her bag, her eyes never leaving his. ‘I will never forget what you’ve done for me, Francesco. You have my undying gratitude.’
As she turned to leave, he called out after her, ‘Your sister—she has the same family name as you?’
She nodded.
‘I’ll leave word that Melanie Chapman’s hen party is to be given priority at the door on Friday.’
A groove appeared in her forehead. ‘Okay,’ she said slowly, clearly not having the faintest idea what he was talking about.
‘Your sister will know what it means.’ A half smile stole over his face. ‘Tell her she’ll be on the list.’
‘Ah—on the list!’ The groove disappeared. Somehow the sparkle in her eyes glittered even stronger. ‘I know what that means. That’s incredibly lovely of you.’
‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ he dismissed, already regretting his impulsive offer, which had come from where he knew not, but which unsettled him almost as much as her kiss.
Francesco never acted on impulse.
That same serene smile that had curved her cheeks when she’d lain on the road spread on her face. ‘I would.’
He watched her walk away, his finger absently tracing the mark on his lips where she’d kissed him.
For the first time in his life he’d done an unselfish act. He didn’t know if it made him feel good or bad.
HANNAH STARED AT the queue snaking all the way round the corner from the door of Calvetti’s and sighed. Maybe the queue was an omen to stay away.
No. It couldn’t be. Even if it was, she would ignore it. Just being this close to his sanctum was enough to send her pulse careering.
Meeting Francesco in the flesh had done something to her...
‘Come on, Han,’ her sister said, tugging at her wrist and breaking Hannah’s reverie. ‘We’re on the list.’
‘But this is the queue,’ Hannah pointed out.
‘Yes, but we’re on the list.’ Melanie rolled her eyes. ‘If you’re on the list you don’t have to queue.’
‘Really? How fabulous.’ She’d thought it meant getting in for free—she had no idea it also encompassed queue jumping.
Giggling, the party of twelve women dressed in black leotards over black leggings, bright pink tutus and matching bunny ears hurried past the queue.
Three men in long black trench coats guarded the door.
Melanie went up to them. ‘We’re on the list,’ she said with as much pride as anyone with a pink veil and bunny ears on her head and the words Mucky Mel ironed onto the back of her leotard could muster.
Hannah had guessed Calvetti’s was popular but, judging by Melanie’s reaction, she could have said she’d got VIP backstage passes to Glastonbury. Her sister had squealed with excitement and promptly set about rearranging the entire evening. Apparently Calvetti’s was ‘the hottest club in the country’, with twice as many people being turned away at the door than being admitted.
Luckily, Melanie had been so excited about it all that she’d totally failed to pump Hannah for information on the man himself. The last thing Hannah wanted was for her sister to think she had a crush on him. It was bad enough knowing her entire family thought she was a closet lesbian without giving them proof of her heterosexuality—one sniff and they’d start trying to marry her off to any man with a pulse.
The bouncer scanned his clipboard before taking a step to one side and unclipping the red cordon acting as a barrier.
‘Enjoy your evening, ladies,’ he said as they filed past, actually smiling at them.
Another doorman led them straight through to the club, which heaved with bodies and pulsated with loud music, leading them up a cordoned-off set of sparkling stairs.
Her heart lifted to see one of the man mountains who’d been guarding the club the other afternoon standing to attention by a door marked ‘Private’.
Surely that meant Francesco was here?
A young hunk dressed in black approached them and led them to a large round corner table. Six iced buckets of champagne were already placed on it.
‘Oh, wow,’ said Melanie. ‘Is this for us?’
‘It is,’ he confirmed, opening the first bottle. ‘With the compliments of the management. If you need anything, holler—your night is on the house.’
‘Can I have a glass of lemonade, please?’ Hannah asked, her request immediately drowned out by the hens all badgering her to have one glass of champagne.
About to refuse, she remembered the promise she’d made to herself that it was time to start living.
She, more than anyone, knew how precarious life could be, but it had taken an accident on her bike for her to realise that all she had been doing since the age of twelve was existing. Meeting Francesco in the flesh had only made those feelings stronger.
If heaven was real, what stories would she have to tell Beth other than medical anecdotes? She would have nothing of real life to share.
That was something she’d felt in Francesco, that sense of vitality and spontaneity, of a life being lived.
Settling down at the table, she took a glass of champagne, her eyes widening as the bubbles played on her tongue. All the same, she stopped after a few sips.
To her immense surprise, Hannah soon found she was enjoying herself. Although she didn’t know any of them well, Melanie’s friends were a nice bunch. Overjoyed to be given the VIP treatment, they made sure to include her in everything, including what they called Talent Spotting.
Alas, no matter how discreetly she craned her neck, Hannah couldn’t see Francesco anywhere. She did, however, spot a couple of minor members of the royal family and was reliably informed that a number of Premier League football players and a world-championship boxer were on the table next to theirs, and that the glamorous women and men with shiny white teeth who sat around another table were all Hollywood stars and their beaus.
‘Thank you so much for getting knocked off your bike,’ Melanie said whilst on a quick champagne break from the dance floor, flinging her arms around Hannah. ‘And thank you for coming out with us tonight and for coming here—I was convinced you were going to go home after the meal.’
Hannah hugged her in return, holding back her confession that she had originally planned on slipping away after their Chinese, but that the lure of seeing Francesco again had been too great. It had almost made up for the fact Beth wasn’t there to share Melanie’s hen night. She wouldn’t be there to share the wedding, either.
The wedding. An event Hannah dreaded.
She felt a huge rush of affection for her little sister along with an accompanying pang of guilt. Poor Melanie. She deserved better than Hannah. Since Beth’s death, Hannah had tried so hard to be the best big sister they both wished she could be, but she simply wasn’t up to the job. It was impossible. How could she be anything to anyone when such a huge part of herself was missing? All she had been able to do was throw herself into her studies, something over which she had always had total control.
But now her drive and focus had been compromised.
Never had she experienced anything like this.
Hannah was a woman of practicality, not a woman to be taken in with flights of fancy. Medicine was her life. From the age of twelve she’d known exactly what she wanted to be and had been single-minded in her pursuit of it. She would dedicate her life to medicine and saving children, doing her utmost to keep them alive