Peyton smiled at the boy. ‘Juliano, you look magnificent!’ He was dressed in a mini-tux and was the spitting image of his father.
With the boyishness and dimples of his father’s cousin.
Juliano stood a little higher. ‘Nat says I’m handsome.’
‘Nat is 100 per cent right.’
Juliano beamed. ‘Is McKenzie sick?’
Peyton shook her head, saddened that it was such a natural conclusion for Juliano to reach. ‘No. She’s at home with her grandparents.’
Juliano’s face fell. ‘I wanted to ask her to dance.’
Peyton’s heart just about melted and she pulled Juliano in for a big hug. ‘You are so sweet. I see you have your father’s charm.’She glanced at Alessandro, who winked at her. ‘Another time, huh?’
Nat had wanted McKenzie to be her flower girl but Peyton had declined. The truth was, crowds made Peyton nervous for her daughter. As an ex-prem with chronic lung disease and poor immunity, every single person was a potential source of infection, a silver bullet to McKenzie’s weak defences.
It just wasn’t worth the risk.
‘Okay.’ Juliano nodded, squirming out of her embrace. ‘See ya,’ he chirped, and ducked away, heading for the dance floor.
Peyton watched him, smiling even though her heart ached. What would she give for her daughter to be so able-bodied, so carefree? She returned her attention to her phone and replied to her mother’s text.
Promise you’ll ring if there’s a problem.
It took five seconds for the reply.
I promise.
Peyton texted back.
Anything at all. No matter how trivial.
Sending the message, she waited for the reply, tension tightening her stomach muscles. She knew people thought she was too uptight about her daughter but what did they know? It wasshewho lived every day with the reality of McKenzie’s fragile health, not them, and one thing was for certain – being vigilant had kept McKenzie alive.
With the operation only a couple of months away now, Peyton was determined to keep McKenzie healthy and avoid any more delays. It had been rescheduled three times already.
No more.
The phone vibrated in her hand and Peyton opened the message.
I’m switching the phone off now. Go and have fun. That’s an order.
Peyton smiled. She’d obviously stretched her mother’s patience enough for one night. Thank God for her parents. She would never have got through the past few years without them.
A nearby tinkling of cutlery on glass cut through the low murmur in the reception room and Peyton glanced to her side to see Alessandro and Nat at their places, ready to address their guests. Determinedly, she pushed all thoughts of the outside world aside and motioned for the waiter to bring her another glass of champagne.
Half an hour later, Peyton was sitting again at the bridal table after politely circulating for a while when the man she hadn’t been able to stop staring at pulled up the chair beside her, brandishing a bottle of champagne.
‘So,’ he said, leaning in a little as he topped up her half-full glass with some more sparkles, ‘I believe it is a custom in your country for the best man and the maid of honour to dance the bridal waltz together.’
His voice was low and far too close to her ear, his barely noticeable accent lending a slight burr to his tone, and Peyton’s body reacted as if he had suggested something much more risqué than a customary dance in front of a room full of people. It took all her willpower not to melt into a puddle. Not to smile and let free her inner flirt.
She used to be a good flirt. About a million years ago. Peyton was pretty sure she wouldn’t have a clue how to go about it now. And why would she choose to do so with a man who was so clearly a player, after her experience with Arnie?
The bitter burn of memories was never far from reach.
‘That’s right,’ she said, refusing to look at him, focusing instead on the bubbles meandering to the surface of her champagne.
