href="#u47982a5f-4910-5e0c-89df-7749942c2916">Extract
THE BEAST PRESSED his snout against Hannah McGinley’s car window, the glass instantly fogging up. ‘Good doggy, off you go, now,’ Hannah called out, trying to sound in control but also cheerful—the last thing she wanted to do was anger this beast any further. Her arrival on the driveway of Château Bonneval had already caused him to run alongside her car like an entry at the Grand National, his incessant barking almost causing her to drive into one of the hornbeam trees lining the long avenue.
As a farmer’s daughter from Shropshire, she’d been told time and time again she’d no cause to be so scared, but no amount of cajoling from her family had ever rid her of her terror of even the smallest of dogs, never mind the donkey-sized version staring at her right now as though he couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into her.
Looking in the direction of the front door of the château, Hannah willed someone to come out and rescue her. Surely they had heard the beast’s hound-from-hell baying?
Not for the first time, Hannah wondered at her decision to agree to travel to France to act as the celebrant at her best friend Lara’s wedding blessing. An easy, joyful decision in most circumstances, but not when you had dated and fallen in love with the best man and brother to the groom, Laurent Bonneval, only for him to end it all. And the worst part of it all was that the wedding was taking place in his home—Château Bonneval. Why couldn’t it at least be at a neutral venue? Her only hope was that they would be surrounded by others all weekend and she would manage to project the air of calm professionalism she’d been rehearsing ever since Lara and François had travelled to London from Manchester, where they lived, just to ask her to be their wedding celebrant.
Though moved beyond words that they trusted her to perform their wedding blessing, especially given the fact that she was so new to being a celebrant—this would only be her fourth wedding—she’d asked if they were really, really sure it was she they wanted to be the one to perform the ceremony. Lara and François had exchanged a tentative glance before Lara had leant across the table of Hannah’s local Richmond coffee shop, and touched her arm. ‘You’ve been my best friend since we were seven.’ Pausing, Lara had given her a half-smile, one that had asked Hannah to understand, to trust her. ‘It would make our day even more magical to have you bless our marriage.’
Tears had blinded Hannah for a moment as she’d remembered how Lara had waded in on her first day at Meadlead Primary School and told Ellie Marshall and her gang to mind their own business when they had interrogated Hannah during the break with endless questions as to who she was, why she was joining the school in the middle of term, why she was so skinny. Frozen inside, confused by everything in her life, Hannah had been taken aback at just how grateful she was to Lara when she’d led her away from her interrogators. For weeks after, she’d remained silent. And while that had garnered her endless suspicious glances and whispered words behind cupped hands from the rest of class, Lara had cheerfully chatted away, her quirky humour and buoyant outlook on life thawing Hannah’s numb heart.
That day in the café in Richmond, Hannah had turned to François, her heart as usual jolting in remembrance—some of François’s features were so like Laurent’s: the thick dark wavy hair, the strong and proud Gallic jawline, the wide, high cheekbones, the clean blade of a nose. ‘Will...?’ She tried to form the word Laurent, but it stuck in her throat and refused to budge. Eventually she managed to mutter, through a false smile, ‘Will having me as the celebrant be okay with all of your family?’
François’s eyes were different, a softer, more forgiving blue, none of the striking, pain-inducing brilliance of Laurent’s. The care in his eyes had matched his gentle tone when he had answered, ‘Laurent is to be my best man,’ but Hannah had still felt it like a whip to her heart.
She’d looked away from the discomfort in both Lara’s and François’s expressions, hating that they had been put in this position. Their wedding should be a carefree celebration, not tainted by the fact that she’d foolishly fallen in love with Laurent, confusing his Gallic charm and romantic gestures for a sign that he’d felt what she did, that he too had wanted more.
In the months after he’d left London to return to the family business and château in Cognac, telling her before he left that he didn’t want to continue their relationship, she’d puzzled over the overwhelming effect he’d had on her. The pain, the disappointment, the humiliation had been so engulfing she’d struggled to comprehend it all. Was it the fact that he was the first man she’d ever truly fallen in love with? Which admittedly was pretty tragic at the age of twenty-nine. But up until then, she’d never met anyone who had quickened her heart, who had communicated so much with a glance, who intrigued her.
At first she’d resisted the chemistry between them, her age-old need to protect herself holding him at arm’s length. But in truth she’d been changing and had been more receptive to allowing someone into her life. She’d chased security and stability throughout her early twenties, desperately needing the safety of establishing her career in finance and buying her own apartment. But as she neared thirty, she’d realised she wanted more. A more free life, a more optimistic life. One of taking chances and not being so afraid. And into this new way of thinking and daring to dream had walked Laurent Bonneval. The brother of her best friend’s new boyfriend. And he’d swept her off her feet. But ten months later he’d left her with a broken heart.
But that heart was now mended and firmly closed to Laurent Bonneval’s charms.
Hannah jumped as the beast’s tail hit against her door panel as he turned and bounded away, disappearing around one of the château’s fairy-tale turrets that sat at each corner of the four-storey building.
She breathed out a sigh of relief. But then her heart plummeted to the car floor. From around the corner, sprinting at first, slowing to a jog when he took in her car, came Laurent, the beast at his side.
Stopping, he raised a hand to shield his eyes from the low evening sun. Behind him his shadow spilt across the gravelled drive, his tall, broad frame exaggerated.
She waited for him to move. Tried not to stare at the fact that he was wearing only running shorts that revealed the long length of his powerful legs and a lightweight vest top that showcased the taut, muscular power of his broad shoulders and gym-honed arms. His skin glistened with perspiration.
Heat formed in her belly.
He moved towards her car.
Her heart somersaulted.
She grasped for the window control and buzzed down her window a couple of inches, only then realising how stifling the car had become as she’d been held hostage by the beast. She longed to run a hand through her hair, check her make-up in the mirror. But she resisted giving him any sign that she cared how she looked in his eyes.
He came to a stop a few feet away from the car. The beast came to heel at his command. ‘Hannah...’ Her heart pinged at the concern in his eyes. ‘Are you okay?’
The low, intimate sound of his voice almost undid her. Memory after memory rushed through her brain—how he used to leave her voicemails that had her blush and giggle. His mouth against her ear when they would be out with others, whispering a compliment, a promise. The Saturday mornings when they used to cycle to their favourite French bakery in Putney Heath and eat breakfast while playfully flirting, her legs trembling when his fingers would stroke her hand, her arm, her cheek, before he would suggest that they head home. His murmured words when they made love afterwards that had swelled in her heart and burst like joyful bubbles in her bloodstream.
Hannah breathed in deeply. She was over him. She had to remember that fact. Her focus now was on deciding which direction her life should take. Stay in her career in finance either in London or Singapore or take the risk of becoming