Modern Romance July 2015 Books 5-8. Louise Fuller

worry about work—as of this morning I am suspended.’

      ‘Bella?’

      ‘I got in a lot of trouble,’ Bella said. ‘I spilt an ice bucket on a guest’s lap when I was delivering the breakfasts to the room.’

      ‘An ice bucket.’

      ‘It was mainly cold water. I tripped but his girlfriend kicked up a fuss and called for the manager. It was a simple accident. The room was dark. I didn’t see him—or rather they didn’t hear me come in with breakfast... They were otherwise engaged.’

      Sophie looked up to the sound of venom and mischief in Bella’s voice and her mouth actually gaped for a moment before speaking.

      ‘You threw a bucket of iced water over Matteo?’

      ‘I did.’ Bella grinned. ‘So, you see, now I am free to be at your wedding and I’m going to make your the wedding dress. Sophie, you’re going to be the most beautiful bride.’

      ‘Even if he doesn’t get to see me?’

      ‘Oh, he’ll see you,’ Bella said. ‘I’ll make sure Matteo takes a few pictures as you arrive.’ She hugged her friend and recited a Siclian saying. ‘“Di guerra, caccia e amuri, pri un gustu milli duluri.”’

      In war, hunting and love you suffer a thousand pains for one pleasure.

      ‘The pleasure will be yours,’ Bella said.

      ‘It won’t be, though,’ Sophie said.

      She was tired of the old ways, tired of false pride and sayings that spoke of revenge.

      She was tired, so tired of hollow victories.

      Maybe she had grown up.

      Sophie wanted the man she loved.

       CHAPTER SIXTEEN

      SOPHIE’S FLIGHT BACK to Bordo Del Cielo was very different from the one she had taken when she had left.

      Then she had been nineteen—confused, hurting, angry and just so glad to be getting away.

      Now she was confused but the hurt was different.

      Paulo was asleep in the bedroom area; Bella was sitting in one of the luxurious chairs with a curtain around her because she didn’t want anyone to see the dress she was making for her friend.

      Sophie sat beside Luka, staring out of the window and watching the land she wanted to love but which had cost her so much come into view.

      ‘I was wrong,’ Luka said, and she turned.

      ‘Oh, you are so wrong,’ Sophie said. No doubt he was talking about something else but all she knew was that he was wrong not to give them this chance.

      Luka gave a soft, wry laugh as if he knew what she was thinking. ‘I thought you were lying when you said that you were an events planner but I know few women who could organise a wedding in a couple of days.’

      ‘It’s easy to when you know...’ Sophie shrugged. ‘Well, let’s just say I’m not too worried about how the cake is going to look and whether Teresa has had enough notice.’ She looked right into his eyes. ‘How could you even consider doing this to him, Luka?’

      ‘How could you have done this to us?’

      His words didn’t confuse her, they ate at her instead.

      She remembered standing on the beach, confused and ashamed and shouting, when their mouths should have been kissing.

      She remembered hurling the sins of his father at him when she should have loved him first.

      The plane came in to land and they sat in silence, but as they hit the tarmac, as they hurtled down the runway, Sophie didn’t care if the plane lifted now and took them away.

      But it came to a halt and they were home.

      ‘I’m not perfect...’ Sophie turned to him ‘...but I’d fight for us.’

      ‘Nice speech,’ Luka said. ‘Tell me, though, Sophie—when did you ever fight for us? Did you come to my father’s funeral? You would have known I had no one, the hell it would be to come home...’

      ‘I was going to,’ Sophie said, ‘but I had just found out that my father was terminally ill.’

      ‘He still is,’ Luka replied, unmoved. ‘You’ve held up the death card and I’m here. That’s not an excuse not to show up on the day you would have known I needed you the most.’

      He accepted no excuses for her carelessness with their love.

      Did she sit there now and tell him the truth?

      That he was right?

      It hadn’t been her father’s illness that had stopped her contacting him.

      Did she tell him she couldn’t have afforded it?

      Would a man like Luka accept as an excuse that she’d had no money? That he’d have had to wire her the fare?

      ‘Did you fight for us on the beach, when I pleaded with you to come with me?’ Luka asked.

      ‘No.’

      Her single word moved him. She did not kick up with her usual defence as to how he had shamed her in court.

      ‘So when did you fight for us, Sophie?’

      ‘I’ll fight now.’

      Luka said nothing.

      He just stood as the passengers disembarked.

      ‘I’ll see you to your home,’ Luka said.

      It was a strange ride.

      Her father never stopped coughing. There was the angel of death in the car with them and turned backs on the streets as Sophie looked out.

      Yet it was home.

      And it was somehow beautiful.

      ‘Do you remember...?’ She stopped.

      Eight years old to his fourteen, she had found Luka crying for the first and last time, washing blood from his face in the river.

      ‘Did you fall?’ she had asked.

      ‘Yes, I fell.’

      They had sat eating nectarines and she had looked at his bruised, bloodied nose and closed eye.

      ‘One day,’ Sophie had said, ‘you will be taller than him.’

      ‘Who?’ Luka had asked, because then he had still been loyal to his father.

      ‘Taller than any man in this town,’ she had said.

      ‘I remember,’ Luka said, and she did not turn or jump to the sound of his voice.

      Here it felt normal.

      Here they were as entwined as the vines and the roots beneath them.

      They passed the school where she had left at fifteen to work in the hotel.

      ‘I cried the day I left,’ Sophie admitted. ‘I wanted to learn all the poems. I wanted to sort out the maths...’

      ‘You have the cleverest head on the planet,’ Luka said.

      ‘Yet I can’t work us out.’

      ‘We’re here,’ Bella said, and Sophie looked as they turned from the hotel and into her street.

      It was the same, except different.

      The neighbour’s house had changed and was tastefully renovated. ‘It smells of London.’ Sophie winked as she waved to her weekender neighbours.

      ‘I’ll leave