CHAPTER SEVEN

      THE PHOTOGRAPHS OF this wedding would grace the pages of any magazine devoted to the lifestyles of the rich and famous.

      As a venue, Claridge’s was simply one of the best London could offer. Intimate tables for the wedding breakfast, which seated only three or four people each, could be seen in an adjoining area, draped in white cloth with centrepieces of trios of white roses in simple vases amidst sparkling crystal glasses and gleaming silverware. Larger arrangements of flowers, also white, were dotted everywhere amongst the pillars.

      The area that Rafael and Abbie were ushered to be seated was also extremely elegant. There would be many more people arriving for the reception but the ceremony itself was more private and a semicircle of comfortably padded chairs for the guests was arranged beneath a spectacular chandelier, giving everybody a clear view of the sweeping staircase that the bride would come down to make her entrance. The seats were mostly filled by the time Abbie and Rafael edged into the back row. She said hello to Lexi Robbins, Head of PR at the Hunter Clinic. Lexi was holding hands with the man on her other side, surgeon Iain McKenzie, and it was almost palpable how much in love these two were. Neither of them was particularly aware of the existence of anybody else and their private, whispered communication was probably about a different wedding. One that they would be starring in themselves in the not-too-distant future.

      It was a very different wedding that Abbie couldn’t help thinking about, too. Sitting here, all dressed up, it felt like she and Rafael were in a silent little bubble amongst the other guests. A tense kind of silence. Was he also thinking about the last wedding he had attended?

      Their wedding?

      The memory of that day was blurry. If it wasn’t for the photograph taken on the steps of the registry office and the ring she still wore on her finger, it would be easy to believe that it had never really happened. They’d done it all too fast, hadn’t they? It was all rather a blur. Falling in love with Rafael, finding out she was pregnant and then buying the apartment and getting married within just a few weeks.

      Would it have all been different if she hadn’t been pregnant?

      Of course it would.

      Would Rafael have even proposed if things had been different?

      Abbie stole a sideways glance at him but Rafael’s line of vision was firmly fixed elsewhere. As the muted buzz of conversation faded around her, Abbie’s head turned as well. Within moments of Lizzie appearing, the only sound around her was the soft classical music of the string quartet in the background. Leo stood near the foot of the staircase with Ethan beside him—Abbie had heard how Lizzie had convinced Ethan to be Leo’s best man after he’d originally refused due to their strained relationship—and, like everyone else now, the groom’s gaze was fixed on Lizzie as she came slowly down, her bridesmaid several steps behind her.

      Her dress was gorgeous. Simple but striking with cap sleeves of the lace that overlaid the rest of the dress and a slim belt with a silver buckle above soft folds of fabric that flowed over the stairs and then grazed the black and white marble of the chequerboard floor. The bouquet she carried was simply a bunch of the same perfect white roses that were the centrepieces on the tables. Leo and Ethan had matching white rosebuds as buttonholes in their classic, dark morning suit jackets over pinstriped grey trousers.

      The wedding vows exchanged were traditional. The same words that Rafael and Abbie had said to each other.

      To have and to hold... For better or for worse... In sickness and in health...

      To love and to cherish, from this day forward, until death us do part...

      Maybe the memories of her own wedding day weren’t that blurry after all. The words echoed in her head but something strange was happening in the rest of her body. Her heart was back in that registry office. Full to bursting with so much love.

      So many hopes and dreams for her future with this wonderful man.

      Her breath must have caught audibly. Not that anyone else would have noticed Rafael’s attention being diverted but his body was suddenly closer. Touching hers. With no conscious thought on her part, Abbie found her hand stealing into Rafael’s. Their fingers laced together and the grip was tight enough to know that she wasn’t the only one being swamped by emotion.

      They had vowed to love each other. In sickness and in health. Did it matter if it was Ella’s health rather than either of theirs?

      Of course it didn’t.

      Had they broken their vows? They were still married, weren’t they?

      Abbie was fighting tears as she watched the tender first kiss of the newlyweds in front of them.

      Yes. She and Rafael had broken their vows because they hadn’t cherished each other. And the fault was on both sides.

      But how could they have given each other what they’d needed when they hadn’t really known each other? They had both wanted the best for Ella. Rafael must be feeling so guilty now, thinking that he had been ready to give up, and here she was, defying the odds.

      Abbie squeezed his hand more tightly and was grateful for the answering pressure. And then they both turned their heads as the clapping around them started and Abbie could have drowned in the depths she saw in Rafael’s eyes. She couldn’t pull her hand free to join in the congratulatory clapping. She couldn’t look away from Rafael’s gaze either.

      This moment took her straight back to their own wedding. To the way Rafael had looked at her in the heartbeat after the celebrant had told him he could kiss his bride.

      It was the most natural thing in the world for him to tilt his head towards her now and for Abbie to raise her face.

      A soft kiss. Nothing like the explosive release of need that had happened in the changing room. This was tender. Too brief but long enough.

      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.