Falling for the Bridesmaid
Author
Sophie Pembroke
Reads
15,4K
Chapters
22
Chapter One
THE SWEET SMELL of rose petals filled the evening air, giving the falling dusk a sultry warmth. Music sang out from the band on the patio, romantic with just an undertone of sexy. Fairy lights twinkled in the branches of the trees and inside the marquees, and around them leaves rustled in the still warm breeze.
The whole set-up was so perfectly loved-up Violet thought she might be physically ill if she had to suffer through it a moment longer.
Glaring down at her lavender bridesmaid’s dress, she slunk to the edge of the celebrations where she could watch the live band play in peace. She needed to make more of an effort to enjoy the evening, and maybe the music would help. Her parents’ vow renewal ceremony had been beautiful, and the party that followed a huge success. Later, she had no doubt, her dad and the boys from The Screaming Lemons would take to the stage and wow the remaining guests all over again, even though they’d finished their official set an hour ago. Knowing Dad, it would probably be a lower key, acoustic set the second time around.
Keeping Dad off the stage was always more trouble than getting him on there, and he always wanted one more encore. But for now the support act seemed to be doing well enough. The courtyard in front of the stage was filled with people dancing, or just holding each other, or kissing. Falling in love.
Violet scowled and looked away.
Of course, the situation wasn’t helped by her family. There, leaning against her new husband—Lord Sebastian Beresford, Earl of Holgate, if you please—was her youngest sister, Daisy. No, the Lady Holgate now. Hard to believe that Daisy-Waisy was an honest-to-God countess, but somehow not quite as impossible to process as the slight swell of her baby bump under her carefully chosen emerald-green bridesmaid’s dress.
Just a few more months and Violet would officially be the maiden aunt of the family. Hell, she was already doing the church flowers most weekends, and taking tea with her mother’s ‘ladies who lunch’ crowd. Maybe she should just skip straight ahead to adopting a three-legged cat and taking up crochet.
Actually, she’d quite like to learn to crochet, but that wasn’t the point.
Seb rested his hand against his wife’s stomach, and Daisy’s soft smile grew into a fully fledged grin as she tilted her face for a kiss. Violet turned away, suddenly embarrassed to be staring.
But unfortunately her gaze just landed on Rose and Will, looking equally wrapped up in each other. Her twin sister and her best friend. Violet had to admit she really hadn’t seen that one coming either. An attraction, perhaps, or maybe even a fling. Not that Will would give up his runaway groom status for good and marry into her family. But there Rose stood in her own wedding dress, after sneaking away for their own secret marriage ceremony once their parents’ vow renewal service was over.
Maybe she just had no sort of love radar at all. Or maybe it was broken. That would explain a hell of a lot, really.
Will glanced up at just the wrong moment and, this time, Violet couldn’t look away quick enough. Even staring pointedly at the band, she couldn’t miss the whispered conversation between Rose and her new husband. Probably trying to decide whose responsibility Violet’s hurt feelings were now.
Violet sighed. It wasn’t that she wasn’t happy for her sisters—she really, truly was. And she knew that their happiness shouldn’t make her own sorry situation feel so much worse. But it did.
Swallowing, she looked down at her feet, and the high heels pinching her toes. It would pass, she knew. Any day now she’d be able to look at all the happy and loved-up people around her and just smile, without the bitter tinge that threatened to colour her whole world.
That day just wasn’t yet, that was all.
‘She thinks you’re cross with her, you know. Or me, possibly,’ Will said, standing beside her with his hands in his pockets. Such a familiar sight at these events. Usually Will’s presence was a comfort, a reliable soul to help her through the amused looks, the only half-whispered comments, and the occasional drunken suggestion from guys she barely knew but who clearly thought they knew all about her—and her sexual proclivities.
Today, though, he was just a reminder that things wouldn’t ever be the same again.
‘Cross with Rose?’ Violet asked, mustering up a smile. ‘Why on earth would I be cross with her? For stealing you away from me? Good riddance, I say.’
The startled look on Will’s face told her she’d misjudged something very badly.
‘Uh, no. She thinks you’re mad because you got landed with picking up that reporter guy from the airport tonight, so you’re missing out on the good champagne. That or the whole Benefit Concert thing.’
Ah, that. Yeah, that would make more sense. Especially since she hadn’t been completely silent about her unhappiness that the reporter was coming at all.
‘I hadn’t really...you think she stole me away from you?’
Violet gave him a withering stare. ‘Yes, Will. I’ve been lusting after you, pining away for you through every one of your ridiculous engagements and runaway groom stunts. And now you’ve finally married my sister, I don’t think I will ever recover.’
Her deadpan delivery apparently sold it because Will laughed with obvious relief. ‘Good. That’s...okay, then. And you’re not mad about the reporter either?’
‘I’m mad about the champagne. Otherwise, I’ll cope.’
‘You’re sure? I know you’re a little...’
Violet tried to guess the word he was avoiding saying. Nervous? Worried? Paranoid?
Probably paranoid.
‘Apprehensive about him coming,’ Will finished.
Violet sighed. Apprehensive wasn’t the half of it. But her dad had made up his mind that he wanted to tell his story, have that official biography on the shelves, and he’d picked this guy to do it. Rose had looked at her with worried eyes when he’d announced it, but even she admitted it made sense to do it now, ahead of the new tour and album. The reporter guy would have exclusive access, in-depth interviews and enough connections to get a real buzz going in the media.
‘Rose says he’s nice,’ Will tried. ‘They met in New York before she came home.’
‘I’m sure he’s a doll,’ Violet replied. It didn’t matter who he was. He was press, and only interested in them as a story, as something he could sell.
Violet had learned that lesson the hard way.
Will frowned. ‘Maybe if you talk to your dad...’
Shaking her head, Violet gave him a gentle smile. ‘It’s fine. I promise.’ Dad had made up his mind and that was it. As always. Nothing Will, Daisy, Rose or Violet could do to change it. And so there was no point dwelling on it. She’d just stay out of his way as much as possible and hope for the best.
What else could she do?
‘And about the Benefit Concert—’ he started, but Violet cut him off.
‘Go on, Will.’ She pushed against his arm. ‘Go whisk Rose away on your honeymoon. I’ll take care of things here, I promise. Since you’ve apparently already texted the reporter guy my phone number, he’s my responsibility now, and I think I can manage one airport pick-up. You two go relax for a bit. Get used to being married for once, instead of just temporarily engaged.’
‘Okay. See you soon, kid.’ With a quick hug and a peck on the cheek, he headed back towards Rose, and Violet was alone again.
As usual.
She hadn’t exactly lied to Will, she decided. She had never thought of Will as husband material—or even one-night stand material. He was worth far more to her as a friend, and she’d never felt that spark, that flash of something more that hinted that they could be anything else.
It was just kind of weird that he obviously felt that flash with Rose of all people. Her so-identical-it-was-actually-spooky twin sister.
Although, really, she should be used to people seeing something in Rose that they never saw in her. After all, hadn’t their parents made Rose stay home instead of going back to the States after Daisy’s wedding, just so she could organise their vow renewal ceremony and party? Even though Violet had been right there, with time on her hands, happy to help?
Not that she was bitter. She knew why they hadn’t asked—because they’d been sure she wouldn’t want to do it. Wouldn’t want to have to deal with so many people, so many knowing eyes.
And they were probably right.
Will hadn’t thought about that as he’d told her where to find Rose’s black planner, though, and asked her to make sure everything kept ticking over for the annual Huntingdon Hall Benefit Concert while they were away on their honeymoon. Maybe he’d just been too caught up in the flush of true love to think about it. Or maybe he expected her to hand it over to some agency person, hired to cover Rose’s job.
Maybe she should. After all, she knew absolutely nothing about how to organise a concert for thousands of people. Will had insisted that Rose had already done all the hard work, that there’d be practically nothing left for Violet to do.
Because obviously otherwise they’d have found someone more competent to put in charge.
Violet shook her head. She was being ridiculous. She hadn’t wanted to organise the vow renewal anyway. Or the Benefit Concert, come to that. She had other obligations. But now that Rose had told their dad she’d be stepping down from her job managing the PR and events for The Screaming Lemons once she got back from her honeymoon...well, someone would have to do it. And Violet couldn’t ignore the very small part of her brain that thought that person could be her.
No. She had no experience, and no desire to deal with people who laughed at her behind her back all day long. She’d just stick to things she knew she was good at. Like arranging flowers, thank you very much.
The flower displays she’d designed for the vow renewal were, she decided, by far her best displays yet. Lots of exotic blooms in deep jewel colours. Striking and memorable, just like her parents. Her flowers rocked, everyone said so.
There you had it. Twenty-seven years on the planet, and that was all she could say about herself.
Violet Huntingdon-Cross—kick-ass flower arranger, wannabe crocheter. Potential cat lady in waiting.
No, that wasn’t all. That was just all that other people saw—and she was happy to keep it that way. She made a difference in the lives of young people and teenagers every day, even if no one ever knew it was her. After all, if word got around that Violet Huntingdon-Cross was manning the phones at the troubled teen helpline, their calls would skyrocket with people wanting to ask her about her own past, or just talk to a minor celebrity—and the kids she really wanted to help wouldn’t be able to get through at all. So she helped where she could. Even if she wished she could do more.
Her parents did the same, helping out charities anonymously when they could. The only difference was, they also did enough charity work—as well as music and the occasional modelling gig respectively—in public that everyone assumed they already knew everything there was to know about Rick and Sherry Cross.
But with Violet...well, Violet could only imagine what they were still saying about her. Probably the nicest was that she’d become a recluse.
Still, that was a hell of a lot better than what they’d been saying about her eight years ago.
Pulling her phone from her tiny clutch bag, she checked the time and then double-checked the email Will had sent her from Rose’s account with the reporter guy’s flight details. Thomas Buckley...that was his name. She must make an effort not to just call him reporter guy all the time. Although it never hurt to have a reminder that the press were press and always on the record, whatever they said. Not something she ever wanted to forget again.
Time to go. She’d get changed out of her bridesmaid’s dress, grab the ridiculous name card Rose had left for her and be at Heathrow in plenty of time to grab a coffee before his flight landed. And, best of all, she wouldn’t be stuck in romance central another minute.
Moving towards the side door to Huntingdon Hall, Violet paused as she caught sight of her parents, dancing in the light of the just risen moon. So wrapped up in each other that the couple of hundred people watching, who’d come all this way to celebrate with them, might not even be there at all. Sherry Huntingdon and Rick Cross were famously crazy about each other, but it wasn’t until Violet caught them in moments like this that she really believed the media hype.
And that, she finally admitted to herself, was the real reason all this love stuff was getting to her. Deep down, she’d always believed that she’d just fall into a perfect relationship like her parents had, like both her sisters had now found too.
Instead, she’d got something else entirely. Like anti-love. The sort of relationship that tore up your insides and made you someone else. After that, if she was honest, Violet wasn’t sure she’d ever have the courage to try again.
Her phone rang in her hand and Violet answered it automatically, glad for the distraction. ‘Hello?’
‘I was under the impression that you, whoever you are, were supposed to be meeting me at the airport about twenty minutes ago.’ The American drawl made Violet’s eyes widen. The reporter guy. Except Rose’s email had him landing in an hour and a half. Dammit!
‘I’m so sorry, Mr...’ Oh, God, what was his name?
‘Buckley.’ He bit the surname out. ‘And I could care less about apologies. Just get here, will you? I’ll be in the bar.’
And, with that, the line went dead.
Picking up her skirt, Violet dashed for the garage and prayed no one had blocked her car in. She’d have to borrow one of her dad’s if they had. No time to change now, or even pick up that specially made name card of Rose’s. If she ever wanted to be relied on for more than flowers, she needed to not screw this up. And since the bad impression she—and by extension her family—had made on the reporter guy was already done, she needed to find a way to fix it. Starting with getting to Heathrow as fast as humanly possible, before he started drafting his story. She knew journalists. The truth seldom got in the way of a good story, and once they thought they knew all about a person it was almost impossible to convince them otherwise.
And Violet had already earned the Huntingdon-Cross family enough bad press to last a lifetime.
