wedding ceremony went ahead but the whole time Lottie kept wondering where Lucca was. She couldn’t see him in the crowd, but then she wasn’t wearing her glasses because she hadn’t wanted to wreck the wedding photographs, so if he was more than a few feet away she wouldn’t know one way or the other. She wanted him to be here to see the result of their combined effort. He had helped her in so many little ways, suggesting touches she hadn’t thought of, giving the event a thoroughly modern feel that perfectly complemented the traditional aspects of a royal wedding.
During the signing of the register Lottie turned to one of the groomsmen she had seen Lucca talking to at the rehearsal the day before. Apparently they had met at Cambridge a few months before Lucca had been expelled. ‘Adam, have you seen Lucca about? I can’t see him anywhere in the congregation.’
‘I sent him a text before the ceremony when you guys were so late getting here,’ Adam said. ‘He sent a text back to say he was leaving.’
Lottie’s heart lurched. ‘Leaving? What, you mean leaving the island?’
‘Apparently.’
She swallowed a golf ball of dismay. How could he leave? He would forfeit his trust fund if he left before the month was up. He couldn’t leave. Surely he wouldn’t leave?
She glanced at her bracelet watch. The signing of the register would take another fifteen minutes at least given the size of the bridal party. Then there were the official photographs back at the palace, which would take an hour and a half, two if Madeleine had one of her fuss fests about her make-up or hair. Lucca would be long gone if Lottie didn’t intercept him. Was he leaving because of the portrait? But why? Surely he’d just laugh it off …
Lottie handed Adam her bridesmaid bouquet as well as the bridal one she’d been in charge of while Madeleine signed the wedding certificate. ‘Can you hold these for me for a couple of minutes? I have to check on something.’
Adam took the bouquets with a worried grimace. ‘This doesn’t mean I’m next in line to get married, does it?’
Lucca closed the lid of his leather case and zipped the catch. His heart felt so heavy it dragged at his insides as if a blacksmith’s anvil was tied to it. He had never meant to hurt Lottie. He never meant to hurt anyone but somehow it was what he did best. He was the High Priest of Hurting People. If he stayed in someone’s life long enough they got hurt.
Lottie was his latest victim. Her reputation would be beyond redemption after this. Her fling with him would go down in history as the scandal that ruined her sister’s wedding day. The wedding day Lottie had planned with such meticulous detail. There was no way he could make it up to her. Apologising was a waste of time. She would never believe he hadn’t leaked that portrait to the press. He didn’t even know whom to blame … other than himself. He had unwittingly exposed her to ridicule. To a scandal that trumped everything he had done in the past.
The knock at the door reminded him he had a car waiting to take him to the ferry port. He had decided against a helicopter. It would make too much noise while the wedding festivities were going on and draw even more attention. He opened the door and blinked in shock. ‘Lottie?’
‘I had to see you.’
He frowned. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘That’s what I’m here to ask you.’ She marched into the room and turned and faced him. ‘Adam Brightman told me you’re leaving.’
He left the door open. She wouldn’t be staying long. She was only here to flay him alive. Might as well get it over with. He deserved it. He scraped a hand through his hair. ‘I think I’ve done enough damage around here without hanging around to witness the fallout.’
She stood looking at him with her shiny bright green eyes, which looked naked without her frames. She’d told him she hadn’t wanted to spoil her sister’s wedding photographs with wearing glasses even though she couldn’t see more than a metre in front of her without them and couldn’t tolerate contacts. It was yet another example of how she always put others before herself. ‘I know you didn’t leak the portrait to the press.’
Lucca’s frowned deepened. ‘You do?’
Her expression was so earnest, so young and fresh. So beautiful … so decent. ‘I know you, Lucca. You might like a laugh and mock anyone who takes life too seriously but you would never deliberately hurt someone you care about.’
‘You think I care about you?’ Somehow his mocking tone had lost its edge.
She kept looking at him in that honest direct way that made his chest feel warm, as if a single ray of sunshine had found its way to the cold hard marble of his heart. ‘You care more about me than you do your trust fund, otherwise you wouldn’t be leaving.’
He gave a careless shrug. ‘I don’t want my family’s money.’ He waited a beat and added, ‘I got an offer on your portrait. Three million pounds. Not bad for an amateur, huh?’
‘You won’t sell it. Anyway, you can’t. I still have it and I’m not giving it back.’
Lucca kept his expression masked. ‘Do you have any idea of who leaked it to the press?’
‘I don’t know … probably one of the housemaids. I usually keep it in my drawer but a couple of days ago I left it on the dressing table while I went with Madeleine to her dress fitting. All it would take is a quick photo with a smartphone and the rest is history.’
‘Is your sister mad?’
‘She was at first, but she’s forgotten all about it now the press are saying she’s the most beautiful bride since Princess Grace of Monaco.’ She gave him a self-effacing smile. ‘A tiny sketch of me in the bath, no matter how brilliantly painted it is, is never going to outshine her.’
‘I’m sorry.’ He scraped his hand through his hair again. ‘God, what a mess I make of things. I only have to look at someone and I hurt them.’
She came over to him and laid a gentle hand on his arm. ‘Lucca, please don’t leave until after the wedding. Stay the full time. Please?’
He removed her hand and put some distance between them, standing with his back to her as he looked at the view from the penthouse window. ‘It’s not about the money.’ He watched as the ferry he was booked to leave on motored its way across the ocean towards the Preitalle dock. ‘No amount of money is ever going to make up for growing up without a mother or for having a father who prefers the company of a bottle rather than his children.’
He turned and looked at her again. ‘Three and a half weeks ago all I could think about was how I was going to get my hands on that trust fund. But now …’ He swallowed as an unexpected lump came up in his throat. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt strangled by emotion. ‘Your trust … the way you came in here and told me you knew I hadn’t betrayed you meant far more to me than any amount of money.’
Her eyes began to shimmer. ‘Do you really mean that?’
He came to her and took both of her hands in his. How he loved the feel of her skin against his, the way her small hands fit so completely in his as if seeking his protection. ‘I’ve never met anyone who’s as beautiful on the inside as she is on the outside.’
Another self-deprecating smile twisted her mouth. ‘Flatterer.’
