The Truth About De Campo(50)
“But how?” he asked hoarsely, resting his forehead against hers. “How do I do it?”
“One day at a time,” she murmured, absorbing the warmth of his skin. “My mother Sile once said it’s not the mistakes we make that define us, it’s what we choose to do with them. Choose your path, Matteo. Be better than your mistakes. And know, as G’s father said, you were everything to him.”
She sat there holding him, absorbing his pain, until his body seemed to give beneath her hands. Until she thought maybe, just maybe, what she’d said had gotten through to him.
They were silent as they walked back to the hotel, ankle deep in the sea, hand in hand. She had chosen her path, was starting to make pivotal decisions which would define her future. She just wished she knew they were right. Hoped they would carry her where she was going. Because she no longer knew where that was. She only knew she couldn’t stand still any longer.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
IT WAS QUITE literally a miracle when Le Belle Bleu opened on August 5 with a VIP party that was next to flawless.
Italian marble shone in the opulent lobby, the cracks it had sustained during installation filled and polished to perfection. The connected series of fountains and pools which hadn’t been close to finished when Quinn had arrived in St. Lucia were miraculously complete and bubbling with a magical shimmer that made them flow like liquid silver. And the hors d’oeuvres from the new menu being passed out by white-coated serving staff were spectacular—decadent and full of local flavor.
Quinn stood at the edge of the crowd on the torchlit patio by the sea as the evening shifted into the later hours and took it all in. She drew in a deep lungful of air and exhaled slowly, feeling her equilibrium right itself. It was the perfect debut for the legendary hotel. The blood, sweat and tears had all been worth it.
Bar staff moved seamlessly between the groups of guests who had decamped to the fire pits scattered around the patio. A reggae band played for the dancers. The shadowed profiles of every important personality in the Caribbean gleamed in the firelight, joined by their first round of guests and the global travel press. Her mouth curved. The staff hadn’t missed a beat, polished to their own version of perfection by a newly inspired Raymond Bernard.
She might even keep him.
Lifting her glass to her lips, she took a long sip of champagne. Matteo had been right about giving Raymond a second chance. Right about a lot of things. He had brushed aside her mounting panic this past week and brought her back to earth, teaching her to take one day at a time. That with the right groundwork, everything would work out as it should.
Faith. It was all about faith, he’d told her. Not a trait she had a whole lot of experience with. But he’d inspired her to look deeper. To find it in herself. And in doing so, she had become a different person.
She sought him out in the crowd. He was talking to François and a government official, looking like the force of nature he was in a dark gray suit with an expensive sheen to it. The kind of handsome that made her heart race in her chest. Although she and Matteo had been unfailingly discreet during the day, given her inability to get hold of her father and recuse herself from the committee, every night they had come together in an insatiable melding of mind and body that had rocked her world.
It was crazy, dangerous, being with him like this but she couldn’t seem to stop her headlong plunge back into the living. Being with Matteo was like ingesting high-octane fuel when she’d spent her life running on regular. And not even her promise to end it first was penetrating the rosy glow surrounding her.
He appeared at her side as if summoned by the pull of her thoughts, magnetic, lethal, far too disconcerting. “Stop looking for things to fix,” he murmured. “The penny isn’t dropping tonight, Quinn.”
But it would eventually, wouldn’t it?
“I can’t thank you enough,” she threw into the silence between them. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”
He lifted his broad shoulders. “We make a good team.”
They did. He softened her hard edges. She made him tighten up on process when his creativity ran amuck. Their combined skills had made this night happen. One piece could not have existed without the other. And she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to always have him by her side. To always have him.
Her lashes fluttered down. That was dangerous, silly thinking. Matteo De Campo did not do permanent. And neither did she.
He gave her a long look. “Dance with me.”
She eyed him. “Not here, Matteo.”
“A dance between business partners,” he murmured, sliding an arm around her waist and ushering her through the crowd. She let him propel her through the guests, sure she wasn’t a good enough actress for this. And when he took one hand and slid the other around her waist and started moving to the sensual rhythm of the reggae, she was sure she wasn’t.