted badly over the last few months. Being given a chance to try and make things right was more than he probably deserved but he wasn’t going to let the opportunity slip away.

  ‘It won’t be the only thing that’s easier,’ he said, moving to sit beside her and slipping an arm around her shoulders, drawing her in so that she nestled into him. ‘I’ve been pretty lonely at night in that huge bed all by myself.’

  She drew back and smiled up at him, her mouth a sweetly provocative tilt. ‘Is that so?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘And you’re hoping I might be able to do something about it?’ Her eyes were laughing at him now.

  ‘I was counting on it.’ And with that he kissed her, hot and hard, need and passion and all those weeks of pent-up frustration erupting through him with an undercurrent of relief. He’d bought himself some time. He had two weeks in which to convince this wilful, impulsive creature that living with him didn’t mean losing everything that made her special. And two weeks to teach himself to let go, to put Charlie first.

  This time he wasn’t going to let her down.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘MATTEO, WE’RE GOING to be late!’ Charlie called for probably the third time in as many minutes. ‘Come on, you haven’t seen intimidating until you have faced an entire room of dance parents. It’s bad enough that I am turning up as the unknown English girl; I don’t want to be late as well.’

  This week was full of irony. It was usually Matteo who was strictly punctual and Charlie who had a more fluid attitude towards time. But not where her work was concerned. Maybe that was part of her problem. She didn’t like to be too serious so maybe Matteo had just never realised how important her work was to her, how very much she had invested her time and emotions in the Kensington gala.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’ He exited the study and her heart gave the same painful yet pleasurable jolt it always did upon seeing him. You’d think that a year and a bit after meeting him she’d have got used to seeing him, but somehow her body always seemed to turn into an overeager puppy at the very sight of him.

  And, to be fair, he was looking particularly delectable today, still holiday casual, but slightly smarter than he’d been all week in a white linen shirt and grey tailored trousers. She could always tell that Matteo was half Italian by the way he dressed, with a certain flair that most Englishmen lacked. His dark hair was a little longer than usual and freshly slicked back and he had decided against shaving that morning. She reached up to rub the stubble on his chin affectionately.

  ‘How did it go?’ she asked. After they’d returned to Ravello she’d handed over all Matteo’s electronic devices with an apology for the subterfuge. She’d waited for him to lose himself in work despite Jo’s promises to filter emails but, to her surprise, he’d managed to keep his work down to a couple of hours over the last two days. But today he’d called his grandfather and had been closeted in the study since breakfast.

  He groaned. ‘It was fine. I think, underneath it all, he is glad that I’m alive and well and recovered. But he is clearly frustrated that I’m not going straight back to work.’ He smiled at her. ‘I told him that I was owed this time and everything is in good hands.’ But, although the words were positive, she could see the very real exasperation beneath the smile. His grandfather always knew exactly which buttons to press and liked to push down on them hard.

  ‘And he sounds fine?’ She knew how much he worried about his grandfather’s health.

  ‘He talked at me nonstop for ninety minutes so I’ll say so.’ He pulled back and gave her a full once-over, whistling long and low. ‘You look very professional.’

  ‘The ballet world is very particular,’ she said slightly defensively, reaching up to touch the loose bun she’d piled her hair into. Maybe the leggings, short wrap skirt and cut-off cardigan were a little bit of a costume, but Charlie always felt better in a costume. ‘I need to look the part.’

  ‘I do believe you’re nervous,’ he said in obvious surprise and she could feel her cheeks flush.

  ‘If it was drama or jazz or musical theatre I’d be fine. I know it’s silly. I’ve been teaching ballet up to Grade Four for years and most of these kids won’t be anywhere near there yet, but you can’t cover up a bad port de bras with personality the way you can a jazz square, and these kids have been taught by the best.’

  ‘I have no idea what you just said but it sounds terrifying.’

  ‘Welcome to my world,’ she said darkly, grabbing her bag and tablet containing the videos Natalia had sent her and her favourite music to teach to.

  Maria was in residence so they didn’t have to lock up, setting off up the driveway in a companionable silence as they trod the now familiar path to the village below. Charlie’s mind was whirling as she went over all her preparation. She’d start with a warm-up of course, some barre work and then centre exerci
ses before the actual rehearsal. Natalia had combined several grades together into larger groups, so thankfully she only needed to deal with three classes. The rest of the gala would be composed of demonstrations by a handful of professionals Natalia had studied or danced with and some of her older students who’d gone on to study at specialist institutions. None of that was any of Charlie’s concern, to her great relief. Lucia and a couple of her friends were responsible for the venue, programme and ensuring all the guest dancers were met and looked after. No, Charlie’s responsibilities were limited to looking after and preparing the fifty local children who would be taking part in the gala. Easy.

  ‘It seems like a lot of work,’ Matteo mused as they finally exited the villa gates and made their way towards the footpath that cut out the need to use the longer and less sheltered road down to Ravello.

  ‘What does?’ Charlie asked, jolted out of her thoughts.

  ‘The gala. I agree it’s a really good cause but it seems such an inefficient way of raising money. Many of the people around here have more than enough money to help dozens of charities. I don’t understand why they don’t just hold a benefit, serve some drinks and food, get this famous dancer to perform, bid on some nice items and write some cheques. It’d be a hell of a lot easier than trying to organise so many children. Rehearsals and costumes and fifty kids aged under fifteen? Seems like a recipe for disaster to me.’

  ‘Someone still has to actually organise a benefit,’ Charlie pointed out. ‘Book a venue, sell the tickets, organise the caterers, find those auction items. It’s a lot of work as well, just for a different audience and with a different vibe. This will be a lot more fun. Besides, benefits have their place, of course they do, but I’ve been to a lot over the last year and although some have been brilliant and come from a genuine desire to change things, others are a little more about being seen to do the right thing, don’t you think?’ Her chest squeezed with painful hope as she posed the question. Because, of course, benefits and being seen to do the right thing was exactly how Matteo operated. Not because he was unthinking or uncaring, but because he was representing Harrington Industries and every cheque was as much a PR exercise as a donation.