the life choices I’ve made.’
What about you?
Though his dad didn’t say it, the question was there, lurking in his shrewd stare.
Archer had led a charmed life. No regrets.
A peal of laughter floated on the air and he turned, seeing Callie as if in slow motion, with her head thrown back, her hair streaming behind her. Her laughter was loud and boisterous and genuine, and he could have sworn his heart turned over.
He’d lied. He did have one regret in his life. Walking away from this incredibly striking woman.
The real question was, would he make the same mistake twice?
‘Settling down isn’t all bad.’ Frank’s genuine smile alleviated the tension between them. ‘Happens to the best of us. Just ask your brother.’
Archer winced as he saw Travis doing the Time Warp with his bride. Trav gawky and awkward, Shelly laughing so hard she clutched her sides.
‘Think about what I’ve said, son.’ Frank nodded towards Callie, who glanced up at that moment and waved. ‘You’d be a fool to let a woman like that slip through your fingers for the sake of a footloose, fancy-free lifestyle. Times change and so do we. We move with them or get left behind.’
As Callie moved towards them, Frank chuckled and nudged him in her direction.
Archer didn’t know what to think. His head was spinning with what he’d learned; his heart was reeling from the possible truth.
Did he dare give up one dream to trust his heart and follow another?
‘I’VE never had a Christmas like this,’ Callie said, staring at the table in amazement.
Covered in crisp white linen, crimson tealights, vases filled with decorative baubles, sparkling crystal, shiny silverware and tiny handmade wreaths sprinkled with silver glitter, it stretched from one end of the marquee to the other.
‘Trav and Shelly wanted a combined Christmas-wedding theme, but I think Mum commandeered the decorations.’ Archer pointed overhead at the liberal mistletoe hanging from strategically placed hooks. ‘She’s always gone the whole hog with Christmas. It’s the same every year.’
‘It’s beautiful.’ Callie cleared her throat, embarrassed by the sudden surge of emotion making her want to cry. ‘You’re lucky.’
He must have caught her hint of whimsy and he clasped her hand. ‘How do you usually celebrate?’
‘Low-key,’ she muttered, instantly ashamed of her bitterness.
She’d tried to take her mum on day-trips, especially on special occasions like birthdays and Christmas, but Nora had deteriorated so fast over the last few years it had become easier to stay in.
Her mum had been so distressed last Christmas that she’d made Callie promise not to do it again.
So celebrations these days consisted of snuck-in takeaway Thai and luscious chocolate cake from Brunetti’s, carols on her iPod and a lot of forced cheerfulness when neither of them really felt like celebrating.
Even their gifts had gone the way of practical rather than indulgent. That hadn’t stopped her buying an e-reader Nora could swipe with a fingertip, special organic cream for her crêpe-like skin, and her favourite chocolates this year.
She’d ordered online a few days ago, when she’d been flushed with happiness after her escapades with Archer at the beach.
If she was going to live in the moment, she wanted her mum to also.
Now, with her heart deliberately sealing itself off and her impending departure in the morning, she wondered if she’d been foolish and frivolous.
‘Guess it’s hard celebrating when your mum’s so sick.’
‘Yeah.’
He stared at her with blatant curiosity and she wished she’d kept her mouth shut. What better way to ruin their last evening together than to rehash her dysfunctional family’s past? Especially in the face of his familial warm and fuzzy perfection.
‘You don’t want to talk about it?’
She shot him a grateful smile. ‘I’d rather focus on this.’
She waved towards the table as the first guests trickled in from the other entry. ‘It’s really beautiful.’ On impulse, she kissed him on the cheek. ‘Thanks for coercing me into accompanying you to this wedding.’
He had the grace to look sheepish. ‘Sometimes a guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do.’
That motto applied to girls too, and for tonight she’d drink, dance and be merry. And later, she’d spend an incredible night in Archer’s bed, hoarding away memories she’d always cherish.
She hadn’t had the opportunity last time, had deliberately banished their time together courtesy of his abrupt break-up. And she’d had more important things to worry about since, like her mum’s illness.
Yet for all her reservations about getting involved with him again this week she was glad she’d done it. The last seven days had shown her that the guy she’d thought she’d known in Capri she hadn’t known at all. Archer was caring and intuitive, and he had vulnerabilities like the rest of them, and discovering his hidden depths had guaranteed she fell for him.
That was another thing she was glad she’d done: confronting him with her feelings. While she still wished things could have been different, the outcome wasn’t unexpected. How could a guy who’d been emotionally shut off from his family for years commit emotionally to her, when realistically they’d known each other for only two weeks eight years apart?
‘There is a way you can thank me properly.’
‘How?’
He slid an arm around her waist and tugged her close. ‘Look up.’
‘Beautiful hand-crafted wood beams, red-gum panelling—’
‘Mistletoe,’ he murmured, a second before he kissed her—a ravishing, soul-reaching melding that left her breathless and clinging to him when he eased away.
It was only then that she registered the hoots and claps of the Fletts.
She blushed, while Archer waved towards the clan, squared his shoulders and escorted her to pride of place with the rest of the family at the head of the table.
As he pulled out her chair and caressed the back of her neck, a sliver of longing lodged in her shielded heart.
What would it be like to belong to a family like this? To be surrounded by love and laughter? She’d never known it, and she’d never felt her deprivation so acutely as now.
Her dad had done that to her—taken away any semblance of a happy family upbringing—and while she’d given up on him a long time ago it was moments like these when she could easily throttle Bruno Umberto.
She could thank him for her dark hair and eyes, her love of pasta and her quick-fire temper, but there was little else Bruno deserved her gratitude for.
The self-absorbed man who’d now married four times, who lived life on the edge and loved the same way, had breezed in and out of her life like a flitting butterfly.
Since Nora had been diagnosed he hadn’t been near them, and the odd e-mail didn’t cut it.
The genetic testing had proved she hadn’t inherited the mutated gene from her mum. Luckily she hadn’t inherited something far more deadly from her father.
His selfishness.
She’d be there for her mum whatever it took, whatever she had to sacrifice, however much it