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A cherishing kind of kiss...
‘You’re crying, cara.’ Rafael studied her face as he raised his head again. He used the pad of his thumb to brush away a tear.
‘It’s a wedding.’ Abbie sniffed and dipped her head, pressing her fingers against the bridge of her nose to force back any more tears. She looked up and tried to smile. ‘You’re allowed to cry.’
‘Si...’ Rafael was smiling back at her. ‘You’re lucky we didn’t get married in Italy. The whole village might have been crying.’
Abbie snorted softly but the sound was poignant. The registry office had only been supposed to be a first wedding—getting the formal paperwork out of the way—because Abbie hadn’t wanted to be a pregnant bride. Rafael had promised he would take her to Italy as soon as the baby could travel and they could do it all again in a village church on his beloved Amalfi Coast. She would have a beautiful dress and their families would be able to share the celebration not only of their union but the start of their family.
Was it another dream that was nothing but dust now? She had to clear her throat. ‘Happy crying, I hope.’
‘Of course. What else?’ But Rafael’s gaze had moved. Somebody was turning from a chair in the next row to greet him and conversations were starting again around them as the newlyweds moved on to sign the register. They would disappear for photographs soon and Abbie knew that the gathering would become a glittering social occasion as the wider circle of guests arrived. There were rumours that royalty was expected, even, as some of the Hunter brothers’ clients had been invited to share this celebration.
Suddenly Abbie didn’t want to be part of it.
She wanted to be alone somewhere.
With her own husband.
Maybe he felt the same way. Maybe that was why Rafael kept hold of Abbie’s hand when they were free to move around and mingle.
Abbie wasn’t complaining.
It felt better than good. It felt right.
* * *
There was no shortage of people they knew to talk to and groups formed as champagne and canapés were served by an army of waiting staff. Friends and family of the bride and groom drifted into one group and the medical personnel from the Hunter Clinic, the Lighthouse Children’s Hospital and Princess Catherine’s made up another.
‘Abbie...what a gorgeous dress.’ The office manager from the clinic, Gwen, was balancing a glass in one hand and what looked like a tiny square of rye bread topped with caviar in the other.
Rafael nodded his approval of the compliment. The new rose-pink dress was gorgeous but, in his opinion, it only worked because it made Abbie’s skin and hair look irresistibly beautiful. An elegant version of the picnic frock she had worn to the park the other day when she’d taken his breath away.
‘Thanks, Gwen. I love your hat, too.’ Abbie was eyeing the froth of flowers and feathers on Gwen’s head. ‘Though it’s more of a fascinator, isn’t it?’
‘A hybrid.’ Gwen smiled. ‘I believe it’s called a “hatinator.” Whatever next?’ She looked at the canapé her hand. ‘This is my second one of these. They’re simply delicious.’ She glanced from Abbie to Rafael. ‘You’re not eating?’
‘I wanted to hold my wife’s hand,’ Rafael said solemnly. ‘But I couldn’t refuse a glass of champagne. What is a man to do?’
He could feel an increase of pressure from the fingers entwined with his. Was Abbie privately expressing her approval of this contact?
He really didn’t want to be here, being sociable, any more. He wanted to be alone somewhere.
With Abbie.
Gwen laughed. ‘Now, there’s an idea. A new kind of diet. You could write a book and become famous.’
‘He’s already famous.’ Another figure joined their conversation. ‘I hear that they want to make a movie about transforming the lives of Afghan children and Hollywood is demanding Mr Rafael de Luca as the star.’
The deadpan manner in which this information was delivered made it sound quite plausible. But this was Edward North who was speaking, a microsurgeon who was known for being slightly eccentric and a bit of a loner. He was awkward enough in social settings for it to be quite surprising to see him attend an event like this at all.
‘Yeah, yeah...’ Rafael’s tone was mocking but he smiled to take any sting from the tone.
As if sensing a sudden tension in the air, Gwen moved away to talk to someone else and he could feel Abbie’s fingers stiff and still in his hand now.
Rafael wasn’t sure who released the contact first. Maybe it just didn’t feel right to be standing here holding hands while they were talking to Edward. Because he’d been the cause of the trouble their marriage was in now?
Or perhaps Abbie had heard that his relationship with this particular colleague had not been the best recently. He had been angry with Edward and they’d barely spoken in the last few months, but he’d been justified, hadn’t he?
Nobody could deny that Edward was a genius. Thanks to the endless nights he spent on his own reading and researching, he’d been the one to find the information on the experimental treatment that he thought Ella might be a candidate for.
He just wished that Edward had had some idea of the chaos his suggestion would have on his marriage. Had he even been aware of his misery in the last few months? Probably not. He wasn’t a father himself. As far as Rafael was aware, he wasn’t in a long-term relationship either.
Maybe, in his own way, the backhanded compliment disguised as the faux breaking news was his way of apologising. Edward was certainly aware of some undercurrents because he cleared his throat and ran a finger under his collar, as if it was uncomfortable, as he turned towards Abbie.
‘How’s Ella?’ he enquired. ‘I heard that she’s back in the Lighthouse but...I haven’t heard any details about the treatment.’
‘It seems to have worked,’ Abbie said quietly. ‘For a while there, it didn’t look like it would but—’
‘Something went wrong?’ Edward was frowning. ‘Not graft versus host disease?’ He shook his head. ‘No, that wouldn’t happen. It’s the patient’s own T cells that are being reengineered, isn’t it? So that they’ll recognise and attach to the CD19 protein that’s on the surface of B cells.’
‘There’s another protein,’ Abbie told him. ‘I’ll have to look up what it is for you but it’s the same one that’s involved with rheumatoid arthritis. Anyway, the levels got very elevated because of the new T cells and Ella became critically ill. She was in the intensive-care unit for weeks.’
Edward looked like he was making a mental note to investigate the unnamed protein himself. ‘What did they use to treat her?’
‘The same drugs they use for rheumatoid. With quite dramatic results. Her fever and temperature dropped rapidly and she was taken off the ventilator much sooner than any of us had hoped for.’
The atmosphere became even more strained. Edward looked vaguely appalled, as if how dangerous the treatment had been hadn’t occurred to him when he’d suggested it.
‘It did work in the end,’ Abbie said. ‘We wouldn’t have even known about it if it hadn’t been for you. And we couldn’t be more grateful.’
We.
They were both looking at him now. It was Rafael’s turn to clear his throat. He tilted his head in acknowledgement of his own gratitude. Of course he was grateful for Ella’s state of health but he still had the damage to his marriage undermining his happiness. Was it any wonder it was hard to make amends with Edward?
‘Thank you,’ he said aloud, finally. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t said so before.’
The apology seemed to be accepted but a new silence fell now and everybody was clearly trying to think of a way to break it. It was Abbie who turned her head and seemed to be looking for someone.
‘They’re taking a long time, aren’t they?’
‘Who?’ Edward looked puzzled.
‘Leo and Lizzie. I know they went for photographs but that was ages ago. They should be back by now. Look at all the new arrivals. The breakfast must be due to start.’
‘Oh...didn’t you hear? There was a helicopter waiting for them. Leo whisked Lizzie off to go and visit her parents in Brighton.’
‘Good grief... Really?’
Edward nodded and then shook his head, looking bemused. ‘I’d heard they were too sick to come to the wedding but it does seem a little over the top, doesn’t it?’
Abbie’s smile was tight. ‘He loves her. And what a lovely thought, to let them see their daughter in her beautiful dress.’
It seemed that Abbie was uncomfortable talking about the generous gesture. Defensive even. Did a man have to do something a little outrageous to prove how much he loved his bride?
Had he not done enough?
But the low-key service in the registry office hadn’t been intended to be the only acknowledgement of their marriage, had it? Rafael had had all sorts of plans for a second wedding and honeymoon in Italy that would have been far more meaningful than a showy helicopter ride. If only Ella hadn’t become sick so quickly...
If only...
Edward was looking around, clearly disinterested in discussing the bride’s dress. Someone nodded at him and he moved away, looking somewhat relieved. Mitchell Cooper, the American plastic surgeon, and Declan Underwood, another plastic surgeon, who seemed to be here without dates but enjoying themselves, came past Rafael and Abbie, heading for the bar, and Mitchell winked.
‘The game is to pick which of the guests has been a former client of the Hunter Clinic,’ he murmured. ‘I’ve spotted at least two.’
‘And I’ve spotted the guests of honour returning,’ Abbie said. ‘I’m going to see if I can find where our table is.’
There was no chance of being alone with Abbie for quite some time, Rafael realised. Watching her disappear into the throng of guests, he had to wonder if she would even want that.
That moment of connection with Abbie during the wedding ceremony that had led to them holding hands was well and truly gone now. The conversation with Edward had been a sobering reminder of how far they still had to go. He followed Mitchell towards the bar. His American colleague was probably searching for a Scotch instead of champagne and Rafael had a sudden desire for something a bit stronger himself.
* * *
The group of men at the bar was drawing the attention of every woman in attendance, including those who’d come with partners. And no wonder. Abbie watched them as they raised what looked like glasses of Scotch to toast each other. The dress suits they were all wearing made most men look more attractive but these were already exceptionally good-looking guys.
And Rafael was the best looking of the bunch, as far as she was concerned. His curly dark hair was a little too long, and his features a little sharper than some, but even from a distance she could feel the pull of his Italian passion, the warmth of the fire she knew ran in his blood.
Perhaps she had been too harsh in her reaction to that ultimatum he’d delivered when he’d been so frustrated at not being listened to. Maybe if she understood more about his heritage and the way his male Italian brain worked, she could learn to sort the wheat from the chaff and they could work through their differences, instead of pushing each other away.
Rafael was trying to understand how her brain worked. That had been obvious from his line of questioning during Annabelle’s surgery. What could she do to let him know that she was just as willing to make an effort?
Ethan had joined the other men at the bar and he downed a shot of spirits as though it was some kind of medicine. There were certainly undercurrents here for people other than Rafael and herself.
With a sigh, Abbie slipped into her allocated seat at one of the small tables. The chairs had been cleared from the chequerboard marble floor now and no doubt there would be dancing later. After the food and the speeches. Watching Ethan accept another drink from the bar staff, she had to hope that it wouldn’t affect his ability to give the speech he was expected to make as best man.
There were choices to be made about the food as the courses came round, which Abbie found very difficult. Not because everything didn’t sound absolutely delicious but her appetite seemed to have deserted her. She had to make an effort, though.
‘I think I’ll have the roast Portland scallops with the fresh pea velouté,’ she decided. ‘Whatever a velouté is.’
‘I believe it’s a French word.’ Edward was sharing the table that had been allocated to the de Lucas. ‘It means velvet. It’s a sauce. Usually a white sauce, but I expect this one might be green.’
Abbie’s lips twitched as she caught the twinkle in Edward’s otherwise deadpan expression. There was more to this man than people appreciated, wasn’t there?
‘I’m going to have the Cornish lobster with hand-cut chips,’ Rafael decided, when it came to the main course. ‘Or perhaps the Aberdeen Angus filet steak with beetroot.’
Except he didn’t seem to have any more of an appetite than Abbie did. There was just as much left on his plate as hers when it came time to be cleared away.
The dessert that Abbie chose was to die for. A chocolate fondant with a delectably oozy centre that came with a peach compote and a mascarpone sorbet. The speeches started before she’d taken more than a taste, however, and Abbie stopped and held her breath.
What would Ethan say?
He didn’t seem to be showing any effect from the shots of Scotch he’d been throwing back, but then, his speech was so short it was hard to tell. He said something very complimentary about Lizzie and he wished the couple every happiness and that was it. Except that he finished by thanking his brother, saying that he appreciated the way Leo had always looked out for him.
As dessert plates were cleared away, Leo and Lizzie moved through the tables, stopping to talk to as many people as they could before they started the next part of the evening with their first dance. It was Leo who came to the table where Rafael and Abbie were now sitting alone. Edward had gone to talk to Declan.
‘Thanks for coming.’ Leo smiled. ‘I hope you’re all enjoying yourselves.’
‘It’s a beautiful wedding,’ Abbie said. ‘Lizzie looks stunning.’
‘Great speeches, too.’ Rafael grinned. ‘Short. If we were in Italy they’d go on till midnight and nobody would get a chance to dance.’
Abbie hoped the length of the best man’s speech hadn’t been due to the lingering tension between the brothers. ‘It was a nice thing that he said,’ she offered. ‘About you always looking out for him. You must have been an awesome big brother to have.’
Leo’s smile looked wry. ‘Whether he wanted it or not,’ he murmured. ‘It wasn’t always appreciated.’
Abbie raised her eyebrows but Leo didn’t get a chance to answer the silent query. A dramatically glamorous woman, dripping in diamonds, was sailing towards him as gracefully as only an aging prima ballerina could.
‘Leo...darling... You must come with me. Tony and I are dying to talk to you.’ With her arm firmly linked with his, Leo was hustled away.
Abbie had to smile. There would be no prizes for picking her as one of the clinic clients who’d scored an invitation. Everybody knew about Francesca, who had to be in her early seventies now, and had had her first plastic surgeries with Leo and Ethan’s father, James.
And that thought led her back to Leo’s cryptic comment. She turned to Rafael.
‘Whether he wanted it or not? And it wasn’t always appreciated? I wonder what that was about?’
Rafael shrugged. ‘I’ve heard the father was a complete bastard. I suspect being the big brother made life pretty tough for Leo.’
‘He looks happy now.’
‘He just got married to a beautiful woman. Of course he’s happy.’
‘Where’s Ethan?’
‘I saw him heading for the restroom a while back.’
‘So did I.’ Abbie frowned. ‘Was it my imagination or was he limping more than usual?’
Rafael mirrored her frown. ‘Maybe I should go and check that he’s all right.’
‘I’ll come with you.’
They slipped out of the crowd unnoticed because the music had started and Leo was leading Lizzie onto the dance floor.
They found Ethan in a hallway near the restrooms. Leaning against the wall, with his eyes closed, he didn’t see them approach.
‘Are you okay?’ It was Abbie who asked.
Ethan’s eyes snapped open. ‘I’m fine,’ he said.
