‘Proposals, then. You could easily follow your own dream for a destination proposal business with everything you’ve learned working with me – and with all the contacts it’s given you.’
‘But this wasyourdream. To give others the wedding you never had.’
Sophie tried to smile. ‘And maybe that’s why it’s time to stop.’ She shook off an echo of Luc’s voice. ‘Maybe I’ve had enough of unfinished business.’
Her own wedding that had never been completed. But it might be best left like that. She didn’t deserve a wedding. Tom had deserved someone to love him as much as he had lovedherand she could never have been that woman. She’dwantedto be. She’d even convinced herself that it might happen one day. She would fall in love with Tom and that pull towards Luc would somehow simply magically evaporate.
‘Maybe…’ Sophie swallowed hard. ‘The only wedding I really want to plan is my own and that’s never going to happen now.’
‘Don’t say that,’ Tilly begged. ‘Please…’
‘It’s true. There’s only one man I’m ever going to want to marry. And even if Luc still wants me in his life, being together would probably ruin his dream and I couldn’t do that to him. Iwon’tdo it to him.’
* * *
With Tilly in the house with her, Sophie resisted any pull to watch the car-crash that was the reputation of her business being ripped apart piece by piece via social media, but there was no avoiding the business emails that included one from Madame Fournier, the head housekeeper at the Château d’Orval.
She regretted to inform Sophie that Comte Lucien de Varclaire had been made aware of the new scandal and it was the final straw. The château would no longer be available for any weddings being organised by Marry Me in Provence.
Another email was cancelling the first wedding of the next summer season and demanding a full refund of their deposit. Sophie added the information to a growing list of what she needed to discuss with her bank manager in the coming days, knowing that liquidation of her business was looming.
The bad news was snowballing but, in a way, it was making it easier to handle. Sophie was feeling numb and each new blow was having less impact. It was almost a relief to think she would have no choice but to walk away from the business because she’d been telling the truth when she’d told Tilly that her heart was no longer in it. She still had to fight, however, because bankruptcy would affect the people she cared about very much and Mathilde was at the top of that list.
If she had to sell her beloved little house and leave the mountain village that she was so attached to in order to protect Tilly, then that was exactly what she would do. The thought tore a hole in the cloak of emotional protection Sophie had pulled around herself, however, and she needed to close her eyes and take a deep breath before she spoke.
‘I think we’ve done enough for today,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you go home early, Tilly and do something nice for yourself.’
‘Is that what you’re going to do?’
‘It is. I’m going to have a wander through the village and find what I need to cook something delicious for dinner. I’ll get some wine, too. I don’t care if I’m eating alone.’
‘Are you sure that’s what you want? I could stay.’
Sophie shook her head, her smile gentle. ‘I love you dearly, Tilly, but tonight I need some time to myself. I need to find something… that I can hang on to.’
The two women hugged.
‘You’ve got people who love you very much,’ Tilly said softly. ‘Like me. And Luc. You’ve got people thatyoulove. That’s all you need to hang on toen ce moment.’
Luc had said something similar, hadn’t he? When he lost his camera. His touchstone.
‘…it’s still just a thing. It’s people that matter, not things…’
* * *
Sophie left her house a short time later, her basket over her arm to hold her shopping.
The way summer drifted so softly and slowly into autumn was one of the many things she loved about the South of France. As the afternoon faded, she could still feel the warmth of the sun that had soaked into the tumbled stones of the buildings she passed, as she walked down narrow lanes and stairs, beneath archways and past fountains that were familiar markers on her route to the village shops.
Sophie had no idea what, or even if, she wanted to eat this evening but, as she passed the fromagerie and the smell of cheese tickled her nose, she suddenly craved exactly the kind of comfort food that was hot enough to burn your tongue because it was full of molten cheese. The wide shelf in the glass-fronted counter had a vast choice of cheeses – the remains of all sizes of wheels, small rounds, bowls of soft cheeses and wrapped wedges, ready to go.
‘Je voudrais de l’Emmental, s’il vous plaît,’ Sophie said, after the usual polite exchange of greetings.
‘Bien. C’est pour un gratin ou un sandwich?’
‘Un croque-monsieur.’
‘Coupé en tranches?’
