Chapter 4 #2
Putting a pack on his back and never stopping anywhere long enough to feel connected.
Learning that overpowering emotions could be drowned by using a flood of adrenaline and that it could provide a guaranteed respite.
He’d gone skydiving in Switzerland and rock climbing in the Dolomites in Italy.
Costa Rica was amazing for white-water canoeing, France for black-run skiing and Australia had introduced Luc to surfing.
It didn’t matter what country he found himself in, there were always beautiful women who were happy to provide physical distraction with no strings attached and that was almost as good as an adrenaline rush.
The one thing he’d never taken had been the easy road to sidestepping any feelings – with alcohol or drugs.
It wasn’t simply that he’d seen where that had taken his mother.
He’d pretty much turned his back on interfering with his body chemistry in any way the night he’d lost Tom.
Tom Baxter. The person who’d been so much more than merely a friend. He’d been his brother from another mother. His soulmate. The person he’d loved the most and who’d opened the door to a world he might never have reached alone. The person he would have died for if it could have saved him.
Luc slowed his steps. He needed to at least look as if he was cataloguing the best spots around the castle for some of the expected, normal wedding portraits he needed to deliver, having promised Greg he wouldn’t do anything outrageous here.
That spiral of ancient stone steps that led to an arch-shaped medieval door in one of the towers was perfect.
The bride could be sitting on the steps, perhaps leaning down to where the groom was standing beside the narrow staircase, lifting his head to receive her kiss.
The pigeonnier, a tiny stone tower with a conical roof, would also be a winner, especially if the resident doves would cooperate and fly overhead, and the old chapel was almost off-the-scale picturesque.
There were chairs filling the courtyard in front of it, so presumably there were more guests than could be accommodated inside and the exchange of vows would take place with the chapel in the background.
Perfect. He could take the bridal couple inside for a more intimate connection with this tiny building that had been used for worship for hundreds of years.
Even better was the cemetery at the back of the chapel.
The monuments to lost souls were right up Luc’s alley with the blurred inscriptions and creeping lichen that suggested they no longer truly mattered.
A bridal couple about to start their new life together against the backdrop of death? Fabulous.
Except that being amongst these ornately carved headstones was deepening the maelstrom of emotions and memories that being close to Sophie Spencer had triggered. Why on earth had he agreed to come here today? Deep down, he’d known exactly how hard this was going to be.
And maybe that was the real reason he’d come. To test himself. To find out if there might actually be a way to move forward in his life without being haunted by this woman and the memories that still clung to her like perfume that had soaked into the very pores of her skin.
He’d made a fresh start when he’d finally stopped running. Started a new life by going back to his first love of photography but with a very new edge to his art. He could enhance a heartbeat of real emotion by framing it in the context of something unthinkable.
The birth of a new life amongst symbols of death.
The power of love shining through the evidence of complete destruction.
Putting a spotlight on the superfluous dusting – with fancy white dresses and frilly horseshoes – on something as meaningful as promising to love and honour someone for the rest of your life.
Perhaps those ‘drown the dress’ photo shoots were his personal favourites.
In his latest triumph, he’d had the wedding couple in a swamp, having a mud fight.
The bride and groom were so covered in mud it was hard to see the ripped dress or the hairstyle that had unravelled.
Or had it been that those details had been as superfluous as they’d always been thanks to the way the couple were looking at each other as they laughed.
The joy – the love – evident in that photograph had been why it went viral.
It was, after all, what everyone wanted.
Luc had a feeling that it was, in fact, the meaning of life itself.
D’accord…
He took a deep, slow breath. He was calm again.
He could go and meet this bride. Luc took the opportunity, as he walked back to the main entrance of the chateau, to google Zara Beaumont to give himself a heads-up on what style of photographs she might want to have seen on her Instagram feed.
It didn’t take long to realise that she would want to be selling the dream.
Pure romance in the dream setting with not a single curl of hair, perfect flower, or fold of a veil out of place.
The clatter of the metal lid of a rubbish bin made him look up from the screen of his phone as he walked between the old stables and a kitchen garden.
Someone was dumping rubbish. Or trying to.
In this normally unseen part of the grounds, the amount of detritus was challenging the methods for disposing of it.
Bins were overflowing. Empty champagne bottles were piled in an amusingly drunken heap.
Luc could imagine his wedding couple sitting on those dirty cobbles, between the overstuffed bins, looking at each other as if they were the first people ever to find treasure in an infinite sea of trash.
He put his phone away and took out his faithful old Leica camera to snap a few frames of the scene that had captured his imagination.
Then he remembered what had been instantly obvious online – that it was Zara’s lifestyle focus on simple perfection and creativity coupled with respect for heritage and tradition that had made her famous and, with a heartfelt sigh, he let go of the spark of passion that was still glowing in his heart.
The stone stairs and the pigeonnier were exactly what was needed today.
Maybe he could let Greg take the credit for this wedding album?
And maybe, with a bit of luck, he could also let go of any lingering desire that things between himself and Sophie Spencer could be different.
At least he hadn’t felt the same waves of hatred that had filled the space between them the last time he’d stood in front of her. If anything, she’d almost looked frightened. Of him. Once upon a time that would have broken a piece of his heart, but not today.
She no longer had that kind of power over him.
And nobody else ever would.
* * *
Sophie was with Zara when Luc finished his scouting mission and called Tilly to let her know he was ready to meet the bride.
The lead hairdresser was adding the final touches to a masterpiece of loose braids and twists of Zara’s long blonde hair, which had been drawn into a central braid that traced her spine.
Tiny tresses had been teased free, cut to different lengths and then curled into ringlets to frame her face and add to a rustic, natural style that was only a little more formal than the messy bun of the ‘wake-up’ shoot.
Hairpins decorated with tiny silver leaves and pearls were being positioned as Luc entered the room.
Every head turned and a silence fell that felt like a collective breath was being held.
He took his hat off as he came into the room and his sunglasses were already hooked into the neckline of that black tee shirt that fitted like a second skin.
When had Luc developed this… what was it?
Charisma? An ability to enter a space and simply take command.
The small voice in the back of her head had a scornful note.
As if you didn’t know exactly what kind of spell this man was capable of casting…
The change in the atmosphere was astounding. For Sophie it created an unwelcome tension with a hard knot forming in her stomach, but a rapid scan of the people closest to her revealed that the entrance of Le Phénix was having a very different effect on other key players in the room.
Zara was frozen mid-gasp, her hands clasped under her chin, her eyes huge.
Raven held his camera aloft but he wasn’t looking at it.
Perhaps he’d captured Zara being thrilled that this famous photographer was here – for her – but now the camera was sinking and he was simply staring at the man whose sheer presence seemed to be sucking the oxygen from the room.
Was he aware of a similarity that only emphasised differences?
Was he seeing the embodiment of what he’d been striving to project as his own?
But there was nothing Goth or contrived about Luc’s image.
He had no need to dye his hair black or wear chunky silver jewellery.
He was simply born to wear black and exude a confidence that came from not giving a damn what others thought of him.
He was the effortless epitome of a rebellious bad boy, right down to the aviator sunglasses hooked on to his tee shirt.
For just a heartbeat, Sophie could see something totally unguarded in Raven’s face.
Something so strong she might have taken a step back if it hadn’t been hidden so quickly that she had to wonder if she’d imagined it.
She couldn’t interpret what it had been.
It could have been disgust. Or the complete opposite. Desire?
The bridesmaids recovered first, looking away from the newcomer to exchange meaningful glances and smiles with each other. Raven’s face was again reflecting that air of ennui he had probably been cultivating since puberty, but he was moving closer to take photographs of Luc greeting Zara.
‘What a superb choice of venue,’ Luc was saying.
‘Greg’s so sorry he can’t be with you on this special day but I promised I will honour his commitment.
I’ve found some stunning backdrops around the chateau and gardens.
Let me show you.’ He held a very professional-looking digital camera so that she could watch him scrolling through some images.
‘The chapel is key, of course, but look at these stairs and the outbuildings – the old stables and this pigeonnier. Vraiment joli, oui?’
‘It looks perfect… but…’ Zara caught her bottom lip between her teeth as she gave Luc a glance that should have melted any man in her vicinity.
Apart from Raven, apparently. He was still watching Luc, who had a polite half-smile on his face.
‘But…?’ he coaxed Zara.
‘But what I really want… as well as the usual shots, which I know will be completely amazing… is something that only Le Phénix could pull off.’
Good grief, Sophie thought. Was Zara actually batting her eyelashes?
She was certainly dropping her voice to an intimate, low tone but Sophie was close enough to hear every word.
‘Something that will go mega-viral,’ she whispered. ‘For both of us…’
Sophie’s gaze flicked to Luc’s face in time to see the spark of connection.
An interest in why he was here that hadn’t been there a moment ago.
A glow of something that she could feel in her own gut.
Something deep and personal and usually so well-hidden that nobody would ever see it and, even if they did, they would have no idea of its significance. Or power.
But Sophie did.
The spear of sensation deep in her gut came from nowhere and was almost overwhelming. For a nanosecond it was no more than an echo of that glow in Luc’s eyes but then it exploded and somehow managed to reach every cell in her body in less than a heartbeat.
No…
This couldn’t happen. She was not going to allow it to happen.
Which meant she had to do something right now.
Because she could feel that spell drifting towards her.
Still a breath away from settling on to her skin but already touching every one of her senses.
Good grief… it felt like if she touched her tongue to her lips, she would be able to taste it.
Sophie had reason to be thankful that Luc’s presence was still commanding everyone’s attention. She was quite confident that no one had noticed her slipping out of the room.