That plan was also a little tricky to execute. Rafe and her mother greeted Romano and drew him into the conversation. Jackie had no choice but to stand and smile and hope against hope that Lizzie would send for her to fulfil some last-minute bridesmaid’s duty.
As the discussion turned towards hot new designers to watch, Jackie’s attention moved from the outrageous flirting on the part of the older generation to the interaction between father and son. She’d never thought of Romano as being particularly family-oriented. He didn’t have those heavy apron strings most Italians had to tie them to their families. But there was a clear bond between him and his father these days. Quick banter flowed easily between them, but it never descended into insults or coarseness. They both had the same mercurial thought patterns, the same sense of humour.
Jackie became suddenly very conscious of the lack of even polite conversation between her and her mother. They didn’t know how to relate to each other without all their defences up, and the realisation made her very sad.
If only she could work out how Romano and his father did it, she might be able to analyse and unpick it, work out how to reproduce it with Kate.
The need to have more than an awkward truce with her daughter hit her like a sledgehammer. She was so tense around Kate, even though she tried not to be. But the knowledge that she’d failed her daughter pounded in her head during their every meeting, raising the stakes and making her rehearse and second-guess everything she said and did. And the feeling that it was all slipping through her fingers just added to the sense of desperation every time they were together. And the more desperate she got, the harder it seemed to be natural.
She wanted her daughter to like her. Needed her daughter to like her. Maybe even love her one day.
Sudden jabs of emotion like this had been coming thick and fast since she’d reconnected with Kate and, to be frank, she was feeling more than a little bruised by all the pummelling she was giving herself. She’d never had to keep such a lid on herself, do so much damage control to keep the illusion of omnipotence in place.
She made sure none of her inner turmoil showed on her face, pulled in some air and slowly let it out again without making a sound.
Back in the here-and-now, she joined the conversation again, but even that was difficult. She could feel Romano watching her. She tried not to look at him, tried to let her eyes go blurry and out of focus if she needed to glance in his direction, but it was as successful as trying not to scratch a mosquito bite. Eventually she had to give in, and the more she did it, the more she needed to do it again.
Even when she managed a few moments of victory and maintained eye contact with Rafe or her mother, she could sense his gaze locking onto her, pulling her. Her skin began to warm. The outsides of her bare arms began to tingle.
She made the mistake of glancing at him for the hundredth time and, instead of the warm sparkle of humour in his eyes, they were smouldering. Her mouth stuck to itself.
How stupid she’d been to think she’d been safe from that look, that the delicate friendship they’d been threading together had wiped it from existence. It hadn’t diluted its power one bit. Romano wasn’t looking at her like a friend. He was looking at her as if he wanted to…
No. She wasn’t going to go there.
One problem with that, though: she wasn’t sure that she wasn’t returning that look, measure for measure.
It was just as well he’d decided that today was the day he was going to make his move. The way Jackie looked in that dress—his dress—made it impossible to wait any longer.
When he’d first spotted her walking through the gardens with the rest of the bridal party, he’d actually held his breath. It looked perfect on her. Exactly as he’d imagined it would when it had been nothing more than a fleeting image in his head and a quick sketch on the page. Exactly the same, but at the same time so much more.
She brought life to his design, made it move, made it breathe.
Of course he’d seen hundreds of his ideas translated into fabric and stitching before, but not one had had this impact on him. Not one. It was more than just the fit. Jackie’s dress—the romantic bodice, the gently flaring chiffon skirts—brought out a side of her he’d thought she’d lost.
Jacqueline Patterson, Miss Editor-in-chief, was attractive in a slick, controlled kind of way, but now…now she was all curves and softness. So feminine. From the coiled hair at the back of her head with the soft ringlets framing her face, to the tips of her satin sandals. All woman.
His woman.
That thought snapped him back to the present pretty fast, to the conversation his father and Lisa and Jackie were having about sunglasses.
Hmm. He’d never had the desire to own the women who wore his creations before, or the women who flitted through his life. They were on loan—as was he. Nothing permanent. Nothing suffocating. Nothing…meaningful.
Must be an echo. Of things he’d felt long ago. Maybe once he’d dreamed of having and holding for ever. But he’d been so young. Naive. And he knew Jackie well enough to know she was far too independent to be anyone’s trophy. She’d always been that way. Seventeen years ago he hadn’t been worthy of that prize, and she’d let him know in no uncertain terms. Just as well he wasn’t interested in that this time around.
And, with his current agenda fresh in his mind, he immersed himself again in the conversation that had been flowing round him.
It was time. The fact he was letting his imagination run away with him only served to highlight how bright his desire for her was. But he still needed to act with finesse, with respect and patience. It was that instinct that had kept him hovering on the fringes of the wedding celebrations, holding back until he felt in control of himself, be close to her without dragging her into the garden.
His father turned to Jackie. ‘Ah, your glass is empty, my dear. Let us find you another.’
Before Jackie could answer her mother piped up, mentioning the need to have a stiff word with the head waiter, and their parents disappeared with a nod to say they’d be back in only a few moments.
Jackie smiled at him. Actually smiled. And it was real—not that perfect imitation she normally did. Once again he felt a tug deep inside him. Not yet, he told himself. Running headlong into this will only get you kicked in the teeth, and you will walk away with nothing. Play this right and you’ll have a summer affair hot enough to give you your own private heatwave.
‘He’s quite something, your father, isn’t he?’ she said with an affectionate glance over her shoulder. ‘I was too young and too in awe of him when I used to serve you at Sorella to realise what a charmer he is.’
He smiled back, carefully, tactically. ‘I don’t think that’s stopping your mother from falling for it again.’
‘Now that’s a scary thought.’ She looked behind her again to where her mother was tearing strips off one of the catering staff, while his father smoothed any ruffled feathers with a smile and a wink. It was an odd kind of teamwork, but strangely effective.
Jackie took a long look at their parents, then turned to look at him. She raised her eyebrows. ‘Do you think history will repeat itself?’
A sudden burst of heat filled his belly. He didn’t glance over at their parents, but kept his gaze concentrated on Jackie. ‘I’m counting on it,’ he said, his voice coming out all rough and gravelly.
Jackie, being Jackie, wasn’t swept away by one simmering look and loaded comment, but she laughed gently. He took it as a point scored.
‘I see he has taught you all of his tricks,’ she said.
Although he was tempted to laugh with her, he moulded his facial muscles into a look of mock-seriousness. ‘Oh, I think the old dog has had a bit of an education