Regrets

by Caragh Bell

  Lydia giggled. That was a possibility.

  ‘So, get another drink and let’s celebrate.’ Laura pulled out a twenty-euro note. ‘I need to tell you about Claudine. She disgraced herself at the New Year’s Eve party…’

  Chapter 5

  Luca closed his eyes. He had known this day would come.

  If only he hadn’t mentioned to Craig how great it was to be engaged. How now his life suddenly made sense, how marriage was the way forward, how buying the ring was the best move he ever made.

  He regretted that drunken conversation at the club on Fifth Avenue now.

  Me and my big mouth.

  ‘Congratulations, man,’ he offered finally.

  ‘You could sound happier for me,’ protested Craig. ‘Christ, Luca, I’m getting married!’

  ‘Craig, I am, I swear. I guess I got a shock.’ He watched Mimi pour a cup of espresso into a tiny china cup. She was about to add a cube of sugar when he shook his head in protest.

  ‘Pas de sucre, Mimi,’ he whispered, with his hand over the phone.

  She nodded and replaced the silver spoon on the tray.

  ‘So, um, I just wanted to ask you something.’ Craig sounded nervous.

  ‘Sure thing, cuz. Shoot.’ Luca sipped his coffee.

  ‘Will you be my best man?’

  Luca nearly dropped his cup. He had been intending to give the wedding a miss. Last minute, of course. But this messed up his plans completely.

  ‘What? Are you sure? Why me? Hell, I got my own wedding to think about!’

  ‘Well, I don’t have a brother and you’re my cousin and all …’ Craig trailed off.

  Luca pulled himself together. ‘Of course I will. My God, it’s an honour, man.’

  Craig laughed in relief. ‘Thank God. I thought you were going to blow me off there.’

  Luca took a deep breath. ‘No way. I’m there for you. Just let me know what I’ve got to do.’

  ‘Okay – later. Mum has dinner on the table.’

  ‘Cool. Hey, congratulations again, cuz!’

  The line went dead.

  Luca ran his hand through his hair. This was a problem. It would mean going back to Ireland. That was something he didn’t want to do. But best man was a big deal; he couldn’t exactly pull out. He got to his feet and walked to the window. Staring out at Central Park, his thoughts were filled with her.

  He couldn’t see her again. Not after everything.

  In the beginning, he had thought about her every day. It hurt like hell, but slowly he began to forget. Gradually, her image disappeared from his mind. He could barely remember her face at this stage. That suited him. Especially now that he was engaged to one of the most eligible women in New York.

  Charlotte du Maurier. Twenty-five and an attorney. His father had introduced them and that had been it.

  She was blonde and beautiful, with brains to burn. Christian Jacob had been thrilled. Young Charlotte was an up-and-coming attorney in his firm and the du Mauriers were a highly respected family in New York society.

  Luca’s expression softened when he thought of his fiancée. She really was the complete package. It felt good to do something his family approved of. Even his relationship with his father had improved. They now played tennis together and sometimes they even went for drinks at a bar. Christian was enchanted with his bride-to-be. He often remarked how he had always wanted a daughter, and now that dream was becoming a reality.

  It had taken Luca a couple of months to get his life back on track when he returned to New York after Lydia’s rejection. The day she’d left him at the airport was one of the worst he had ever experienced. He remembered watching her board the plane, frozen to the spot. He still couldn’t believe that she had left like that. Not when he had offered her everything, not when he had laid his heart on the table. He had flunked his degree and returned to New York. That summer, he had moved in with Mimi and spent his days wandering aimlessly around Manhattan, going from party to party, drinking too much. It was only when his mother sat him down and demanded that he make a decision about his life that he took notice. He adored her and couldn’t bear to see her worried face.

  ‘Do a management course, honey,’ she suggested. ‘I’ve got an opening at the gallery. You could manage sales for me.’

  His initial reaction was anger. There was no way he was going to be a salesman, no matter what. Then, after visiting his mother’s chic little gallery in Greenwich Village, he began to realise that it was a pretty good gig after all. He could still be involved in art, which was his first love. All he had to do was some night-time business course and he was all set.

  Now, three years later, he was happy. He had a job he loved and was surprisingly very good at it. He had made the biggest sale in the history of the gallery last week. Nearly two million dollars. The Japanese businessman was like putty in his hands. He also had huge success with bored, rich housewives, the Stepford Crew, as he called them. With his blond good looks and effortless charm, they fell at his feet and had no problem spending vast amounts of their husbands’ money.

  He didn’t draw anymore. That was a part of his life he had left behind. He was good; he knew that. But only good enough to be an artist drawing portraits on a square in Paris or Venice.

  Paris. He immediately thought of her naked body, lying on the bed as he drew her. He remembered every contour, every line of her body …

  His expression hardened. There was such a thin line between love and hate. The pain from her rejection had transformed into bitterness. He never wanted to see her again; that was the reality.

  Now, Craig had created this problem. He had asked him to stand for him at his wedding – one of the highest honours a man could bestow on his friend. They had grown so close since that year in college together. Even Sam and Charlotte had clicked during that visit last fall. They had been the perfect little foursome.

  Life had moved on; they had all moved on. He would just have to deal with it.

  He would face her. Charlotte would be there, a symbol of his new life. They didn’t have to be best friends. They could be civil, yet distant.

  ‘Luca, ça va?’ Mimi looked concerned.

  ‘Everything’s cool, Meems.’ He forced a smile. ‘All’s cool.’

  ‘Luca, honey, zip up my dress for me, will you?’ Charlotte said, pulling her long golden hair over her right shoulder.

  Luca kissed the back of her neck. ‘I much prefer unzipping your dress, babe.’

  ‘Don’t babe me.’ She nudged him playfully. ‘Come on, hurry up. We have to be on time for that dinner.’

  She was referring to the annual partners’ dinner at her law firm. It was usually held in the Waldorf Astoria and was a black tie event.

  Luca zipped up her white dress, slowly and deliberately. ‘I can’t wait to take this off you later,’ he murmured into her ear.

  She turned and kissed the tip of his nose. ‘You look hot in your black tie.’

  He shrugged. ‘I hate these goddamn monkey suits, but hey, I’ll do anything for you.’

  She fastened a diamond bracelet onto her wrist and picked up her stole.

  ‘Okay, I’m all set.’

  Luca stared at her for a second. She was truly gorgeous, no doubt. A classic beauty. He let her fix his bow tie, inhaling her sweet smell.

  ‘Papa will be so proud of you,’ he said, lazily. ‘You are the hottest attorney in that place.’

  ‘Oh, stop it,’ she protested. ‘He’s only nice because I’m dating you.’

  ‘Dating?’

  ‘Okay, going to marry you. God, that sounds so weird.’

  They walked out the door of her apartment.

  ‘Mimi said we could use her car tonight.’

  Charlotte nodded approvingly. ‘The Bentley? That sounds great. Is it outside?’

  ‘She said Jacques would be here by eight. He’s never late.’

  Sure enough, when they walked outside into the snowy night, Jacques was standing on the kerb, ready to open the
door of the car.

  ‘Monsieur Luca.’ He nodded briefly. ‘Mademoiselle.’

  They slid into the back seat and luxuriated in the warmth of the car compared to the icy conditions outside.

  ‘So, are you making a speech tonight?’ he enquired, kissing her soft shoulder.

  ‘Sorta. Your dad asked me to introduce him, so I guess so.’

  ‘You look so beautiful.’ He really meant it. ‘Everyone in the room will want you.’

  She blushed. ‘Cut it out. They so won’t.’

  He kissed her neck softly, small feather-like kisses, all the way up to her mouth.

  She moaned and pressed against him. He pulled her close and inserted his hand into her dress.

  ‘Hey, no bra!’ he murmured when his hand encountered a bare breast.

  ‘Yeah, well, you can’t have straps with this gown …’

  He cupped her breast and stroked the nipple. ‘Have we time to …’

  ‘No!’ She pushed him away. ‘Are you kidding me? We will be there in five minutes.’

  He sat back, pouting. ‘You got me all hot here …’

  ‘Luca.’ She frowned. ‘There’s a time and a place.’

  ‘Sure, I get it. Later, huh?’

  She nodded and kissed his nose. ‘You got it.’

  ‘Charlotte!’

  Christian Jacob swept across the room, cutting a dashing figure in his Armani tuxedo. His brown eyes twinkled as he kissed both her cheeks. Luca had inherited his height and frame; both men were tall and imposing. But Luca had his mother’s blue eyes.

  ‘Christian,’ she said, blushing, ‘sorry we’re a little late.’

  He kissed her hand. ‘No problem, we haven’t been seated yet.’ He turned to his son. ‘Luca, hello.’

  Luca nodded in salutation. ‘Papa.’

  He watched his father lead his fiancée away. He always made such a fuss of her. It was like she was his star protégée or something. He watched them approach a group of men in suits. He saw his father introduce Charlotte proudly. Whatever he said made the men laugh uproariously. Charlotte blushed and laughed.

  He glanced around the opulent foyer which was filled with attorneys and judges.

  Epic yawn, he thought, accepting a flute of champagne from a passing waiter.

  He really didn’t get all this corporate hobnobbing. They would all sit down, eat a meal and then there would be speeches and awards and pats on the back. He knew it was important to Charlotte; her career depended on nights like this, networking and acquiring contacts.

  It was just so goddamn boring.

  His phone buzzed in his pocket. He looked around. He was pretty sure this place was a no-cell zone.

  Charlotte caught his eye and smiled. He lifted his phone and indicated that he was taking a call. She nodded and turned back to Christian.

  Luca walked out into the lobby of the historic hotel. The bar looked inviting; the lights were low and he could hear soft soul music emanating out from its interior. He went inside.

  ‘A scotch on the rocks,’ he said to the barman. Jeez, he sounded just like his father.

  ‘Sure, sir.’

  He accessed his messages. It was from Craig.

  Just a heads up. Lyd is chief bridesmaid. Prob doesn’t matter but . . .

  Luca closed his eyes. He had suspected as much. Samantha was an only child. She and Lyd were super-close – it was only natural.

  Now, there was no avoiding her. He knew how weddings went down. The best man was always paired off with the head bridesmaid. They had to dance and stuff like that. They were usually the goddamn witnesses, for Christ sake.

  He knocked back his drink in one go and winced as it burned his throat.

  Forewarned is forearmed.

  He was pretty sure he was over her anyway. He hadn’t thought about her in a long time before this wedding business.

  ‘Luca!’ Charlotte was at the door of the bar, waving. ‘Dinner is served!’

  He put his phone in his pocket hurriedly. No point telling her jack. She would make a big deal out of nothing. The less Charlotte knew about Lydia, the better.

  Chapter 6

  ‘Lyd! I have a massive problem. Ring me as soon as you can.’

  Lydia listened to her voicemail with a frown. Samantha sounded panicky which was not like her. With a beating heart, she dialled her friend’s number and she answered on the second ring.

  ‘Sam, what is it?’ Lydia bit her lip. Had they broken up? Was it all off? She was just getting used to the idea of her best friend being engaged.

  ‘The bloody hotel!’ she wailed. ‘Oh Lyd, they can’t fit me in for two and a half years! I have to get married in the summer during school holidays. I’m so pissed off.’

  ‘Two years and a half ? Is that so bad?’

  Samantha made a strangled noise. ‘It’s a lifetime away. I really want that hotel, Lyd. What am I going to do?’

  Lydia was at a loss for words. There wasn’t much she could do from France. Did the location of the reception really matter?

  She hadn’t thought about marriage in a long time. Not since Dominic. Back in those days, she would have the odd daydream about tying the knot. It had never included hotels or sugared almonds or confetti. She had always imagined a low-key affair on a beach with her best friends and cocktails.

  Samantha was obviously different. This venue meant a lot to her. It was the bridesmaid’s job to sort this stuff out, right?

  ‘Look, send me on their email and I’ll try,’ she offered, trying to sound positive.

  ‘I don’t think there’s any point – no offence.’

  ‘Send it on anyway. That’s my duty, isn’t it?’

  Samantha sniffed dolefully. ‘I’ll never get married at this rate.’

  ‘Sam, seriously. You’ve only been engaged for two minutes. We’ll sort this. Now, send me that address.’

  She hung up the phone, shaking her head.

  She had heard of this Bridezilla syndrome, but never in her wildest dreams did she think that Samantha would transform into such a girl.

  Her phone pinged two seconds later with an email address underlined in blue.

  Good luck!

  Clicking on the link, she set to work. There was no harm in trying. A long heartfelt email about the bride’s dream of having her reception there ensued. She signed off politely, saying that if by any chance a cancellation occurred, not to hesitate in contacting her.

  ‘Leed! Can you pass me ze beurre?’

  Mathis’s dark curls bounced as he flipped the potatoes in the sauté pan.

  Lydia picked up the butter and scurried over to the chef.

  ‘How long for the main?’ she asked, placing another docket on the counter.

  ‘Deux minutes,’ he replied, expertly plating up a fillet steak with béarnaise sauce. ‘I ’ave to feenish zees first.’

  Lydia watched him work. He really was wasted in such a small restaurant. Claudine had hired him a year ago and since his arrival business was booming. His steak tartare was famous; so was his crème caramel.

  His dark-brown eyes crinkled as he placed two plates down, ready for collection.

  ‘Et voilà!’

  Lydia smiled at him as she carefully lifted the hot plates with a couple of tea towels.

  ‘Table two loved their salad,’ she said. ‘They’re American and are completely blown away by the Frenchness of it all.’

  ‘Tell zem about my mousse au chocolat,’ he suggested, getting back to work. ‘Claudine should produce zee Armagnac also.’

  ‘I’ll let her know.’

  He winked at her as he chopped a cucumber at lightning speed.

  He really was cute as a button. He had asked her out a couple of times, but she was always seeing someone else. She probably would have accepted had she been available. It was always the wrong time.

  She watched him bite his lip in concentration as he activated the blowtorch for the sugar topping on the crème brûlée. He really was very attractive. Despite worki
ng with food all day, he was in great shape and quite muscular. Come to think of it, she had seen him running to work a couple of mornings.

  ‘Ça va?’ he enquired, snapping her out of her daydream. He had an amused look on his face.

  ‘Yes,I mean, oui,’ she answered, flustered.

  He just stared at her openly, his dark eyes unfaltering.

  How embarrassing, she thought, venturing out into the main dining area. He must have seen her ogling him. And it wasn’t as if like she could avoid him for the rest of the evening.

  Claudine was serving cognac to the Americans.

  ‘Zees ees our finest digestif,’ she was telling them in her soft French accent. ‘You cannot leave Paris without a taste.’

  ‘Awesome,’ answered the man. ‘Lucille, you gotta try this too, hon.’

  ‘Eet ees expensive,’ warned Claudine, poised to pour another glass. ‘But worth eet.’

  ‘Fill her up,’ beamed Lucille, already after a half bottle of wine. ‘It’s our last evening in Europe.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ Claudine’s eyes gleamed. ‘Zen you must ’ave fun.’

  Laura put two baguettes into her trolley in Carrefour, the local supermarket.

  ‘You should buy your bread in a bakery,’ said Lydia disapprovingly. ‘Support the little guy, not some huge company.’