And he’s not supposed to look likethatwhen he does it.
“There was a lot of sneaking around. Back doors, private dinners. I think you liked that, didn’t you?” He looks back at me. “All the secrecy.”
“Not quite as much as you,” I say sweetly. “You love a good secret.”
His eyes narrow, but he holds up his glass toward me. “To pulling it off,” he says.
I touch my glass to his. “And having them all fooled,” I say.
It’s too close to the truth, perhaps. But the others laugh, and I knock back half of my drink.
“It’s impressive,” Sylvie says. She’s not as quick to smile as the others around the table. Her eyes see much. Probably more than Rafe and I would like her to. “And your marriage neatly solved that little…corporateissue, too.”
I reach for a slice of focaccia. Emotional support bread. “It was a big problem between us in the beginning, I won’t lie. Trying to handle being together while also negotiating for Mather & Wilde’s future…”
It feels like the table is holding its breath, and the only thing I can hear are the soft waves lapping against the pier behind us.
This is the crux of it. The reason they don’t believe us; the reason the world doesn’t believe us.
“We had been talking about going public anyway.” Rafe looks at my hand, resting on the table next to my Bellini.
Don’t. Don’t…
And yet. It would help sell it.
I turn my palm up, and he sees it as the invitation it is. Rafe puts his large hand over mine. His skin is warm and a bit rough, and there’s a curious bruise on one of his knuckles. The one right next to where a gold signet ring sits.
“I didn’t want to hide her anymore,” he says.
When I’m anxious, I try to focus on the physical sensations around me. The feeling of the earth beneath my feet, the wind against my skin, the chair holding me up.
But right now, that sensation is his hand holding mine.
“It was the right time. When Rafe proposed, I…” My eyes drop to his fingers. “Well, it was the best day of my life. It solved everything we’d been working so hard at. It was a leap of faith, but I’m so glad we made it.”
My words are sweeter than the Bellini I’m drinking. So sweet it makes my teeth ache. We’ve overshot. We must have, but I look away from Rafe to see the others nodding along. Enzo is smiling a little. Leelyn is looking at us intently, her head cocked.
Sylvie’s eyes don’t give a single thing away.
“What I’m really upset about,” Vittoria says, “is yourwedding. Here I’ve known you since you were eight years old, Rafe, and I wasn’t invited.”
“The courthouse photos were tragic,” Sylvie says.
“Abominable,” Leelyn agrees. “You looked gorgeous, of course, Paige. But you both looked miserable.”
“It can’t have been theirrealwedding,” Enzo chimes in. He’s a famous fashion photographer, gray streaks through his hair and silver rings on his right hand. “Legal, sure. But not the celebration. Rafe Montclair would never, no. Not in a New York courthouse.”
They all look at us.
I look at Rafe.
He doesn’t hesitate. His lips curves up in a crooked smile. “Of course not. Our real wedding ceremony will be here in Como.”
Vittoria claps her hands and Enzo cheers. Several of the others lift their glasses.
“Excellent,” Sylvie says. “I’ll make the wedding dress, Paige. Don’t worry about a thing.”
“Caterers, sweetheart. Do you have caterers? I can call Antonio. He books up months in advance, but he’ll make an exception for you,” Vittoria says.
