He wasn’t going to have his heart broken again.
Chapter Twelve
The closer Gracie and Des’s wedding drew, the heavier the pit in Libby’s stomach. What was supposed to be a simple solution to a business problem had turned into a complicated personal conundrum. So much for leaving sex and emotion out of it. She’d failed spectacularly at the first one and was slipping down a steep ravine into the second.
The suitcase on her bed gaped at her like a big hungry mouth. She’d started packing half an hour ago, yet not a single item of clothing had made it into her luggage. The wedding was tomorrow; she had to pull herself together.
Pick a dress, match the shoes, find a pair of earrings. It’s not that hard.
Libby glared at the two dresses that hung on the doors of her antique armoire. Decision paralysis was so not her thing, yet she couldn’t seem to make a choice. Picking the dress meant packing her things, which meant getting in her car and driving all the way to the Yarra Valley…and seeing Paul.
Her stomach churned. Since her big confession she’d been in a spin, and her mind refused to concentrate. Her ambition had deserted her, and she had the mental acuity of a stuffed llama. Even her motor skills were off. She’d shattered a wineglass on the kitchen faucet and dropped a fresh vase of flowers all over the carpet in her office.
Not exactly the picture of a put-together businesswoman.
“Come on,” she muttered to herself as she studied the dresses. “Just do it.”
The first one was sexy, backless, and black; it wasn’t her usual style but she knew Paul would love it. The second was a bold pink and yellow 50s-style full-skirted number, definitely in her comfort zone.
She took a deep breath and snatched the black dress from her armoire, folding it in tissue and packing it before she could change her mind. She matched a pair of nude heels and a set of vintage enamel jewelry quickly, doing her hardest not to think about Paul.
Talk about a lesson in futility. Trying not to think about Paul was like trying not to blink…or breathe.
No matter how many times she mentioned the looming deadline of their relationship—and noticed how Paul seized up—she couldn’t force reality to sink in. Would it be so bad to let things linger on and see if what they had extended beyond the wedding?
The slam of a car door outside caught her attention, and a moment later the doorbell rang. As soon as Libby stepped into the hallway she could see the shiny red paint on her father’s convertible through the front window. Perfect. A heaping of fatherly guilt was exactly what she needed right now—not.
She opened the door but blocked the entrance. “Dad.”
“Is that thug boyfriend of yours here to kick me out this time?” her father drawled.
Libby pursed her lips and stood rooted to the ground. “No.”
“Do I need to ask for an invitation inside my own property?”
Ah, that old chestnut. The quicker Libby Gal Cocktails took off the sooner she could take that important step toward independence, getting out from under her father’s thumb. She held the door open and waited for him to enter without saying the words, since it was clear he wasn’t going to leave quietly.
“What do you want? I’m going away for the weekend, and I need to leave soon.” She stood in the entrance and pressed her fingers to her temples.
“You used to speak to me as though I were the most important person in the world,” her father said, looking—for possibly the first time ever—regretful. “What changed?”
“Maybe it’s because I realized I wasn’t the most important person in your world.” She swallowed, blinking as tears pricked the backs of her eyes. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. “And that I never would be.”
“That hurts, Libby.” He shook his head. “Don’t you see I want what’s best for you?”
“How do you know what’s best for me? I wonder at times if you know anything about me.”
The muscle in his neck corded. “How can you say that?”
“What’s my favorite food?” Her voice cracked and she cursed herself internally. “Or my favorite color?”
“Pink?” He shrugged. “What does it matter?”
“My favorite color is green, Dad. It always has been.” She let out a sigh. “It matters because sometimes I think you wish I’d never been born.”
The words sucked the life out of the room. Admitting her longest-held, most shameful fear aloud made the world feel colorless.
Her father blinked, genuine shock registering on his face. He brushed a hand through his hair, the mostly gray strands slipping through his fingers and springing back into place. He’d been a redhead, too, many moons ago. As a young girl she’d loved that they shared such a distinctive feature, like it was proof that she was his daughter. Proof her young heart had desperately needed when he acted as though she meant nothing.
“You know that your mother and I weren’t planning to have children, but that doesn’t mean I regret it.”
“Don’t you? I can’t remember a time when you and Mum didn’t fight or say horrible things to each other when you thought I couldn’t hear.”
His thick brows wrinkled. “Your mother and I should never have gotten married. We did it to provide for you, but I fear it only made your childhood harder.”
“But then you both left, and you got remarried.” The words tumbled like an avalanche. “You moved on…from me.”
“I never moved on from you, and neither did your mother.”
Libby’s head pounded, the pain from her lonely childhood coursing through her body as fresh as it was when she found out her mother was having another child. A child who would have the happy life and the happy parents she’d been denied.
“Yes, you did. You moved away and I had to live with mum and her new husband. Then she sent me to you when she got pregnant, like I was being replaced. Instead of being my dad you sent me away as well!”
“Boarding school was a good option for you. I knew it would set you up for success. It wasn’t because I didn’t want you around.” He shook his head as though she was talking gibberish. “You had so much potential, I wanted you to harness it. I wanted you to do great things.”
“And to reach my potential I have to go back to med school?”
Silence. “What’s the point of making flavored alcohol?”
Libby blinked. No one had ever asked her that before. The cold creep of doubt coiled in the pit of her stomach, winding its way up and over her heart.
“My product is fun, it’s girlie. It celebrates women.”
“By getting them drunk on cheap toxic cordials?”
She reeled as if he’d slapped her across the face.
“If you finished med school you could save people’s lives, Libby. Isn’t that a more worthy dream to have?”
She knew that her business was so much more than her father would ever see. She’d already drawn up plans to use her business plan to help other women realize their dream of working for themselves, of being financially independent. Her chest squeezed.
How could she ever show other women how to be independent when she lived in her father’s house and had a fake boyfriend? In her desperation to succeed she’d lost sight of why she wanted to run her own business in the first place.
“I understand I’m living in your house, and I’m grateful for having a roof over my head. But that doesn’t mean you get to control me or choose my fate.” She squared her shoulders and sucked in a deep breath. “Your dream is not my dream. I hope one day you can accept that.”
It shouldn’t get to her—she’d seen him belittle her mother a thousand times before—but it hurt as much as if he’d kicked her to the ground. She had no hope of pleasing him, not now. Not ever.
Which was precisely the reason she’d never put herself in that position again. It was easy to avoid being hurt if she did her own thing, if she lived life for herself. Alone.
People couldn’t hurt you if you kept them at a dist
ance.
Paul carried box after box out to the car; who knew there could be so much “stuff” to take to a wedding. Everything had been delivered to his parents’ house, and he was doing his brotherly duty to help get it all to the vineyard where the wedding would be held. Bonbonnière, place cards, table decorations, and God only knew what else.
He was sure, despite his limited experience, that the key to a happy marriage wasn’t finding the perfect font for the seating lists.
“You look very deep in thought.” His mother appeared beside him holding a small clear box with the wedding cake topper. She leaned in to his boot and tucked it into a carton containing other random bits and pieces.
“I was wondering if all weddings require three cars full of material items. I would have thought the bride and groom would be enough.” He packed the last box in and checked to make sure everything was secure. The last thing he needed was to break two hundred tiny bottles of vodka.
“It’s easy to get caught up in the details,” she said, smiling wistfully. “Our wedding cake had over a hundred individual flowers made out of icing. It looked so beautiful.”
“Yes, but did it taste good?”
“Who knows? I was so nervous I didn’t eat a thing all night. I almost fainted after we got back to the hotel because I was so hungry.”
“What a waste.”
She patted his arm and shook her head. “It wasn’t a waste. I wouldn’t change a thing if I had to do it over again.”
She hovered, her hands fidgeting with the fine gold chain at her neck. The cross dangling from it glinted in the afternoon light, winking at him as if it had a secret. That could only mean one thing. She had something important to say.
“Spit it out, Ma.”
“I’m really glad you and Libby are getting engaged.” Her eyes glimmered, her fingers fluttering at her neck. “It makes me so happy to see my boys finding love.”
Shit. He’d been avoiding this conversation with her ever since Libby had confessed her little white lie…well, her small lie amongst a much bigger one.
“She wasn’t supposed to say anything—it’s not official yet.” He thrust his fingers through his hair and tried to come up with a way to get out of talking to his mother about it. “Anyway, this is Des and Gracie’s weekend. I don’t want to steal their thunder.”
“You’re not. Des is so happy for you.”
He sighed. “You told him? I thought Libby said you’d promised to keep it a secret.”
Her lips pulled up into a sheepish smile. “It’s just one person.”
“So you didn’t tell Dad then? Or Zia Marcella?” He raised a brow. “Or Mrs. Lawson from down the street?”
“I didn’t tell Mrs. Lawson,” she admitted. “But yes, I told your father and Zia Marcella. I can’t help it, I’m so excited.”
“You promised Libby and then you went against your word.”
“Oh, do you think she’ll be mad?” His mother looked genuinely stricken. “I thought it wouldn’t matter if you were planning it already.”
It wouldn’t, if they were in a real relationship or had any intention of ever getting married. But they’d be splitting up in a few days’ time…just as soon as the wedding was over and his business idea had come to fruition.
“She won’t be mad.” He couldn’t make his mother feel guilty when he was the one lying and fooling everyone.
“Good. Because I have a gift for her.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.
A cold trickle of fear ran down his spine. “What is that?”
She opened the box and amongst the cushy interior sat a band of diamonds. Each stone was shaped like a double-ended teardrop, the gaps dotted with tiny red rubies, making the ring look more like a wreath than a typical wedding ring.
“This belonged to my great grandmother,” she said, tracing a finger over it. “I’ve been saving it for when you found the right girl.”
“You never showed me this when I was with Sadie.” The words stuck in his throat.
“You never said you were going to marry her.”
“Technically I haven’t asked Libby yet, either.” At least there was one thing he could say without lying. “And why didn’t you give it to Des?”
“I know it probably seems like I’m hard on you all the time, but I was like you when I was younger.” His mother wrapped her arm around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder. “I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life and your nonno was always frustrated with me because I wanted to explore and see the world. He just wanted me to settle down.”
“I can’t imagine it.”
She laughed. “I’m hard on you because I know you have greatness in you, Paul. But, like me, you need a good shove sometimes.”
“You’re too little to push me around.” He teased her to make light of the emotion battling inside him. His mother had never given him any indication that she understood him on such a deep level, let alone that she had been the same way herself.
“Sometimes it takes the right person to help us see our potential. I think Libby is that person for you…that’s why I want you to give her the family ring.”
His chest seized, guilt crushing down on him like a boulder. It was official; he’d easily take the title of worst son in the world. Jesus, why had he been so stupid to lie to his whole family?
“Ask her, Paolo. Make it official. Girls like that don’t come along every day.”
Didn’t he know it? But wondering about what could be was pointless when he’d been down this road before. If he was stupid enough to think a relationship might work he’d only have egg on his face later. Libby would move onward and upward, while he struggled to keep up until eventually one of them decided there was too much distance between them.
“I have to wait…for the right time.”
“It’s now. Promise me you won’t let this go to waste.”
He drew a long deep breath. “Ma…”
“She’s not Sadie, so if that’s what you’re worried about—”
“It’s not.”
“Then take the plunge. Don’t be afraid.”
Blood rushed in his ears, his body rebelling against her words. But what could he do? He couldn’t blow his cover now. Not only would it make him look like a fool in front of his family but it would take away from Des and Gracie…they didn’t deserve to have a shadow hang over their wedding because he was such a fuckup.
“Okay.”
“I want you to know how proud I am of you.” She pressed the velvet box into his hands. “Des told me about the idea you had for the cocktail classes at the bar. It sounds like a great idea.”
“He did?” Paul turned the ring box over in his hand. He hadn’t taken the business plan to Des yet, since there were a few final tweaks he wanted to make—Libby had taught him that much. If something was worth doing, it was worth doing properly.
“He was worried that he was too hard on you about the plans, but that must be a family trait. Right?”
“Yeah, we’re a bunch of hard-asses.”
“You’re going to do great things, my son.” She squeezed him. “Now make sure you drive safely. I don’t want any of the boxes getting broken because you’re driving like a maniac.”
“Good to see we’re back to normal.” He shook his head and pocketed the ring box.
A fake relationship had seemed so easy when he’d first suggested it to Libby. A few little lies, what harm could they do? But now he knew. He was in a world of guilt because he’d been a bad son. A bad brother.
A liar.
He swallowed as he climbed into the driver’s seat and slammed the car door shut with a bang. He couldn’t change the past, but he could make damn sure that after this was all done he’d be a new person. A better person.
Someone they’d be proud of for all the right reasons.
The hour and a half drive to the Yarra Valley hadn’t done anything to improve Libby’s mood. The neat rows of grapevines, greenery
as far as the eye could see, and fluffy white marshmallow clouds blurred by, unappreciated, until the GPS announced she’d arrived at her destination.
She’d managed to avoid seeing anyone while she checked in. As she entered the room she was to share with Paul, the dark cloud remained firmly in place. Her father tended to have that effect on her.
Sinking down onto the massive king-size bed in the vineyard’s hotel room, she brushed her hands over the luxurious covers. Tomorrow she’d have to face Paul’s family again and front up to the web of lies she’d created. Including pretending to be Paul’s fiancée.
“What the hell have I done?” she muttered into her hands.
“You won’t find any answers there.” Paul’s voice caught her attention and she looked up.
“When did you get in?” She brushed her hands down the front of her dress and tried to ignore the flutter in her stomach.
He wore a suit. Sharp. Black. A white shirt opened at the collar to reveal tanned skin, and his shoes were polished to a high shine. His dark hair had been cut short since she saw him last, but the natural curl still showed through.
“You can close that pretty mouth of yours. Yes, I do own a suit.” He smirked. “I got in early to have a meeting with the bridal party and the emcee.”
“Oh.” She nodded, pushing up from the bed and resting a hand on her suitcase. “I didn’t realize there’d only be one bed here.”
All the wedding guests were staying at the vineyard’s accommodation, an old homestead that had been renovated and transformed into a luxury hotel. Gracie’s mother knew the owner and the family had been given rooms with views of the Yarra Valley’s sweeping landscape. The sun dipped low in the sky, casting ethereal gold light across the rolling hills.
The view could not have been more beautiful even if it had been perfected by an artist’s brush.
“We’re supposed to be a couple.” Paul shrugged out of his jacket, and Libby allowed herself a single second to admire his broad shoulders before she spun around, pretending to inspect the room service menu. “A couple who’s engaged, no less.”
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