Falling for the Bridesmaid

by Sophie Pembroke

‘Me neither,’ Rick said. ‘Will said he couldn’t risk it. You know your mum would have texted Rose on the way to the airport and ruined the surprise.’

  ‘Anyway. They won’t be back until two days before the Benefit Concert, but Will said he’d left Rose’s notes with you.’ Mum had her ‘tiptoeing’ voice on. As if she was taking the long way round getting to the point.

  ‘Yeah, it’s all in Rose’s study, apparently. Her black planner and all the files and contracts and stuff.’

  ‘And...Will mentioned that you’d agreed to, well, keep an eye on things while they were away.’ Ah, that was what Mum was working up to. Of course. Concern that Violet had agreed to something that, when it came down to it, she wouldn’t be able to, or want to do.

  Well, maybe it was time for her to prove her parents—and Tom Buckley—wrong. If Rose could organise a benefit concert, so could she.

  ‘That’s right.’ And she’d do it too. But she really didn’t want to get into this with Tom standing right there. Then again, there wasn’t a chance of her getting any sleep tonight if they didn’t agree a plan for the concert. The last thing they needed was the annual benefit being an utter disaster zone because Rose wasn’t there, the one year they had a reporter on site recording all the behind the scenes activity for posterity.

  Damn it! How could Will and Rose do this? Clearly, love had driven them crazy. It was the only explanation.

  ‘You’re looking worried, honey.’ Her dad wrapped an arm around her waist and hauled her close for a hug. ‘But there’s nothing to fret about. Rose has been running this thing like clockwork for years. The set-up’s all done; everything’s been booked for months.’

  Violet turned her head to raise her eyebrows at her father. If everything was already sorted, then why was Rose always running around like a mad thing in the last few weeks before the concert every other year?

  ‘Maybe your dad is being a little optimistic,’ Sherry said. ‘But really, darling, everything is in hand. All that’s left is the fiddly last-minute stuff. And I’m sure we can find someone to handle that, if you don’t want to. Rose and Will would understand. I’ll call up an agency or something.’

  Agency staff. Another stranger in their home all the time, taking responsibility for the biggest concert in The Screaming Lemons’ calendar. Someone who had absolutely no reason to care if things went perfectly or just well enough to get paid.

  Violet risked a glance at Tom. She could almost read the story writing itself behind his tired eyes. Thoughtless wild child celebrity daughter disappears on eve of major charity event after whirlwind romance, leaving benefit concert in chaos. Sex Tape Twin decides she’d rather pick flowers than take on the job.

  Almost as bad a start as her scene in the coffee shop.

  ‘No. I can do it. We don’t need to call the agency. I’ll take care of the concert. I’ve seen Rose do it, and I’m sure she’s left really good notes. I can do it. I’d like to.’

  A complete lie. The last thing she wanted to do, when she should be keeping an eye on Tom, was take on a high profile project that would put her in the public eye and require speaking to all the people she’d been happily avoiding for eight years. But sometimes proving a point—especially to someone like Tom Buckley—required sacrifice.

  ‘Are you sure, darling?’ Her mother’s perfect face crinkled up into a frown. ‘It doesn’t really seem like...well, like your sort of thing.’

  Of course it didn’t. As much as she might have moaned about her parents calling Rose in to organise their wedding, she knew exactly why they’d done it. To spare Violet the misery of having to brave the public and the publicity again. It was bad enough doing so as a guest at endless charity functions, or just appearing at the benefit concert. Anywhere there were cameras, her nerves started to tremble. And this...this would mean liaising with pop stars, working with celebrities.

  There were going to be a lot of cameras. Her fingers felt shaky just thinking about it.

  ‘I’m sure,’ she said as firmly as she could. ‘The Benefit Concert is important. I want to make sure everything goes just as well as it would if Rose was here.’

  Maybe she could just pretend to be Rose. Maybe no one would notice that she was actually the other twin. You know the one.

  ‘Well, honey, if you’re sure.’ Rick’s forehead had matching creases. Then he broke into a smile and clapped Tom on the back. ‘Hey, maybe Tom here can give you a hand!’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  TOM COULDN’T BE sure if it was the sleep deprivation or if he really was missing something in the conversation going on around him. It felt as if there were actually two discussions taking place—one with words and one entirely conducted through concerned eyebrow gestures.

  Still, he was pretty sure he didn’t stand a chance of understanding the eyebrow conversation until he got some actual sleep. In fact, he was just plotting the best way to get shown to his room when Rick volunteered him.

  ‘Me?’ Tom wished that had come out slightly less squeakily. ‘Help with the Benefit Concert?’

  Sherry clapped her hands together. ‘What a brilliant idea! I knew I married you for a reason.’ She planted another kiss on her husband.

  Violet, Tom noticed, hadn’t responded at all. In fact, she looked as though she’d been sent into a state of severe shock and might need therapy to even deal with the idea.

  God, he just had the best way with women, didn’t he?

  ‘Unless...Violet, darling, are you sure you really want to do this?’ Sherry’s eyebrows were doing the very concerned thing again, mirrored by Rick’s. Yeah, Tom was definitely missing something here.

  But Violet shook off the shock, smiled widely and said, ‘Of course I do! And I’d appreciate any help that Tom is able to give me, in between the work he’s actually here to do.’ She even managed a sincere smile for him as she spoke, which Tom thought might be a first.

  ‘Well, that’s settled then.’ Rick clapped his hands together, but his eyebrows suggested that nothing was settled at all. Tom suspected there’d be some private family conversations going on once he’d finally found a bed to fall into.

  Well, so be it. Despite Sherry’s enthusiastic welcome, he wasn’t actually family. He didn’t need to know all their tiny moments and their every word. He just wanted the stories. And, he’d admit it, the secrets. They were what would set his book apart from everything else ever written about Rick Cross and co.

  And he was pretty sure he’d get them. Starting tomorrow.

  ‘Guys, if I’m going to be ready to start interviews, write a book and organise the best concert in the history of benefit concerts, I’d better get some sleep.’ Tom gave them all his friendliest all-in-this-together smile.

  ‘Oh, of course!’ Sherry immediately went into hostess mode, something Tom imagined she had honed and perfected over years of events, guests and parties. ‘Violet, why don’t you show Tom to his room, darling?’

  Violet’s smile was starting to look a little fixed, but no one except Tom seemed to notice. ‘Of course. I might turn in myself.’ She kissed her parents on their cheeks. ‘It was a brilliant day. Here’s to many more happy years of marriage.’

  Tom followed Violet away from the stage, across the gardens. The party had obviously started to wind down after the Lemons had left the stage. The fairy lights in the trees shone down on abandoned glasses and plates and grass-stained marquee floors. A few stragglers still loitered by the temporary bar, where the last remaining barmaid yawned expansively, but most people had already headed home to bed.

  Tom applauded their sensible natures. Of course, it was gone 4:00 a.m., so maybe they weren’t that sensible.

  Glancing over his shoulder, Tom saw Rick and Sherry making their way across to where the rest of the band sat with their partners or friends under the moonlight. Jez was strumming an acoustic guitar and laughter and conversation floated among the notes in the night air.

  ‘I don’t know how they’re still going,’ Violet said, following his
gaze. ‘I’m knackered. But they’re always the last ones standing at a party. I think it’s a point of pride these days. And they always finish the night together, just the gang of them who’ve been there from the start.’

  He should be over there, soaking up the moment. Taking in the atmosphere that would make his book authentic. Except...it was a private moment and he was new on the scene. He couldn’t force his way into that close-knit group. He had to earn his place, and that would take time and trust.

  Violet was giving him an odd considering look. ‘You still want to go to bed?’ A slight flush of colour hit her cheeks in the pale lights, and he knew somehow that she was waiting for him to make a joke about whether that was an offer to join him. So he didn’t.

  ‘Alone, I mean. Not with me,’ Violet babbled, as if he had. She must get that a lot, although he’d expected her to just brush it off or turn it back on the joker to embarrass them. After her display in the airport café, he knew she had the confidence and the fire.

  Except...here, now, this seemed like a different Violet. One who’d known humiliation and pain. One he hadn’t expected to meet when he’d sat in Miami and New York reading up about the wild child Sex Tape Twin without shame. She’d never even put out a statement, he remembered. No apology for being a bad role model, for letting down her fans or those young girls who looked up to her. No regret for the shame and embarrassment she’d brought on her family.

  Why was that? Suddenly, he desperately wanted to know. But those questions too required patience and trust to be earned. Maybe in a few weeks. After all, they were going to be working on the concert together. He had all the time he needed to learn everything there was to know about Violet Huntingdon-Cross, and her family.

  ‘Honestly, Violet, I think I’d pass out on you tonight even if it was an offer.’ He gave her a friendly smile to show it was a joke, that he didn’t mean any offence. But, as her gaze met his, even his exhausted body had a moment where it wished that wasn’t the case. That maybe, just maybe, this beautiful, confusing woman might actually make that offer to him.

  Which was clearly ridiculous. They had nothing in common. She’d never understand him or his life, and he’d long since grown out of sleeping with any beautiful woman who offered. He liked his sexual encounters to mean something these days. Maybe not true love and forever, but a meaningful connection at least.

  He couldn’t really imagine any connection between him and the self-absorbed daughter of a celebrity. Still, he felt a little relief as the colour in her cheeks faded and she gave a quick nod.

  ‘Come on then. Your bedroom’s this way.’ Violet started off towards the main staircase.

  Tom bit his tongue to stop himself asking where hers was as he followed.

  * * *

  Violet woke up exhausted. Maybe it was all the excitement and chaos of the day and weeks before, but even once the big vow renewal was over and Rose was safely off on honeymoon she couldn’t relax enough to sleep—despite the fact it had been gone four by the time she’d made it to bed. Eventually, after an hour of fitful tossing and turning, she’d given up and turned on her bedside light to read for a while.

  She’d woken up four hours later, with the light still on and her face smooshed against her book. Not the perfect start to the day.

  Scrubbing a hand across her face to try and persuade her eyes to stay open, she glanced at the clock. Nine thirty a.m. Chances were, the rest of the household would be sleeping in until well after lunch, but there was a nervous energy running through Violet’s veins that she knew from experience wouldn’t let her go back to sleep.

  A shower, her most comfortable jeans and a T-shirt in her favourite shade of lavender-blue made her feel a little more human. She scraped her hair back into a clip to dry naturally, slathered on what claimed to be a rejuvenating moisturiser and headed downstairs in search of coffee.

  ‘Coffee will make all things better,’ she murmured as she switched on the espresso machine. The lie was a soothing one, at least. How could one poor drink be expected to deal with all the worries that had piled on in the last twenty-four hours?

  ‘Think it can even help your poor old dad?’ Rick leant against the door frame from the hall, his weathered face looking a little grey under his summer tan. ‘I think I’m getting too old for the partying lark, honey.’

  ‘Never.’ Violet grabbed another espresso cup from the shelf. ‘You’ll still be rocking with a walking stick when the rest of us have grown old and boring.’

  Except she didn’t even need to age to grow old and boring; she was already there, wasn’t she? Her entire existence already fitted within the grounds of Huntingdon Hall. Or it had. Maybe the Benefit Concert would be her chance to spread her wings.

  ‘Only if I have my girls there to help hold me up,’ Rick said, settling himself into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. ‘Wouldn’t be any fun without you all.’

  ‘Mum sleeping in?’ Violet handed her dad his coffee, then sat down to blow across the surface of her own cup.

  ‘She says she needs her beauty sleep.’ Rick laughed. ‘Course, we all know she’s plenty beautiful without it.’

  ‘I didn’t expect anyone else to be up for hours,’ Violet said.

  ‘I’ve got a shift down at the centre this morning,’ Rick said. ‘No one else could cover, so...’ He shrugged.

  Violet gave him a sympathetic smile. While everyone knew that Rick and Sherry supported all sorts of charities publicly, very few people were aware of all the private time they put in. Her dad did a lot of work for Alzheimer’s charities, as well as helping out at a local drug rehabilitation centre, while her mum put in time on a children’s helpline, amongst other things. Would they share that side of themselves with Tom? Violet had no idea.

  ‘I’ll be back to give Tom his first interview this afternoon, though,’ Rick said, suggesting that he might. Violet was glad; more people should know about all the good they did. ‘And what are you up to today?’

  Violet sipped her coffee. ‘I was planning on raiding Rose’s files to get an idea of what I’ve let myself in for with this Benefit Concert.’

  Rick’s face turned serious. ‘Now, honey, you know you don’t have to take that on. It’s not too late to change your mind.’

  ‘Don’t think I can do it, huh?’ Violet said, eyebrows raised.

  ‘Violet, I truly believe you could do anything in the world you dreamt of, if you decided to. It just comes down to if you really want to.’

  Violet bit her lip. Dad thought she could do it. He had faith in her. And maybe, just maybe, he knew something she didn’t. At the very least, she wanted the chance to prove him right.

  ‘I want to do it,’ she said, ignoring the way her whole body felt as if it might start trembling any second. This was her chance—her golden opportunity to do that something more she’d been wishing for. ‘It’s important to me, and I think it’s time.’ Time to stop hiding behind the walls of Huntingdon Hall at last. Time to start living in the real world again, even if it was still filled with monsters.

  The smile that split Rick’s craggy face was reward enough for her decision. ‘I think you might be right, honey,’ he said, and pressed a kiss to her hand across the table. ‘I think it’s time the whole world got used to seeing the real Violet Huntingdon-Cross for once.’

  Violet smiled back through her nerves. Wouldn’t that be something?

  CHAPTER SIX

  HUNTINGDON HALL WAS ridiculously large, Tom decided, after getting lost on the way to the kitchen for the third time. Tastefully redecorated, with none of the attempts to recreate the Regency or whatever that he’d half expected from the almost aristocracy. But then, this family were unusual in almost every other way, why not this one too?

  There were so many contradictions for him to uncover, but that was half the fun.

  Contradiction one. Sherry had inherited this hall from her blue blood family—but had obviously renovated it entirely using her husband’s money—or her own, Tom sup
posed. She had enjoyed a very lucrative modelling career, after all. Anyway, the point was, while the outside of Huntingdon Hall still looked like something from a period novel, the inside was entirely modern.

  As Tom made his way down a corridor that looked almost exactly like the one he’d just explored, Violet’s directions from the night before seemed even more ridiculous. Just follow the walls, she’d said. Eventually all of them lead back to the main staircase. Follow the walls? What kind of advice was that? Especially since it appeared he’d been following the walls in the wrong direction for the last five minutes. Why wasn’t there a helpful servant around here somewhere?

  Of course that led him to contradiction two. In a house this size, with a family this rich, he’d have expected dozens of flunkies running around doing things for them. But he’d seen nobody. Oh, he was sure there was a housekeeper somewhere, and he highly doubted that Sherry did her own cleaning, but apart from that? Everything seemed to be kept in the family. Rose took care of the band’s PR and everything else that needed organising, it seemed.

  At least until she ran away on her honeymoon and Violet stepped in, rather than hire someone else.

  Violet was, without a doubt, most definitely contradiction number three.

  Tom turned another corner, dutifully following the wall and, finally, stumbled across the staircase. At last, his path towards coffee and maybe even breakfast was clear.

  He hopped down the stairs in double time, smiling as he heard voices coming from what he hoped would prove to be the kitchen. Part of him was surprised not to be the first up—it had been a ridiculously late night, but even with his exhaustion level he’d found it impossible to sleep past ten. Too many years of risking missing the tour bus or a flight somewhere had left him a very light sleeper.

  ‘Good morning.’ Both Rick and Violet looked up at his words, and Tom got the unerring feeling that he’d interrupted something.

  ‘Ah! Our guest awakes.’ Rick moved towards the coffee pot. ‘Strong and black? Or do you drink what can only be described as “warm milk with a coffee scent” like my daughter?’