Adored (58 page)

Once the torturous service was finally over, all the key players were ushered out onto the steps for formal photographs. As best man, Max was standing within a few feet of the bridesmaids, so it was impossible for Siena to ignore him completely.

He glanced across at her and gave a tentative nod of acknowledgment. She nodded back before hurriedly turning her attention to the photographer. Please God, just get this over with.

“Right.” Caroline’s cut-glass English accent pierced through the excited hum like a dart from a blowpipe. Everybody turned to listen. “I’d like a picture of the bridesmaids, please. Oh, and Maxie, darling, you too. Chop-chop! The bridesmaids and the best man.”

Like two zombies, Max and Siena edged reluctantly closer together. Max, his heart pounding, frantically scanned the crowd for Helen but couldn’t see her anywhere. Meanwhile, Siena practically hurled Liza, the only other adult bridesmaid, between herself and Max. But Caroline, never famed for her sensitivity, intervened. “No, no, no,” she said bossily. “Max in the middle, big girls on either side, little girls at the front. Come on, you lot!”

Stupid cow, thought Siena. Stupid, stupid cow. She hadn’t seen Hunter in donkey’s years, and now she was acting like the star of the fucking show. Why couldn’t she just fuck off back to England and leave them all alone?

Max, who knew Caroline a little better, suspected that her rearrangement of their places was entirely deliberate. She’d made it clear at Batcombe that she was fully aware of his feelings for Siena, the meddlesome old witch. Unfortunately, he was in no position to argue with the mother of the groom and shuffled around Liza to do as he was told.

He and Siena were now side by side. He could feel her bare arm brushing against the dark wool of his suit and could have fainted with longing. Where the fuck was Helen when he needed her? She was supposed to be protecting him from this. That was why he’d brought her with him, for God’s sake. Even now, despite their physical closeness, or perhaps because of it, Siena refused to look at him. He could feel himself sweating beneath his too-tight morning coat. Evidently, its lucky properties had run out.

This was torture. He wanted to reach out and pull her to him, and never, ever let her go again.

“Say cheese!” said Caroline brightly.

The camera flashed and caught for posterity the image of four smiling girls, and two wretched souls gazing in miserable desperation into the distance.

“Oh, Max, there you are.”

Siena’s heart leaped into her mouth and stayed there. It was the girl. She was even more stunning close up, with her creamy-white cheeks and liquid blue eyes that made her hair look even more goddesslike than it had from a distance, and her clinging raw-silk dress showing off her tall, lean body in all the right places. Siena didn’t think she had ever felt so much hatred for another human being.

“Are you done with the pictures?”

She didn’t sound very French.

“Yes, yes, I think so.” Max sounded relieved, thought Siena. Probably pleased to be able to get away from her at last.

“Helen, this is Siena,” he mumbled, somehow managing to introduce the two of them without making any eye contact. “Siena, Helen.”

Siena opened her mouth to say something. How do you do, pleased to meet you, anything. But suddenly, as if an elastic band had just snapped inside her, she found the words had stuck in her throat, and the tears that she had been holding back for so long began pouring out of her in an uncontrollable flood. Oh Jesus. What must she look like?

She looked from the girl to Max and back again and was horrified to hear herself emit a sort of howl, like a dying animal.

She had to get out of there. But there was nowhere to go. A solid wall of photographers hemmed her in on all sides.

Pushing her way past Caroline and the other bridesmaids, she turned and ran, sobbing, back into the empty church, slamming the heavy wooden door behind her. It was her only chance of escape.

“Siena!” Hunter started after her, followed by a concerned-looking Tiffany.

“Oh my goodness,” said Helen. “D’you think she’s all right?”

But Max was too quick for all of them.

“No, leave it,” he said, pushing past Hunter and barring his way. “This is between me and Siena. I’ll go.”

He stepped inside. Immediately, the cool, dank air of the church, smelling faintly of extinguished candles, incense, and the lingering miasma of a hundred different perfumes, assailed his senses. For some reason, the smell reminded him of England, of home.

At first he couldn’t see her. It was gloomy with the doors shut and all the lights out, and his eyes took a moment to adjust from the glaring sunshine outside. But then he heard a stifled sob and saw a tiny figure curled up in a ball at the foot of the pulpit, half hidden by a vast spray of white bridal lilies.

“Go away!” she wailed as she heard footsteps approaching. “Please. I just want to be alone.”

The footsteps kept coming, louder and louder, with a firm male tread. When she looked up and saw it was Max, she put her head in her hands and moaned even louder. He squatted down on his haunches beside her and waited for her to look up at him. When she did, her beautiful dark blue eyes were still wet and glistening with tears, and she was biting down on her lower lip to prevent it from trembling. She looked ten years old again.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Siena sniffed, wiping her eyes briskly with the back of her hand. “You didn’t,” she said quickly. “It was . . . something else that upset me. Really, I’m fine.”

“Oh.”

He frowned, disappointed. How arrogant she must think him for assuming her tears would be over him. After all, she had hundreds of reasons to be feeling overemotional on Hunter’s wedding day. “Okay,” he said awkwardly. “Well, er, do you want to talk about it? Can I help?”

He noticed that she had pulled her mane of hair forward to cover the scars on the left side of her face. Without thinking, he reached his hand toward her and pushed it back again.

“Don’t,” she said, hurriedly placing her hand over his.

She felt the familiar warm roughness of the back of his hand. The physical sensation of his skin against hers was so powerful she almost stopped breathing.

Oh God, what was she going to do? She loved him so much.

Neither of them released the other’s hand.

“Why not?” His voice was deep and gentle, like a caress, and when he spoke, he never took his eyes from hers. “You look beautiful. So beautiful.”

“Please.” She pulled away from him with another involuntary sob and cringed back behind the lilies. Max sat down on the cold stone of the altar steps beside her. “I don’t look beautiful.” He could hear the anguish in her voice. “I look horrific.”

“That’s not true,” said Max.

“It is!” she insisted. “You know it is!”

“Siena . . .” he began again, his voice breaking. How could she possibly think she looked anything other than perfect to him?

“Max, no,” she said desperately, putting her hand across his mouth.

His kindness—his sympathy—was more than she could bear. Especially with his girlfriend waiting outside for him. At last, all pretense at self-control went out the window.

“Please don’t say any more,” she implored him. “I don’t want your pity! I know what I look like now, and I know who I am, all right? And, and . . .” she stammered. “Whatever has happened between us in the past, however awfully I’ve behaved”—she wrung her hands together desperately, unable to look at him—“we loved each other once.”

Max felt the tears stinging his own eyes. “Oh, darling,” he began, but she wouldn’t allow him to speak.

“And I want to remember that the way it was. The way I was. I know that you’re happy and settled with someone else now.” A solitary fat tear rolled off her cheek and splashed noiselessly down onto the gold silk of her dress, spreading into a dark, round patch across the top of her thigh. “And she’s beautiful, absolutely beautiful, and she seems very nice and everything as well . . .”

“Siena,” he tried to interrupt her, but she knew if she didn’t say this now, she would never find the strength again.

“And her English accent is really good for a French girl,” she found herself adding irrationally, unable to stop the words from coming now that they had started.

So
that
was it, thought Max. She thought Helen was Freddie. But how did she even know about Freddie?

“I’m happy for you, Max, truly I am,” she went on. “Hunter already told me all about her, Helen, is it? You deserve someone decent and kind, someone who loves you and will treat you—”

“Siena!”

He bellowed the word so loudly that it echoed around the empty church, bouncing off the walls like the booming voice of God. She looked up at him, startled.

“I don’t know what Hunter has told you,” he said. “But Helen is not my girlfriend. She’s just a friend I’ve known for years. I brought her here because . . .” He hesitated. “Well, because I thought I might need a shoulder to cry on. Moral support. Or something.” He was having difficulty getting the words out. “Because I knew I’d be seeing you again. And I didn’t know if I could handle it.”

She looked at him blankly. She’d heard what he said, but she couldn’t quite take it in.

“There is no one else, Siena. There was someone for a while, but it ended. Months and months ago.”

For a moment she couldn’t speak at all. When she did, her voice was so hoarse, it was almost a whisper. “Why?”

“Because I love you,” he said quietly, reaching down for her hands and pressing them both in his. What was the point of denying it now? “Because I never stopped loving you. And I know I behaved appallingly, and there’s no reason why you should ever forgive me, for Camille or anything else, let alone love me again. But I need you to know.” He gazed at her solemnly. “That I’ll always love you, Siena. And I’ll always be here for you whenever you need me. Even if it’s only as a friend. I just want to be near you.”

Could it really be true?

Did he really still love her? Even now, after everything?

She looked across at his beautiful face as if it were a dream. The floppy blond hair, the broken nose with its perpetual smattering of freckles, the soft, loving eyes, searching her own anxiously for a response.

“Max,” she whispered, almost to herself.

“Siena,” he said. “My darling, darling Siena.”

Suddenly she found herself leaning toward him, her fingers wrapping themselves around the back of his neck, her lips locking with his into the kiss that both had fantasized about for so, so long.

When they finally, reluctantly released each other, Max sighed and slowly allowed his face to relax into an enormous, boyish grin. “I want to pinch myself,” he said. “I can’t quite believe this is real.”

“I know,” said Siena, leaning forward to kiss him again, this time on his forehead, eyes, nose, and chin. She needed to remember every inch of him. To never, ever let him out of her sight, or her arms, again.

Just then, the huge wooden door of the church creaked open, and a shaft of brilliant, blinding sunshine burst in on them, lighting up their embrace like a theater spotlight on Romeo and Juliet.

“Oh, sorry.” It was Hunter, silhouetted awkwardly in the glowing doorway. “I thought I’d come and see if Siena was okay. But, er, I see things are, er, are all fine. So I guess I’ll just leave you guys to it.”

The door swung shut again with a clunk, plunging them back into welcome darkness. Max wrapped his arm around Siena’s waist and pulled her even closer.

“Do you think it would be
terribly
wrong,” he began.

“What, in a church, you mean?” she said, allowing her hand to slip joyfully beneath the waistband of his suit pants in response to his embrace, feeling his desire for her as strong and powerful as her own. “Oh yes.” She smiled. “
Terribly
wrong. Unforgivable, really. Especially for a good Catholic girl like me.”

“Yes, I thought so,” said Max, easing her gently down onto the cool stone floor and positioning himself above her, face-to-face. “Shame.”

For a moment she felt a stab of disappointment. Surely, after so long, he wasn’t going to make her wait? But she relaxed when she looked up and saw him gazing wickedly down at her. Now,
that
was a look she remembered. Painfully slowly, he began peeling the gold silk dress from each of her shoulders in turn.

“Still,” he said, kissing her softly on the mouth and feeling her squirming beneath him with pleasure. “There’s always confession, isn’t there?”

Siena grinned. “Confession? Absolutely,” she said, kissing him back for all she was worth. “Absolutely.”