Chapter 29
‘If it was not for such good friends, I do not know what would become of her.’
Life slipped into a Fuller rhythm – a strange, gilded routine dictated by the social season, and by Chase’s moods. Work at Rivertide became my solace and anchor to the real world.
Chase landed the next day and showed up in time to shower and change.
We were the last to leave the hotel and had to jog in our wedding finery, across cobbled backstreets to make it to the church before the bride.
I held on to my broad-brimmed straw hat to stop it blowing off; Chase puffed on a cigarette while jogging.
The church was tiny, perched on a little piazza. We slipped into the last pew, next to Alice and Dylan, just as the violinist began ‘Here Comes the Bride’. Veronica came floating up the aisle in lace, looking like she belonged in a Botticelli painting.
I craned my neck and watched them make their vows. When they were pronounced man and wife they kissed in a way that was only a whisper of memory for me. I wasn’t thinking of Chase. It was Jamie, his beautiful eyes gazing into mine as our lips met.
After the service we spilled out into the Italian bright sunshine. The reception was across the piazza in a trattoria where Veronica had gone full theatrical: waiters in wings and toga-style uniforms circulated with trays of Prosecco and antipasti.
The bride’s photoshoot dragged on for what felt like hours. We were herded in and out of poses, turned this way and that, all the while in the melting heat.
Just as tempers began to fray on the hot piazza stones, an angel in a silver toga climbed onto the edge of the fountain, a halo perched askew on his head. Without ceremony, he raised two cymbals above his shoulders and clashed them together with theatrical finality.
‘Mangia!’ he shouted, and the doors flew open.
Inside, the restaurant was awash with candlelight, strands of trailing jasmine, and gauzy white silk drifting in the breeze from the open doors.
The chairs at each table were swathed in silver satin, each tied with a harp motif at the back, as if we’d wandered into Midsummer Night’s Dream.
My four-inch heels had already declared war on my feet.
I found my placeholder card at a table near the top table and gratefully sat down, trying not to wince.
‘Thank God they’ve turned on the aircon,’ said Dylan, landing in the seat beside me, sweat sheening across his forehead.
Alice sat across from me, smoothing the napkin onto her lap, then looked at the empty chair next to hers. Chase’s chair. She raised an eyebrow. I shrugged.
‘Smoking with one of Veronica’s uncles I guess,’ I said, scanning the crowded room.
The first course arrived. Then the second. Glasses were topped up, toasts clinked around the room, laughter building in warm, boozy crescendos. But the seat next to Alice remained insultingly empty.
I kept my expression neutral, nodding along to conversation, laughing when I was supposed to, but underneath, fury was building to a boiling point. Not just anger – humiliation.
My husband was making a spectacle of not showing up, as if he had something better to do. As if all this – my friends, this moment – didn’t matter to him.
He reappeared just as the puddings were being handed out. He came gliding in through the doors like he’d never been gone, a glass of red wine already in hand, wearing the kind of grin that belonged to someone unbothered by consequences.
He took his seat and lifted his glass in a lazy toast across the linen and candlelight, smiling at me like we were in on the same joke.
I smiled back through gritted teeth.
Later, we spilled back into the square for dancing. A DJ in a devil suit had taken over the piazza, horns flashing with red lights. The crowd was dancing like it was midnight in Ibiza, not a wedding in Milan.
I caught Chase by the arm. ‘Where were you?’ I asked, quiet but pointed.
‘Out back,’ he said, casually. ‘Jet lag. Didn’t feel like eating.’ A beat. ‘Didn’t you see me by the door?’
‘No. You were missed. Alice had an empty chair next to her.’
He pulled me close, swaying to the beat like we were slow dancing. ‘My English rose,’ he sang into my ear, breath warm with alcohol. ‘I need another drink.’
And then he was gone again.
Dom appeared, already dancing. ‘Come on, Flo, it’s a bloody wedding not a funeral!’ he said, spinning me into motion before I could say no. I let the music carry me, despite my throbbing feet.
Later, looking for water, I found Chase at a table near the edge of the square, deep in conversation with a tall, exotic woman in an off-the-shoulder dress the colour of rubies. She was dark-haired and smoking a slim cigarette with great drama, laughing at something Chase had told her.
‘Hey,’ I said, sitting down.
She looked me over, bristling at the intrusion.
‘This is Carmen,’ said Chase.
‘Hi, I’m Florence.’
She blinked, then looked at him again.
‘His wife,’ I added.
Carmen stood, ground out her cigarette, and left. No parting pleasantries.
‘You having fun?’ he asked, as though nothing had happened.
‘Who was she?’
‘Met her at the bar across the square,’ he said, like it was nothing.
‘So that’s where you were?’
He shrugged. ‘You’ve got your crowd here. I was just chatting.’
‘You could have tried being present.’
He leaned in, close enough for the wine on his breath to catch. ‘I wasn’t in the mood. Your friends bore me.’
‘You mean bastard.’
He stood and walked off, just like that.
A moment later, a hand landed gently on my shoulder. Alice. ‘You okay?’
I nodded. ‘Chase is being a dick.’
She didn’t press. Just gave me that quiet, steady look of hers, the one that said, I see you, even when you’d rather stay hidden.
‘Dance?’ she said.
‘Yes. Before I launch a bread roll at his head.’
She grinned, slipping her arm through mine. ‘Now that’s the spirit.’