Читать книгу Secrets Of The A-List Box Set, Volume 3 - Dani Collins - Страница 12
ОглавлениеElana stepped off the dance floor with Thom, their loosely linked fingers holding them together as they crossed the beautifully decorated room. They stopped every now and then to chat with guests, accept more congratulations and give promises to get together soon with other married couples.
A cynical part of her laughed at the thought. So the women no longer thought her a threat to their marriages now that she herself was married. She supposed that was a plus.
She smiled as her new parents-in-law, Samuel and Caroline Scott, approached them.
“Do you mind terribly if we steal your husband away for a few minutes, my dear? There’s someone I’m dying to introduce him to,” Thom’s mother said with a wide smile, although the steel in her eyes told Elana she wouldn’t be taking no for an answer.
Elana had realized very quickly after first meeting Caroline that she wore the pants in the Scott household.
She nodded gracefully. Although she should’ve felt a little pissed at being excluded, she let it go. All this couplehood was great. Up to a point. She could do with a breather herself, even if this was her wedding. “Not at all. As long as you promise to return him soon.”
“Of course I will,” Caroline laughed. “Promise.”
“Save me another dance, my sweet. I’ll be right back.” Thom drew their fingers to his mouth and kissed her knuckles before he let his parents lead him away.
Elana turned in the opposite direction, relief surging through her as she realized her smile didn’t feel forced anymore. The tension headache that had threatened her earlier had eased considerably. As had that tight band of anxiety and unease that had gripped her for months now. The serious case of prewedding jitters had finally disappeared.
That certainly called for a celebration.
She saw Thom’s tuxedoed personal waiter heading for him with refreshments a second before her own personal waiter, drafted by her mother to serve only her, stopped in front of her with a single glass of champagne set on highly polished sterling silver tray.
Used to beautiful things as she was, Elana should’ve been blasé about the spectacular offer the waiter presented her with. But even she was awed right now as she paused for a moment to study the exquisite cut of the champagne glass and the four impressively large diamonds set within the eighteen-carat-gold stem, and the new name etched into the glass—Elana Marshall-Scott. Elana hadn’t officially decided on her name yet, but she liked how that looked. Decision made. Elana Marshall-Scott. That was now her. She smiled.
She knew how much the stunning piece of glassware cost after overhearing one of her bridesmaids gush over it. Even Elana had to admit she’d been impressed. She also knew there were two security guards dressed as wedding guests keeping an eye on this glass and other priceless pieces her mother had commissioned in order to give Elana the wedding of her dreams.
And it was a beautiful wedding.
That she could finally admit to the fact that she was married, and actually hadn’t ended up in the mental institution in the process of getting to the altar, sent another burst of relief through her.
Those weird moments during the ceremony with Thom’s interruption notwithstanding, everything had gone off without a hitch. She was well and truly, for better or for worse, hitched.
And for once, her mother’s smile was full of pride, with not a hint of the customary quiet despair in sight. In fact, most of the guests here were smiling approvingly.
Power players who used to treat her like an expensive but dumb ornament in the presence of her father, mother and brothers had actually stopped to talk to her like she was a human being with a functioning brain. Sure, it could be because this was her wedding and as guests they were obliged to acknowledge her, but Elana also knew that wouldn’t have stopped those who didn’t feel like acknowledging her if they didn’t want to.
A warm glow welled up within her. Had she stepped into a different class by getting herself respectable? Was this what if it felt like to be deemed responsible?
If so, she’d been an ass to worry so much because, seriously, it wasn’t too bad. In fact, she rather liked it.
She took a sip of her champagne, inhaling with a pleased inner smile. For once, she’d done something right.
She glanced around, basking in the rare moment of peace and quiet. About to raise her glass to take another sip, she paused when her gaze landed on Rafe.
He was seated alone at one of the tables reserved for Thom’s side of the family. The guests in question were on the dance floor, throwing serious shapes to a Bruno Mars number.
Her brother was half a room away from her, but even from that distance, she could tell he was shit-faced. Or making a concerted effort to get there.
She watched him jerk his head at waiter. Seconds later, a fresh bottle of Macallan M was placed before him.
Elana winced. She wasn’t so much worried that her brother was intent on drinking himself under the table with a bottle of whisky worth half a million dollars, more that he was doing it with a drink he’d professed to hate on many occasions. Rafe was strictly a tequila guy.
Making sure to keep the worried frown off her face, she started across the room, smiling her pleasant can’t-stop-to-chat smile at guests who tried to catch her eye.
She arrived in front of Rafe and stood for a good half minute before he raised his head.
He stared her up and down before he raised his glass to her. “My sister, the blushing bride,” he slurred. “No, wait.” He frowned and tilted his head. Or he tried a tilt that wobbled precariously. “You stopped blushing when you were twelve, if I recall. Right after you let Timmy Carson kiss you just so Luc and I would lose the bet that you would never let that acne-faced little twerp touch you in a million years.”
She winced. “Jesus, I could do without that memory. And keep your voice down, Rafe. I may not be your innocent little sister anymore, but I prefer you not air embarrassing stories about me at my own wedding.”
“Oh, you mean you’re actually capable of being embarrassed?” He hitched the glass to his lips and sucked down half its contents.
The words held no malice, but a tiny thread of anxiety fizzled through her anyway. Rafe had been acting odd lately. He’d said all the right words when she’d gotten engaged, and he’d been supportive in the months after. But last night something had changed. Was he not ecstatic about her marriage because he was in love with Thom? Fuck. Now was not the time, but she’d have to talk with him about this soon, get the truth, hope she’d read the look on his face wrong.
With a sigh, she skirted the table, made sure the train of her dress was tucked neatly to the side, and pulled out a chair and sat down beside him.
She set her champagne flute on the table, toying with the diamonds on the stem for a moment before she glanced at him. “Rafe, are you all right?”
Rafe paused for an infinitesimal second before he shrugged. “Sure. Why do you ask?”
“You’re drinking a lot these days. I’m worried about you. Why else would I ask?” she demanded.
“Fuck if I know,” he mumbled, staring into the dregs in his glass. “Maybe you want to pass the time?”
“Or maybe I’m finding it odd that you hate whisky and yet you’re throwing it back by the mouthful?”
“You have nothing better to do at your wedding reception than spy on your big brother, sis?”
Again there was no malice, only a haunting melancholy.
“Is this about Dad? You’re drinking his favorite drink, after all,” she said.
His mouth twisted in a mockery of a smile. “Yeah. Sure. It’s about Dad. Everything’s about dear old Dad these days, isn’t it?” This time there was a touch of bitterness in his voice.
The frown she’d tried to stop before threatened to break through. “Rafe—”
“Do you remember the time we took his Porsche out for a joyride and came back to find he’d called the cops because he thought it’d been stolen?” His chuckle was a little forced.
Elana allowed herself to be sidetracked.
“Do I remember how I was stupid enough to let you and Luc talk me into joining you on that episode of madness? That day will be branded on my memory forever. Dad just stood there, let the cops handcuff us and put us in the back of the patrol car and drive to the end of the driveway before he stopped them. I nearly pissed myself, I was so terrified.”
Rafe snorted, peering at her. “Nearly?”
She felt the first signs of a long-forgotten flush creep up her neck. “I plead the Fifth,” she mumbled.
Rafe barked out a laugh. “Don’t worry, sis. I was pissed-scared, too. I kept thinking how long it’d take before I was forced to become some skinhead’s bitch in prison.”
“Ha, you were thinking much farther ahead. I was wondering if I’d survive Mom skinning me alive when she found out what we’d done. Luc was as cool as a cucumber, though, wasn’t he?” she mused.
“Isn’t he fucking always?” The mirth had disappeared from his tone, and for a moment Elana was sorry she’d mentioned their brother. “Mr. Goddamn Perfect.”
He poured another shot. Elana placed her hand on his before he could raise the glass.
“Come on, Rafe. You’re going to wake up with a killer hangover if you keep knocking it back like that. Do you really want to miss my wedding reception that much?”
“Elana, you’re already married. I was there for the whole thing. And I wish you and Thom well. I really do, but right now I just want to be left alone to—”
“Oh my God!” Elana gripped her brother’s wrist tighter as a woman—a visibly pregnant woman—walked past a group of guests in the middle of the room. Elana only caught the side of her face, but the woman was too striking to miss or dismiss as someone else. “What’s she doing here?”
“What? Who?”
She pulled harder at Rafe, ignoring his slurred curse when the whisky sloshed over his fingers. “Over there.” She pointed to the figure weaving her way through the guests. “That’s the woman we saw at the airport!”
“What airport? And let go, would you? You’re creasing my Tom Ford,” he grumbled.
She leaned forward to catch a clearer sight of the woman. “The pregnant woman who spoke to us at Charles de Gaulle.”
Rafe frowned for a moment, then his eyebrows spiked. “No way. She’s here? Why? Do you know her?”
“No, of course not.”
He looked from Elana to the throng of guests. “Then how is she here? Are you sure it’s her?”
“Of course I’m sure. I’ve barely had a drink. I’m not as hammered as you are.”
Rafe stopped searching the crowd, glanced at her and shrugged. “Give me a couple of hours. I’ll get there just fine.”
Elana scanned the crowd for another handful of seconds. She was sure it was the woman they’d met in Paris. What were the chances of seeing two pregnant women who looked like that in such a short space of time?
Then her gaze returned to her brother. This was one of the times that she knew discretion was the better part of valor.
So she sat with him for a minute, then stood, placed a light kiss on his cheek and smiled as she saw Thom making his way toward her. She’d deal with Rafe later.
This was her wedding day. And she was determined to enjoy it.
Five minutes later she was laughing and dancing again, the strange episode of the pregnant woman forgotten.
* * *
Traditionally every wedding had to have at least one minor hiccup for it to be deemed a successful event. Whether it was misplaced wedding rings or a bridesmaid’s outfit suddenly not fitting, it was all supposed to be a blessing on the lucky couple.
Mariella had been keeping her fingers crossed mentally that Elana’s bathroom episode and Thom’s strange interruption during the ceremony was this wedding’s only speed bumps. She really couldn’t take anything else going wrong.
The six-course dinner service had gone flawlessly. Many guests, including those who considered themselves connoisseurs in food and drink, had complimented her on the excellent seared branzinoand the accompanying wines with every course. One stuck-up cow she wouldn’t be inviting to any future Marshall function had had the nerve to comment on the ethics of serving such a meal—while stuffing her face with it. Mariella had shut her down by reminding the woman of the foie gras she’d served at her last party.
She’d shed a tiny tear as she’d helped Elana hand out the personalized wedding goody bags that contained diamond tennis bracelets for the women and designer cuff links for the men to the VIP guests, then left the staff to distribute the rest to the remaining guests.
Even watching Elana and Thom cut the gorgeous ten-tier Fiona Cairns wedding cake had produced tears.
After decades ensconced in a world of superficial glitz and glamour, Mariella had grown jaded in so many ways—and had grown even more so with the recent revelations of Harrison’s secrets—but even she couldn’t help but take pride in the magnificence of the wedding she’d planned and the happiness she wished for her daughter.
And now, three hours after her daughter’s first dance, Mariella stood on the edge of the dance floor with Joe next to her and smiled indulgently as Elana walked to the middle of the spotlighted floor, her beautiful bouquet gripped in her hand.
Her daughter glanced coquettishly over her right shoulder, a mischievous grin on her face as she surveyed the sea of designer-clad single women eager to catch her bouquet.
The excitement in the air was palpable. You’d think that she was about to throw a handful of Harry Winston’s latest diamond collection into the waiting crowd rather than a bunch—albeit a twenty-thousand-dollar bunch—of flowers.
But as much as Mariella didn’t want to think too much about it, she wished Harrison hadn’t missed any of this. Regardless of the challenges they faced right now with his accident and the resulting fallout, no father should miss his child’s wedding. Deep down she was still angry, but at least she was here, watching their daughter become a woman firsthand, while he was missing everything. Damn it. Life was so unfair sometimes!
“Are you okay?” Joe asked from beside her. He hadn’t strayed far from her side all afternoon. Was she being uncharitable by wishing he was someone else right now? Yes, she was.
“I’m having a mother-of-the-bride moment. I’ll get over it.”
“No rush, my darling,” he whispered in her ear. “You’re fully entitled.”
She summoned a smile. She might be entitled to this, but what about what she was doing with her husband’s business partner and best friend? Was she entitled to that?
* * *
Dead center in the middle of the crowd, Rachel stood, her hands propped on her hips with her elbows out to give her more room on either side should she need to move to the left or the right.
The bouquet was hers. It would be an awesome conclusion to her future sister-in-law’s wedding if she were to set her own wedding plans in motion right here and now. A passing of the baton, so to speak.
She caught Elana’s gaze and smiled. Elana’s smile widened just a touch. Oh, yeah. She had this in the bag. Hell, she had the ring, and her dress could almost pass for bridal. With a bouquet in hand, how hard would it be to get Luc to make everything official tonight? What a wild thought. But God, what if?
They could elope tonight, maybe head to Vegas and be hitched by morning. She would still have the big wedding of her and her family’s dreams later, but wouldn’t it be super awesome if she could become Mrs. Luc Marshall before the weekend was over?
Her thought screeched to a juddering halt as she watched the bouquet hurtling almost in slow motion toward her. The trajectory was all wrong. And her hands weren’t even raised.
No!
Panicked, her arms jerked up, her feet leaving the floor as she launched herself into the air. And watched the bouquet sail right over her head. She landed back on her feet with her hands staggeringly empty. She felt her mouth actually drop open with the shock of her loss. Elana had winked at her, she was sure of it.
At the sound of stunned laughter and applause, she whirled around. With everyone’s attention on whoever had caught her bouquet, Rachel had a few precious seconds to tamp down her disappointment and put her game face back on. Had Elana missed her deliberately? She didn’t think so. They’d shared a look.
Was she making too big a deal of it? Maybe. Maybe not. They were just flowers, after all. But it would’ve been nice for the baton to have been passed on, as it were. Elana had to know she and Luc were serious, right?
She turned around, struggling to brush off her disappointment, and joined the crowd. Only to feel another layer of disquiet settle over her.
Of all the marginally worthy people here, Mariella’s housekeeper—the one Luc acted weirdly around, the one who kept glancing at Luc when she thought no one was looking—was the woman who’d caught what was rightfully hers? And she had the audacity to fake blush her way through the whole thing as a round of applause scattered through the crowd.
Rachel’s teeth met in a jaw-crunching clench as she fought the urge to spit out one of those curses her mother detested. She took a breath. Then another. Forced her features into neutral as a smiling Elana joined the crowd gathered around Vanessa. When her future sister-in-law placed a soothing hand on Rachel’s arm, she forced herself to swallow.
“Sorry, Rachel. I tried to throw it your way. I’m sure Luc will tell you my aim has always been atrocious,” Elana murmured.
“That’s true. Elana can’t throw for shit,” Luc confirmed.
Rachel smiled, conscious that gossip-hungry eyes were beginning to turn their way. “Oh, that’s absolutely fine, Elana,” she said in a light, airy voice, making sure her voice carried over the crowd. “After all, I’ve already said yes to my Prince Charming.” She flashed the huge diamond on her ring finger.
Elana gasped, then squealed before enfolding Rachel in her arms. A gratifying number of women who’d been hovering around Vanessa the ho-bag made a beeline for her. Satisfied that the limelight was back where it belonged, Rachel’s smile widened. As she answered the when, how and wheres that came with proposal announcements, her gaze skated over to where Vanessa now stood, her smile gone and her hand hanging on limply to the bouquet.
As their eyes met, Rachel quirked a brow at the girl.
Too fucking right. I’m the princess in this castle, bitch.
“Oh my God, Luc! Why didn’t you tell us?” Elana exclaimed.
Rachel watched her fiancé shrug as his brother and mother joined them. “It’s your wedding day, sis. You would’ve attempted to castrate me if I let my gorgeous fiancée take the spotlight away from you.”
Elana smacked him hard on the arm. “That’s for making me sound shallow. Seriously, I’m really happy for you two.”
Pleasure surged through Rachel as she accepted the congratulations.
“This is wonderful news, Luc. I couldn’t be happier for both of you,” Mariella added, bestowing a smile on both of them.
“Thanks, Mom,” Luc said, accepting a hug from his mother.
“Thanks, Mariella,” Rachel chimed in. “I can’t wait to become part of your wonderful family.”
And the sooner the better. She looked to Luc to see if he would add something more, but he was turned away, talking to his brother.
Well, she’d come this far in getting him to propose. If she had to work a little harder to get him to the altar ASAP, so be it.
“Hey, Thom, aren’t you forgetting something, buddy?” one of the groomsmen called out.
Thom frowned. “Uh...”
“The garter, numbskull. Some of us have been waiting all day to catch sight of your wife’s killer legs. So hop to it or one of us will do it for you.”
Good-natured catcalls and wolf whistles sounded, followed by a cheer. Thom executed an exaggerated bow before leading his wife back to the chair in the middle of the dance floor.
The DJ struck up a saucy number as Thom, minus his jacket, got down on one knee before Elana. With a saucy smile of her own, Elana slowly drew up her wedding gown. Inch by inch, her legs were exposed. More wolf whistles flew across the room as she extended her right leg and planted it in Thom’s lap.
A slow hike of the dress to the middle of her thigh, and the white lace garter was exposed. A few exaggerated groans from the groomsmen triggered laughter.
A smiling Thom, now on both knees, slowly drew the elastic band down his wife’s leg. Once the garter was off, he took Elana’s hand and kissed the back of it before he stood up, twirling the garter around his forefinger.
“You ready, guys?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows.
The catcalls stopped abruptly. The men scrambled to get out of his line of fire. With a wicked grin, Thom strolled around in a taunting arc, then lobbed the scrap of fabric over his shoulder.
“Oh, hell no!” Thom’s best man, Greg Dalton, jumped as if he’d been scalded with hot water, then tossed the garter that had landed on his shoulder into another group of men. The women burst into laughter as several men attempted to stop themselves from inheriting the garter.
* * *
Luc watched with detached amusement as the piece of silk traveled through the crowd. Beside him, Rachel laughed, her left hand splayed possessively on his chest as they watched the antics.
A waiter approached with a tray of champagne. He took one and handed it to Rachel. About to reach for another glass, he froze when the garter whizzed through the air and landed at the last place he wanted it.
Hell, no.
For a charged few seconds, Luc stared at the piece of silk lying on top of his polished shoe as if the thing was a snake about to sink its fangs into him. Sadly, that moment of immobility cost him dearly.
“Luc! Luc! Luc!” Relieved male voices urged him on.
He wasn’t sure what made him glance at Rachel in that moment. But there was no mistaking she was as pissed as he was stunned. Although he had to hand it to her for keeping a confident, smiling face, even while her eyes blazed blue murder at him. She really had a remarkable poker face when the occasion demanded it.
A sliver of unease whispered down his spine at the thought. He didn’t have time to dwell on the sensation, though. A crowd was gathering around him.
Which meant...
He raised his head, scanning the crowd until he saw her. Vanessa’s gorgeous eyes were filled with alarm, and she looked like she wanted to throw up.
Fuck.
Would it have killed her to look a little less terrified?
If it were any other wedding other than his sister’s, he probably would’ve picked up the fucking thing and tossed it back into the crowd. But he could feel the weight of his mother’s stare on him. The wedding everyone had stressed about for weeks had gone off with only a tiny hitch, and the last thing his mother needed was for him to fuck up the proceedings in the final stages.
He could also feel Rafe and Gabe watching him, wondering if he was going to be the dick who ruined everyone’s fun. Hell, even Joe was in on the don’t-fuck-this-up act.
Luc dragged his gaze away from Vanessa’s, slowly bent down to pick up the silk and lace. Absently, he noted its softness. Smooth. Just like her skin.
He clenched his jaw for a single moment, then inhaled a steadying breath.
“Come on, let’s get this show on the road,” someone shouted.
The galvanized crowd herded a stumbling Vanessa toward the chair his sister had vacated minutes ago.
“For fuck’s sake, Luc, you don’t have to do it,” Rachel muttered under her breath, her fingers clamping on his arm for a tight second.
Luc knew he had no choice. Already he was shrugging off his fiancée’s hold, and his feet were propelling him to where the woman who made his heart race with terrifying longing sat waiting.
Under the lights, she looked even more gorgeous than he’d first thought when he saw her dancing the fucking tango with that asshole. Her made-up face was flawless, if a little pale, as she watched him approach.
Her eyes, though...
Hell, she looked as if all her nightmares had decided to take the form of one Luc Marshall. His gaze dropped in time to catch the hands in her lap trembling before she tightened them into fists.
God, had he really read her and the chemistry he’d sensed between them that wrong? If so, why the hell was his blood thrumming in his veins as he stood before her? Why did he have an almost unstoppable urge to bend and bury his face in her neck, refresh his memory with the intoxicating scent of her?
He pulled himself back from the edge.
Get this fucking thing done already.
He dropped to his haunches and tried his best not to stare at her cleavage or her small, delicate feet framed by her spectacular heels.
“Lift up your skirt.” Shit. Could his fucking voice sound any more like a rusted drainpipe in a thunderstorm?
Her mouth compressed at the corners for a tiny second before she tugged up one side of her dress. At the sight of her long shapely leg, Luc swallowed. With mounting alarm, he felt his cock stir to life.
Great, all he needed was a boner to compound this hell he’d been flung into.
“Higher,” he instructed, his voice none too smooth.
She hitched the material higher until her upper thigh was visible. A deep tingle charged through to his fingertips as he fought the urge to glide his hand up the back of her leg, investigate for himself if her naked flesh was as smooth as it looked.
The knowledge that he was seconds away from developing a tent in his pants had him grabbing Vanessa’s ankle and pulling it toward him. And hell if her skin wasn’t as warm and silky as he’d known it would be.
He ignored her gasp, concentrated on shoving the damned piece of silk over her foot and up her leg with minimum contact.
All around him, the wolf whistles had started again, louder this time, perhaps because the guests sensed something more? Because he wasn’t the only man turned on by the sight of her exposed leg?
Another emotion—a hot, green, slimy one he recognized as jealousy—spiked through him.
Jesus, what was wrong with him?
Luc pulled the garter up and over her knee. The moment it reached the vicinity of her upper thigh, he dropped his hands and lurched to his feet.
Had it been any other woman, he would’ve held out his hand to help her stand. To accept the suggestive congratulations he was receiving with a smile.
But this was Vanessa.
The woman whose Keep Off signs were flashing as big as the Hollywood sign. Hell, she was already putting daylight between them by sidling away.
Awesome.
Luc turned away and stalked toward the nearest waiter. He grabbed a drink and downed it just so he wouldn’t have to make conversation with anyone just yet. He needed a moment to get his head—and libido—under control.
He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or resigned when he saw Rachel making a beeline for him.
He swallowed the last of his champagne just as she reached him. Her smile was still in place, but her eyes were edged in steel. As were the fingers she laced through his in blatant possession.
“I think it’s time we said our goodbyes, don’t you?” she suggested pointedly.
Luc discarded his glass, then gave a curt nod. “Sure. Lead the way, sweetheart.”
He didn’t mind that she all but dragged him through their hasty goodbyes and bossed him all the way out the door.
Like Vanessa, he was more than ready to put some daylight between himself and the unwanted feelings she drew so effortlessly from him.
