Love Redesigned

by Collins, Sloane B.

  “Constance and Francois, you are blending your strengths and weaknesses, your flaws and perfections, blending the both of you into the perfect bouquet, which strengthens over time. To love, the very essence of life.”

  “Here, here!” Glasses were raised in honor of Connie Sue and Francois, and everyone sipped the special sparkling wine served for the toast.

  Sipping slowly, she savored the texture of the wine, and Roman’s heartfelt words. Did she want that? To fill someone’s life, and have them fill hers? She leaned forward to set her glass on the table, caught him glancing at her from his seat. Would he ever forgive her for hurting him? Again? From the look on his face, it wouldn’t be any time soon.

  He looks so sad, so beaten down. Did I do that to him?

  The dinner concluded, everyone stood up and mingled, prolonging the evening. Guests stood in small clusters, talking. She glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention to her, and slipped out the side door. Heading to the small kitchen she’d been using, her steps echoed on the marble floor. It wasn’t as if she were running away, she had a duty to do. A final check on the wedding cake and she’d be through for the night.

  “Gigi, wait.”

  She turned to see Connie Sue hurrying after her, her black stiletto heels clicking on the marble.

  “Look, I don’t know if I should say anything or not, considering what’s going on between you and Roman. But I felt you should know.”

  “What’s wrong? Is he okay?” She frowned, gripped Connie Sue’s hand.

  “Francois is in the process of hiring someone for the winery. Turns out she’s Roman’s half-sister.”

  “What?” she yelped. She covered her mouth, hoping no one had heard her. She lowered her voice. “But he doesn’t have any family except for Francois.”

  “I know. This turned up in the background check we ran on Sophie. His mother married someone else and they had a daughter. He never knew about the marriage or the daughter, much less that his mother lived not too far from here.”

  “He must be devastated.”

  “Francois said Roman was pretty much in shock when he told him earlier today.”

  “Thanks for letting me know. No wonder he looked so upset tonight.”

  Connie Sue returned to the dining hall, and Genevieve resumed her walk to the kitchen.

  Walking into the room, she turned the overhead light on. She caught a movement out of the corner of her eye, and her heart jumped. Whirling around, she saw Roman sitting on her stool, leaning back against the counter.

  “Why were you sitting in the dark?” She wanted to rush to him, hug him, and make sure he was okay. But after all that had happened the night before, he wouldn’t welcome it. She no longer had that right, and it made her so sad.

  “I assumed you wouldn’t come in if you thought I was here.”

  She had half a mind to escape, but lifted her chin. He wouldn’t drive her away, keep her from doing her job. “What do you want?”

  “Bón. There’s the spirit I knew you had.”

  She tied an apron over her black cocktail dress. “Whatever do you mean?” she asked, trying to be nonchalant.

  “You’ve done everything you can to avoid me. I’m tired of it. I’ve done nothing to harm you, only wanted to do something to help you. I don’t deserve to be treated this way.”

  His words held her still, frozen to the spot. Had she really been treating him that way? Tears clogged her throat. Pain sliced through her stomach, and she rubbed the scar, willing the hurt to go away.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize . . .” She faced the sink, grabbed a towel and dabbed at her eyes.

  “I did not come here to make you cry.”

  She twisted the towel in her hands. “I apologize.” Setting the towel down, she faced him. “I didn’t mean to act that way. It was unintentional. I don’t want to fight with you.”

  “I do not want to fight either. Too much has passed between us, now and fifteen years ago. We should not be enemies. I would like us to have a truce. We must get through the wedding, and I don’t want Constance or Francois forced to choose sides.”

  “That’s the last thing I want.” She walked around the island to stand in front of him, and held her hand out. “Truce?”

  He took her hand in his warm one, held it. “Truce.” He dropped her hand and started to walk out.

  “Wait.”

  He glanced at her over his shoulder.

  “Are you okay?”

  He shrugged. “Why?”

  “Why? Because I care about you. Connie Sue just told me about your . . . what Francois found out.”

  He leaned his forehead against the door frame. He looked defeated, and her heart went out to him. She walked up behind him, wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him, laid her head against his back.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  He heaved a sigh. “Not really.”

  “Okay. If you do, I want you to know you can talk to me.”

  “Thanks. I’m still trying to come to terms with the fact I have family other than Francois. I don’t know her at all, just met her briefly when she was here to interview with him.”

  He turned around and she stepped back from him.

  “I’m here if you want to talk.”

  He sighed. “But you won’t be for much longer, will you? You’re going home soon. This is something I’ll deal with later. You don’t need to concern yourself.” He walked out of the kitchen.

  She stood still, listening until his footsteps faded away. “I’m not going to cry. I’m not going to cry. I’m tired of crying.”

  She headed to her room for a good cry.

  Chapter 17

  Twinkle lights lined the stone steps, forming a path into the chapel. Pale pink to deep blush flowers were gathered in bunches everywhere, perfuming the air.

  The bride beamed, and Genevieve had never seen her cousin look happier. The wedding dress Roman created suited Connie Sue perfectly. She looked elegant, sophisticated, and would wow the guests.

  Connie Sue clutched her bouquet of pink antique roses.

  “You ready, Cuz?”

  “Absolutely. Let’s go.”

  The wedding planner opened the doors into the chapel, and the first bridesmaid walked down the aisle. The second soon followed.

  Then it was Genevieve’s turn. She took a deep breath and steadied her fluttery nerves. She stepped onto the white runner, and heads turned to look at her. Bile rose in her throat. She really hated people looking at her. Especially this many. She stared forward, willing her stomach to calm.

  Roman came into view, and he smiled at her. Winked.

  He knew. Somehow, he remembered she hated being the center of attention, and he was sending her encouragement. She kept her gaze on his, focusing on him to get herself down the aisle.

  Finally, she made it to her spot, and breathed a sigh of relief. She couldn’t have done it without him.

  The first strains of “Ave Maria” played, and the guests rose. Connie Sue stepped onto the runner. Genevieve heard several gasps, and she bit her lip. Her cousin really did look stunning. She was going to be a countess, and definitely looked the part today.

  She took the bouquet from Connie Sue, and her cousin stepped forward with Francois. Half turning toward the priest, Genevieve’s eyes kept straying to Roman. He looked so handsome, so elegant. Every inch the star he was. The dark-gray tuxedo and tails fit him to perfection. Not many men could wear a blush-striped cravat, but he carried it off with aplomb.

  He caught her looking at him, and gave her a half-smile. Her cheeks heated, and she wished she could fan herself. She averted her eyes, but it didn’t last. She wouldn’t be in France much longer, so she kept sneaking looks at him. Couldn’t help
it.

  How am I going to get over him this time? She had no choice . . . she’d have to do it.

  The rings were exchanged, vows said, and before she knew it, the ceremony was over with. The Count and his new Countess walked back up the aisle.

  Roman stepped forward and offered her his arm. She slid her hand under his elbow, feeling the muscles and strength in his arm. He may design women’s clothing for a living, but he kept in shape.

  She glanced up at him, and he met her eyes. He pulled her a little closer, and they began their walk up the aisle. She breathed him in, the cologne she loved so much on him filling her senses.

  They walked outside the chapel and up the lighted path to the chateau. Once inside, he stepped away from her, and her hand slid from beneath his crooked arm. Someone stopped him to talk, and she entered the ballroom alone.

  Bereft now, it was like a big piece of her had suddenly gone missing.

  Dinner was served, the cake was cut, and she made it through the toasts. Music swelled, and it was time for the bride and groom’s first dance.

  She watched Francois lead Connie Sue to the dance floor. He looked so in love with his bride, and she knew he cherished her cousin. A slice of envy lashed through her. She wanted the love and happiness she saw reflected on her cousin’s face. Yes, she was thrilled for Connie Sue, but why couldn’t she have that too?

  I could. She subtly scanned the room, looking for the tallest man there. She finally saw Roman on the opposite side of the dance floor. He stood straight and tall, holding a champagne glass, his eyes on her.

  From somewhere, deep inside, she mustered up a smile. This was supposed to be a joyous day for her cousin, after all.

  The happy couple passed in front her, blocking her view, and she lost sight of him.

  The music changed, and the orchestra leader asked the bridal party to take the floor.

  Her skin heated, and she felt someone at her side. She didn’t have to look to know it was him. Her body knew him. Craved him.

  “May I have this dance?”

  His voice rumbled through her, sending her into a quivering mass. He led her to the dance floor, and she faced him, looking up into those delicious brown eyes.

  He pulled her closer, slid a hand around her waist.

  She put a trembling hand in his, and he quirked a brow.

  “Are you okay?”

  Taking a deep breath, she nodded. “It’s all done. She’s married now, and I can stop worrying about her.” Would he buy it?

  He pulled her even closer, and she rested her head on his shoulder. She closed her eyes, surrendering to the feel of being in his arms again. For one last time.

  One dance flowed into the next. She wanted to stay there all night, dancing. Wanted to stay there forever. In his arms.

  All too soon, the music stopped, and the orchestra leader announced it was time for the bride to toss the bouquet. She reluctantly pulled away from Roman, and he led her to the side of the dance floor.

  He kissed her cheek, his lips lingering, before he disappeared into the crowd.

  Daniel nudged her. “Okay, get up there to the front of the crowd.”

  “No way. Don’t be ridiculous! I’m too old.”

  “You’re thirty-four, still a spring chicken. You get up there now, Sugar. You have just as much a chance at catching the bouquet as anyone. Now get up to the front.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to catch it. You go catch it. You’re single.”

  He gave her his stubborn look. “Get up there or I will drag you there myself.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Fine. But I’m not going to catch it, even if it does come near me.”

  “You never know,” he singsonged.

  “What am I missing here?”

  “Nothing, nothing. Now go before it’s too late!” He pushed her to the front of the dance floor.

  She joined the throng of laughing single women, feeling mortified.

  Connie Sue stepped up on the orchestra’s platform and faced the crowd of women. “Ready, ladies? May the best person catch the bouquet!”

  Genevieve saw her cousin glance her way before she turned around. Oh no. She better not!

  Connie Sue turned her back on the women, and counted down. “Three, two, one!” She raised her arm and tossed the bouquet over her head.

  The mass of flowers sailed straight at her, trailing ribbons. She tried to duck so it would reach the person behind her, but no luck. It headed right for her face, like a heat-seeking missile.

  She had no choice but to catch it.

  Damn Connie Sue and her perfect pitching arm.

  Her cousin turned around, and squealed, clapping her hands. She stepped off the platform and hurried to Genevieve.

  “I did it! I wanted you to catch it!”

  “Yeah, thanks for that.”

  “Oh come on. This will bring you luck with a certain someone you’re crazy about.”

  “Just because you’re getting your happily ever after doesn’t mean I need one.”

  Her cousin’s face fell. “I was just trying to help.”

  A rush of love went through Genevieve. “I know you were, and I appreciate it. Come on, let’s go celebrate.” She linked arms with Connie Sue and they headed for the champagne table.

  Roman escaped the crowded ballroom, and opened the door to the terrace. He inhaled, smelling the perfumed air of the rose garden lining the old stone wall below. He heard a noise and looked to the right. Genevieve sat at the outdoor table in the faint glow of light, trying to open a bottle of champagne. The bouquet she had caught sat on the table, a glaring reminder of his lost dreams.

  He hesitated, wanted to avoid her. But his feet would not listen, and he walked a few steps closer.

  “I see you caught the bouquet.”

  “It was kind of hard not to when Connie Sue threw it straight at me.” She grinned ruefully.

  “She intended for you to catch it?”

  “Oh yes. If you haven’t realized it yet, Connie Sue gets an idea in her head, and she will gnaw on it like a dog with a bone. I think she and Daniel cooked it up ahead of time, because he forced me to the front of the crowd when she was ready to toss the bouquet.”

  He chuckled. “But how could she guarantee you would catch it?”

  “She played softball all through school, even won awards for pitching. She used those skills tonight to get that bouquet in my hands. You can bet Melly and or Bella will be taught the finer points of pitching one day.”

  It was good to see her laugh again. “Why are you out here alone?”

  “I almost forgot! I’m celebrating.”

  “Oh?”

  She held up the unopened bottle of champagne. “I finally got an email from the bank. They approved my loan.” She patted the bench next to her. “Come help me celebrate.”

  He forced himself forward, but propped a foot on the bench instead of sitting next to her. “Then congratulations are in order. I’m sure you are very relieved and happy.” He pulled the bottle from her hands, but she grabbed it back.

  “I can open it.” She tried once again to open the bottle.

  He sighed. “Why can you not accept help from anyone?”

  Her gaze flew to his, and she looked surprised.

  “You can be so stubborn, and you insist on doing everything yourself. Would you please just let me open the bottle for you? Allow me this one small thing?”

  She handed the bottle to him. “Thank you.” She picked up the flute from the table and waited.

  He popped the cork and poured, filling her glass with sparkling bubbles.

  She sipped from the champagne flute. “Have some champagne . . . Oh shoot, I only have the one glass.”

  “No matter,” he said
, taking her glass. He held the glass up to her in a toast, then deliberately turned the glass so he drank from the spot where her lips had rested a moment before.

  Her breath hitched audibly.

  He glanced at her, noticed her eyes glued to his tongue as he licked a drop from the side of the flute. He handed the glass back to her and sat down on the stone bench, his thigh pressed alongside hers.

  She leaned into his side, laid her head on his shoulder for a moment. Even though his heart was breaking, he wanted to take her upstairs. Or better yet, home to his own bed, and keep her there forever. His future would be bleak without her in it.

  She drained the glass, then refilled it and handed it to him. “I’m sorry.”

  He turned to her, studied her serious face in the glow of light spilling from the chateau. “For what?”

  Taking his hand in hers, she linked her cool fingers with his. “I’m sorry for hurting you. I know you only wanted to help me. Please forgive me.” She dropped a kiss on the back of his hand. “I don’t want to leave here with you hating me. Again.”

  He set the glass on the table, next to the bouquet. She looked up at him, and he gently cupped her cheek. She nestled her face against his palm. He kissed her slowly, luxuriating in her lips.

  “I don’t hate you,” he said, pulling back slightly. “This is your career, your life. I don’t want to let you go, but I understand your home is in the States. Your life is there. I don’t want this to be goodbye, however. I want to remain in touch with you, come visit you.”