Page 15 of An Italian Wedding Adventure

To his surprise, Kira smiled and whacked him on the arm. ‘You think? God, your head is harder than rock. But the merger has happened. If you’re so certain neither of you wants to start things up again, maybe you should clear the air?’

Hedidn’twant to get back together with Sophie. Those few months with her had been the most intense relationship of his life, but they’d only proven he wasn’t built for forever, especially since their paths had diverged so dramatically since. When Kira said, ‘Clear the air,’ all his hair stood on end and he wanted to run.

But unfortunately, Kira was right. He glanced in Sophie’s direction, catching her eyes on him, although she dropped her gaze so quickly, he could have laughed. Colour blossomed on her cheeks. She looked so neat and untouchable, with her gold hoops and chic white blazer. He still wanted to touch her – to ruffle her hair and smear off some of her lipstick until he could see the woman she’d been back then, the woman he missed, even though he shouldn’t. Whether she liked it or not, they had to talk.

6

The group was slightly too large for the booth. Ginny was wedged in at the back next to Tita, who was trying fruitlessly to engage the sullen photographer in conversation. He appeared to be a man of even fewer words than Andreas and he’d had no compunction about bursting Tita’s bubble in the earliest moments of their acquaintance with his insistence that he wasn’t a wedding photographer. He only photographed nature and never people, which Sophie couldn’t help thinking was an indication of his opinion of humanity in general.

The other guide, a sandy-haired giant of a man called Laurie, whose upper arms were as thick as Ginny’s thighs, had sensibly pilfered a chair and settled himself at the end of the table, rather than squashing those enormous shoulders in next to her. She couldn’t tell if he was genuinely intrigued by the idea of working at weddings or if he was mocking them. His banter with Kira suggested the latter.

Sophie’s first glass of wine went down a little too easily, even though she knew it wasn’t smart to dull the awkwardness with alcohol. Conversation had split into two separate tranches – climbing and weddings, with no natural crossover – and that was all before the main discomfiture of the evening was heralded by the arrival of Andreas.

She spent all her energy arranging her features to appear normal and forcing herself not to look at him. Of course she eventually did, summoning the frustration that had been simmering for six weeks. Even with a grim expression, he snared her gaze so completely until she found herself tracing the shape of his false smile and the lines at the corner of his eyes.

He looked very cosy with Kira, but she refused to feel anything about that – or at least, not to admit it. That Andreas Hinterdorfer had casual relationships with whoever was available wasn’t new information. She forced her eyes away again.

She was staring into her glass, wondering if it was sensible to order another, when Andreas suddenly loomed close. Giving her a nudge that was far too casual – and still sent the nerves in her skin into overdrive – he said, ‘Shuffle over?’

Blinking back surprise, she did as he rudely requested, tugging her wine glass with her as though it could protect her. He eyed her as he shrugged out of his quilted jacket. He was wearing a T-shirt underneath, despite the temperature hovering in single digits. When he leaned his forearms on the table, her eyes were drawn to the spiderweb of cords in the muscle, his large, rough hands and blunt fingertips, the nails worn down to stubs and pink sports tape wrapped around his forefinger.

Squashed as they were in the booth with the monosyllabic photographer, Andreas’s shoulder pressed into hers, every thought flew from her brain except memories of the times she’d sat tucked under his arm while his friends conversed boisterously around them.

A waiter appeared to take their next drinks order and Sophie’s throat was too thick to say anything, so she just clutched the stem of her glass as though she weren’t finished. Andreas ordered an unsurprising espresso. His answer to everything was espresso.

‘How’s it going?’ he murmured without looking at her, after the cup was placed in front of him, so tiny in his hands, it looked like a novelty item. She’d learned back then that climbers’ bodies actually changed in response to their training. Andreas’s prodigious forearms had developed over time to help keep him alive.

‘Not exactly a house on fire,’ she mumbled in response.

‘Give it some time,’ he said softly, bringing the cup to his lips and taking a sip.

Sophie couldn’t resist eyeing him expectantly as he moved the scalding liquid over his tongue. When he set the cup down again with an accompanying grimace, she snorted a laugh.

‘Still not used to coffee made in England?’

He eyed her. ‘I keep hoping they’ll make a decent one.’ He frowned into the cup before knocking back the rest of it.

‘Were you trying to reassure me that we’ll turn this ragtag band into a wedding dream team just with a little time?’ she prompted him sceptically.

‘We?’ was all he said in response.

She gritted her teeth. ‘I— Me, then.’ Of course there was no ‘we’. She scratched one neat nail over the base of her wine glass, hoping, praying that one day she would no longer be such a wreck simply because Andreas Hinterdorfer was sitting next to her.

He turned his head and sighed, deeply enough that she felt the air moving over her blouse. ‘I thought we needed to talk?—’

‘You thought? I need you tostoptalking about it – the past.’

‘But I can see it in your eyes every time you’re thinking about… us.’

Her cheeks burned and she bit into her bottom lip while ferociously focusing on her wine glass to stem the urge to cry – or yell, or any of the emotional reactions that would undermine her much-needed professionalism.

‘I thought I’d explained myself back then, Sophie. But if it’s still difficult for you?—’

‘God, thank youso muchfor explaining my feelings to me!’ She snapped her mouth shut when she noticed that all conversation around the table had died and there were four pairs of eyes glued to where she and Andreas were sparking dangerously. The photographer just stared awkwardly into his beer.

Andreas stood so suddenly, she had to steady herself and her hand caught, wedged between the back of the bench and his jeans-clad bottom. She hadn’t needed to know that part of him was still rock-solid.

‘We’ll be back in a minute,’ he said, groping for her hand and peeling it away from his jeans. Sophie was surprised his stomping footsteps didn’t make the building shake. She might have resisted, especially since his hand was still curled around her wrist, except now shedidwant to talk – or she wanted to tell him where he could stuff his patronising bullshit. It was better that they weren’t overheard.

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