He's a cynic. She's a romantic. One deal, one wedding, and one gigantic secret stand between them.
**
Harper Lane wants to believe in true love. After her parents split, she began photographing evidence of it. Couples holding hands. Valentine's Day...
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The first round of guests arrived on Thursday.
Diana's best friend (and Alisdair's mother), Margaret. Lawson's family. David's long-time business partner. Only family and close friends were invited to the Thursday night cocktail party. Not, Harper thought wryly, that it took any of the pressure off; she'd still spent most of the day running around with armfuls of streamers and Italian wine.
And Diana was even worse.
To her credit, Diana had taken the bedbug incident surprisingly well. Too well. Her stepmother had spent the last 48 hours very calmly meeting with the caterers, attending last-minute dress fittings, and greeting guests. Then Harper had gone into the kitchen at three o-clock in the morning for a glass of water and found Diana mashing a bowl of fish.
"Smoked salmon mousse," Harper explained now, leaning closer to the mirror. "She was prepping a tray of canapés."
They were standing in her bathroom, surrounded by pots of glittery make-up, discarded heels, and tissues stained with lipstick. Cass — who was in the process of yanking on a black pump — frowned.
"Doesn't she have a catering team?" Cass asked.
Harper swiped on mascara. "They didn't add enough salt, apparently."
"Shit."
"I know," Harper said. "I won't be surprised if Diana redoes the whole menu on Saturday."
Cass held a hoop up to her ear. "Do you want me to get Pembrooke to talk to her?"
Cass's smile was wry. "Exploding things, no doubt."
Cass leaned closer to the mirror. Her dress — a burnt orange number that plunged low in the front — tipped dangerously forward. Her blonde hair was swept up in shiny clips, and she was wearing only moisturizer and blush. Not because she didn't like make-up, Cass had explained, but because she couldn't be arsed to take it off later.
Which, you know.
Fair enough.
Harper swiped on lipstick. "How'd you two even meet, anyway?"
"Pembrooke and I?" Cass put on a hoop earring. "I don't know. We've been friends for so long that I can't remember not knowing him." She dropped her hand. "Our parents — mine, Pembrooke's, Dalton's and Granville's — were friends at uni. They all got pregnant at the same time."
Harper capped the lipstick. "Did you go to Wilder Academy, too?"
"Oh, no," Cass said, looking amused. "It's an all-boys school. Not for lack of trying, though; I begged Mum for weeks to let me go. Imagine my fury when she explained that I couldn't get in because I don't have a dick."
"Seems unfair."
"Exactly." Cass started on the second earring. "And it was always like that, you know? Whatever the boys did, I wanted to do it, too. Climbing the highest tree. Eating the spiciest pepper. I wanted to prove that I could do it better than they could."
