Always the Best Man

by Fiona Harper

  He handed it back to her and looked her in the eye. ‘Doesn’t stop them being beautiful.’

  ‘No.’ She gulped down a breath. Were they still talking about emeralds?

  He kept looking her straight in the eye until she had to turn away. ‘Why are you really here?’ she asked. ‘This isn’t about chocolate.’

  He put his hands in his pockets and frowned. ‘I thought a lot about what you said, about whether I could give you a guarantee.’

  Her breathing became all light and fluttery. ‘Can you?’

  ‘No. I can’t promise you a perfect future, Zoe.’ He reached out and touched her face. ‘But I don’t think anyone can make a promise like that to someone else. Life is like sailing—you do your best to plot your course, and then you weather the conditions together, dealing with whatever is thrown at you. And I think you and I make a good team.’

  She shook her hand away and stepped back. Oh, they were persuasive words, and she so wanted to believe him because she knew he meant what he was saying. But it wouldn’t change anything: Aiden had worn that very same earnest look on his face the night he’d asked her to marry him.

  ‘Maybe we do make a good team.’ She shook her head, backed away a little further behind the counter. ‘But I can’t be your sidekick, Damien. The consolation prize who trots along beside you, while everyone else wonders why you’re with her. A relationship with unequal partners just won’t work.’

  His jaw tensed and his eyes narrowed slightly. She was making him cross. Good. That was much better than the heartfelt looks he’d been giving her. She could handle cross.

  ‘This sidekick thing is all rubbish,’ he said in that imperious manner that used to make her want to scream.

  ‘Oh, it is, is it? Well, I doubt you’ve ever been on the receiving end of that kind of treatment, so how would you know?’

  He let out a dry laugh, not a pleasant sound. ‘Really? Then answer me one question—and I know we’ve been here before—but when the joke’s on me, what do they say?’

  ‘That you’re always the best man,’ she said slowly, expecting this to be a trick question, which it might be.

  ‘Exactly. Seven times now. That has to be a record. So I don’t want to hear any of this sidekick versus leading man nonsense, okay?’

  Zoe frowned. ‘I don’t see how the two are connected.’

  ‘The best man isn’t the leading man on a wedding day—the groom is—and I’ve never been the groom. So that would make me the sidekick.’

  Zoe’s eyes grew wide. He so clearly wasn’t. ‘That’s impossible. You can’t be.’

  ‘No, I’m not. And neither are you, but you can’t see it.’ He shook his head in exasperation. ‘You’re right. A relationship won’t work with unequal partners. But I’m not the one who believes you’re second class, Zoe. It’s you.’

  No, that wasn’t right. That couldn’t be right. It was other people who labelled her, who treated like that. All she’d ever wanted was for someone to pick her first, make her their top choice. Damien had been like all the rest.

  ‘You’re dreaming,’ she said, ‘if you think that.’

  He reached over to the small work desk and picked up the sketchbook lying there. ‘I know I’m dreaming,’ he said. ‘But it’s not wrong to hope. It’s not dangerous. And some dreams are meant to come true.’ He showed the sketchpad to her. ‘That’s what designs are, aren’t they? Dreams on paper. A vision of something that hasn’t become real yet.’

  She frowned and took the pad from him, held it to her chest.

  ‘I know we can be good together—’ he tapped his finger to his temple ‘—I can see it. But I can’t force you to take a chance on me. I can’t make you believe that it’s you that I want and not anyone else,’ he said as he turned and walked towards the door. ‘But make those, Zoe. Let yourself dream about something, because you’re going to be miserable until you do.’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ZOE put the ring she was working on down and slumped back in her chair. Her secretive client wanted something unique, something one-of-a-kind and, since Zoe had been in the creative doldrums ever since she’d returned from Devon, she’d had no choice but to go back to those designs and tweak them a little. It had nothing to do with what Damien had said when he’d visited the shop the week before last, nothing at all.

  It was a wedding ring, white gold. Unlike Sara’s, which had been clean lines and elegant curves, this was an intricate design of interwoven strands, inspired by climbing ivy, old Art Nouveau posters and Celtic knotwork. The vision she had for the end product was stunning, but getting it right was driving her crazy. It was rough around the edges now but, if she looked carefully, she could envisage the finished version shimmering tantalisingly beneath the surface, just out of reach. She stuffed the ring into a pouch where it couldn’t mock her.

  She’d agreed to meet Sara for cocktails in a local wine bar and it was almost time to get going. Privately, she thought Sara was turning into a bit of a mother hen, fussing round her and asking her if she was eating properly. Seriously, when had anyone ever worried about that on Zoe’s account? She was sure this was just another of Sara’s mercy missions to cheer her single friend up. But maybe it was better than sitting here and getting frustrated with strips of fine metal that wouldn’t consent to sit right.

  The old-fashioned shop bell she’d recently fitted above the door jangled and she looked up to find Sara walking towards her. ‘Normal people are shutting up shop and going home for the day,’ she said. ‘Ready for that Monday night cocktail?’

  Zoe put the ring down and pushed her hands above her head to stretch out the kinks in her shoulders. ‘Just a quick one. After that I’m going to take these home and try to finish them off. I’ve got to deliver them to a hotel in central London late Friday afternoon. It’s all very cloak and dagger.’

  ‘It’s stunning, Zo,’ Sara said, picking up the ring and examining it. ‘Where’s the engagement ring?’

  She opened up a midnight blue velvet box sitting on the bench beside her and turned it to face her friend. Sara’s mouth dropped open. ‘Wow.’

  Zoe smiled to herself. ‘That was the effect I was hoping it would have.’

  ‘I’ve never seen anything quite like it. All those twisting little strands, and that lone emerald right in the middle. It’s very you, somehow.’ She handed the box back to Zoe, then hoisted her handbag even further up on her shoulder. ‘Ready?’

  Zoe shook her head and began to pack away her things. ‘Almost.’

  She put the display pieces from the window into the safe and went round turning off lights and tidying up. With Sara’s help, it was only ten minutes before she was locking the shop door behind her and pulling down the metal grille.

  Even though it was still fairly early, Monday night happy hour was in full swing at the wine bar. Lots of young professionals either rounding off a good weekend or commiserating on the start of a new working week, probably. They found themselves stools near the bar and Zoe ordered herself something fun-looking and toxic, while Sara stuck to a tried-and-tested margarita. They chatted about silly, inconsequential matters as they sipped their drinks.

  Things had been different between her and Sara since what they now referred to as The Honeymoon Meltdown. Zoe no longer felt like the geek who’d somehow managed to slide into the in-crowd unnoticed. She’d been guilty of believing Sara’s life was perfect, when clearly she suffered from the same insecurities as everyone else. Maybe her friend would have been able to talk to her about how stressed she’d been in the run up to the wedding if Zoe hadn’t also unconsciously put her on a pedestal too, adding to the pressure.

  She sucked on her straw and took a sideways look at her best friend. Hmm. Putting Sara on a pedestal. Seemed she had more in common with Damien than she’d realised. And if she’d managed to change, could he?

  She sighed. Damien. He hadn’t contacted her in the last two weeks. So she supposed he’d finally given up, which was a shame because she�
��d spent a lot of time thinking about what he’d said.

  He’d dared her to dream, hadn’t he? And she had—by signing the lease on her little shop, by working on the designs that she knew would take her business to a new level. Now she’d stopped just reacting to the situation, to him and all the feelings his secret had churned up, she could see he’d been right. It was hard work, and it didn’t always go according to plan, but the gamble was worth it. She was happier now. Professionally, at least. Personally, she was still pretty miserable.

  Maybe it was time to do something about that. Maybe it was time to peel off that ‘sidekick’ label she’d stuck on her own forehead, because he’d been right about that too. And she had the funny feeling that sense of imbalance, of not being able to talk to her as an equal—because she wouldn’t let him—might have been part of the reason Aiden had looked elsewhere. Oh, he was still a rat, she didn’t doubt that, but maybe things weren’t quite as black and white as she’d once thought.

  Before she knew it, her glass was empty. Just as well she was getting the bus home.

  Sara’s eyes widened and she knocked back the rest of her cocktail to keep up. ‘Another?’

  Zoe shook her head. ‘You run along home to your lovely new husband. Stop worrying about me.’

  Sara grimaced. ‘Busted,’ she said.

  ‘Besides,’ Zoe added, ‘I have a ring I need to finish.’

  * * *

  Zoe stared at the bit of paper in her hands and frowned. The address she’d been given was the name of a hotel, but this was little more than a building site. A truck drove past her, through deep brown mud, and disappeared through the gate made of dark green chipboard.

  The ring box was in her jacket pocket and she absently played with its corners, finding its cuboid shape comforting. All that work. And this was…what? A hoax? One that had cost her money she couldn’t afford in both time and materials.

  She noticed a man in a hard hat walking towards her.

  ‘Miss St James?’

  She nodded, almost perplexed by the fact he knew her name, even though this was where she’d been told to come.

  ‘If you’d like to come with me?’

  He handed her a matching yellow hat and waited for her to jam it on top of her curls. Fabulous. It had taken hours to shop for an outfit to impress this obviously high-end client, and now this hat was going to make her look like a duck.

  The man led her to one of those lifts that were really just a cage, and up they shot into the sky. Zoe hadn’t realised the building was so tall. It was mostly steel girders and concrete floors. Here and there on the bottom levels things were taking more shape, but when she stepped out of the lift a minute later she could feel the early autumn breeze on her face and see the glint of the Thames way below.

  Zoe held tightly on to the ring box in her pocket. This was some sort of dream, wasn’t it? She was probably hallucinating. But the clang of the lift as it disappeared back down towards the ground sounded real enough. As did the gurgling of her nervous stomach.

  Why had he left her alone up here?

  But then she realised she wasn’t alone. On the far side of a vast concrete floor a man was silhouetted against the late afternoon sun. She shielded her eyes with her hand and began to walk towards him, glad she was moving away from the edge.

  ‘Mr Peters?’

  He turned, and Zoe’s quivering stomach followed the recently departed lift. He started moving towards her, crossing the rough concrete floor in long strides. Slowly, as he stepped more into the gloom of the inner building, her eyes began to adjust, make out his features…

  And then it wasn’t the mysterious Mr Peters walking towards her but Damien.

  Why was he…? How had he…?

  Oh. She got it now. One of her brothers was called Peter, so she knew it came from the Greek word for stone. Very clever. Also very devious.

  But why the charade? What did it mean? She felt as if something inside her wanted to fly. She held it tight, terrified of what might happen if she let it.

  Don’t cry, she told herself. Don’t be that pathetic. You came here to do a job, so do it. Keep it dignified.

  She pulled the box from her pocket and held it out to him. He didn’t smile. He didn’t say anything. In fact, he had an intense, slightly pained expression on his face that she knew she’d seen before. She just couldn’t remember where.

  ‘Your rings,’ she said. That was all she’d meant to say, but then she heard herself add, ‘You found a replacement for Sara pretty quick.’

  Outwardly, she kept her expression neutral. Inwardly, she was kicking herself and reminding herself, not very gently, that she was supposed to be thinking before she spoke, not just firing off words in reaction to any uncomfortable emotion.

  ‘Sorry,’ she added. ‘That was a stupid thing to say.’

  Damien’s expression was still unreadable. ‘I don’t want to replace Sara.’

  She hadn’t realised she’d let go of that fluttering thing inside her and that hope had been soaring quietly in her heart until that moment. It fell to the ground like a bird shot with an arrow.

  Still stuck on Sara. Why had she expected anything else? It was the pattern of her romantic relationships up until now, after all. For the first time in her life, Zoe wondered if she’d have to cut her best friend out of her life if she was ever going to have a chance at love, something she really didn’t want to do.

  Damien opened the box and stared at the delicate twisting rings nestled together in their blue cushion. Although the lid obscured Zoe’s view, she knew both pieces so intimately that she followed his gaze in her imagination, tracing every line and curve. He didn’t speak for a long time.

  ‘They’re beautiful,’ he said quietly. ‘Even more than I’d imagined they would be.’

  That had been Zoe’s reaction when she’d finally finished them too—especially the wedding ring. She could hardly believe her hands had crafted it.

  Zoe folded her arms across her front, vainly hoping it would somehow halt the rising glow of gratification his words had produced inside her.

  ‘There’s only one woman who can wear this ring,’ he said as he looked up at her, and Zoe had a flash of realisation so strong she stopped breathing.

  She could label that expression now. It was like the one she’d been waiting for all evening when they’d had dinner at Luke and Sara’s. The one she’d seen on his face when he’d been looking past her up the aisle at Sara. Like it, but not the same. More like its big brother. More intense. More real.

  That bird, the one that Zoe was sure had been shot dead, suddenly rose like a phoenix and started flapping around all over the place inside her chest. She checked over her shoulder, just to make sure no one was standing behind her, but they were all alone.

  Nobody was there. Sara wasn’t there.

  So it must be her he was looking at with raw longing in his eyes.

  Zoe wished that a chair would materialise from somewhere. She really needed to sit down.

  ‘Without her my life is empty, boring—full of straight lines and tick boxes.’ He looked down at the open ring box in his hand and turned it to face her. ‘I want my life to be like this ring. It has form and structure, but it’s also surprising and exceptional. So, no, I don’t want a replacement for Sara. The woman I would like to wear this ring is one of a kind.’

  Zoe’s hand flew to her chest. She could feel her heart pumping a wild jig beneath her fingers. Oh, she so wanted to believe him.

  ‘I don’t know…’

  Damien placed the box in her hands. The square of velvet was warm against her palm.

  ‘I don’t think we’re cast at birth in certain roles—some always destined to fly, some always destined to be second in line. When it comes to love it’s about finding the right person, and I’ve found my leading lady.’ He smiled, just a little, and Zoe’s eyes started to sting. ‘I just made a stupid error in the casting for a while. Will you forgive me for that? We all make mistakes.’<
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  Zoe found herself nodding as she stared at the rings. Her rings. Or were they Damien’s rings? She really didn’t know.

  Just like that night in the hotel gardens, he pulled her close and kissed her. Zoe didn’t even think about slapping him this time. This was what she’d been dreaming about, waiting for, in the long weeks since he’d come to visit her at her workshop. She curled her arms around his neck and kissed him back, gripping the ring box very tightly in one hand.

  They finally drew apart and rested their foreheads against each other, their chests rising and falling in rhythm. Damien took her hand and led her towards the far edge of the concrete floor. From there she could see the Thames, grey and pink and glinting yellow in the afternoon sun, snaking its way through the city.

  He leaned forward and his breath was deliciously warm in her ear. ‘I’ve fallen in love with a real woman this time, not a perfect creature that doesn’t exist.’

  She jabbed him in the arm with the ring box. ‘Are you saying I’m not perfect?’

  He nodded and broke out one of those rare grins that lit up his face. ‘Yes. But who is? Not me.’

  She pulled him close, using the lapels of his suit for leverage, and kissed him again. ‘I think I’m going to need that in writing,’ she mumbled against his lips.

  Damien laughed and kissed her back, and then he eased the box gently from her fingers, stepped back and got down on one knee. Zoe almost couldn’t see him through the tears that had suddenly decided to blur her vision.

  ‘I’ve never asked anyone this before,’ he said, suddenly looking very young. She noticed a little nerve twitching in his left cheek. ‘You’re the first. The only.’

  He took a deep breath and Zoe pressed her palms against her chest, one on top of the other.

  ‘Will you marry me? Because, Zoe St James, I think you are perfect for me.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, her voice sounding faraway and breathless in her own ears. ‘Yes, I will.’ And she watched in amazement as Damien eased the emerald ring from its cushion and slid it on to her finger. She didn’t even notice him stand up, she was so transfixed at the sight of it there.