Falling for the Bridesmaid

by Sophie Pembroke

  He did his best to distract her at those moments.

  And she amazed him there, too. When she wasn’t being professional Violet, organising the Benefit almost from the ground up again, or family Violet, taking care of her distraught parents and pregnant sister, or even community Violet, fending off well-meaning locals who came with flowers or food. When she could just be his Violet, alone in the dark, letting him see the heart of her. As if Jez’s death had torn down the last of her barriers and given him a clear path in to the real Violet.

  They’d never really had The Talk—the one about their future and what they both expected out of this relationship, if it even was a relationship. But somehow, Tom felt, they didn’t need to. They’d instinctively moved past that, to an understanding that this was what it was—and it was what they both needed right now. They mattered to each other, and the world was easier with each other in it. That was all Tom cared about.

  ‘Okay, so what’s left?’ Violet asked, tapping her pen against her notepad as she frowned down at her list.

  Tom refrained from pointing out that she was the one with the checklist in front of her. Instead, he moved behind her, rubbing her shoulders firmly as he looked down at the lines after lines of her handwriting, all with tiny check boxes beside them.

  ‘Well, most of the stuff that needed printing—the new signs and programmes and stuff—that’s all taken care of,’ he said, assessing the ticks in the check boxes. ‘And we’ve spoken to every act and sponsor and media partner between us, so they all know the score.’

  ‘And they’re all on board,’ Violet added, a hint of amazement in her voice. As if she couldn’t believe that she’d actually talked them all into it.

  ‘With your incredible persuasive sell? Of course they are.’ Tom dug his fingers into a particularly tight knot in her back. ‘The riders for all the acts are sorted—even Olivia’s. And all the technical stuff is more or less unchanged. The new wristbands and such are en route, ready to hand out to the vendors when they arrive, to sell alongside everything else. What else is there?’

  Violet’s shoulders stiffened, beyond the power of his fingers to relax them. ‘The headline act.’

  ‘Apart from that.’ Tom let out a long breath and moved his hands to just rest against Violet’s skin, a reminder that he was there, that he wanted to help. ‘Have you spoken to your dad yet?’

  ‘Not about this,’ Violet said. ‘About the funeral arrangements, about the good old days, about the clinic, about what he’d have done to help if Jez had just come to him... But not a word on if The Screaming Lemons are planning to perform at the Benefit Concert.’

  ‘He hasn’t spoken to any of the rest of the band either,’ Tom confirmed. ‘Jonny actually asked me yesterday if I knew what was going on.’

  ‘I need to ask him.’ Violet put down her pen, obviously not willing to add this action to the list. ‘If he wants to play...we need to get in another guitarist. They’ve worked with some great session musicians over the years...’

  ‘Actually,’ Tom said, the word out before he’d even completed the thought, let alone decided if it was a good idea, ‘I might know someone. Someone I think your dad would approve of.’

  Violet turned in her seat, twisting under his hands until she was almost in his arms. ‘Really? Who?’

  Tom shook his head. He didn’t want to get her hopes up if it didn’t work out. ‘Look, you talk to your dad first. If he says he wants to go on...I’ll make some calls.’

  ‘Okay.’ She gave him the sad half smile he’d grown too used to seeing over the past few days. ‘Thank you, Tom. For everything you’ve done this week. I know this wasn’t exactly what you came to Huntingdon Hall for.’

  ‘Neither was this.’ He dipped his head to press a kiss against her lips. ‘And I wouldn’t give us up for the world.’

  A faint pink blush spread across her cheeks. Was that a step too far? Too close to the ‘talking about things’ line they weren’t crossing? Because if there was one thing Tom had realised over the last couple of days, it was that he wanted to talk about things between them. He wanted to put a name on their relationship.

  He wanted to tell her he had fallen in love with her.

  But now wasn’t the time. After the Benefit, once things had calmed down, and once Rose was back and her family was a little more stable again. They had time. He just had to pick the right one.

  Love, it turned out, was worth waiting for.

  ‘I mean it, Tom.’ Violet’s expression turned serious. ‘You came here for a tell-all book, the exclusive stories that would make your name. And here you are, in the middle of the biggest story to hit the Lemons in thirty years, and you’re spending all your time telling other reporters “no comment”. I know it can’t be easy for you—you’re a born journalist; we both know that. But you haven’t chased this story, haven’t exposed Dad’s grief. And I really, really appreciate that.’

  Tom’s smile felt fake and forced. A born journalist. Was that what he’d always be to her? And, worse, was it true? ‘Of course I wouldn’t. I’m here for you right now—and not as a reporter. When your dad is ready to resume our interviews, fine. But for now...let’s just focus on the Benefit, yeah?’

  Violet nodded. ‘Are you still coming with me to the airport to fetch Rose and Will this afternoon?’ The honeymooning pair had ended up having to take three separate flights over thirty-six hours to get home just one day earlier than planned, but Rose had insisted on doing it anyway.

  ‘I’ll be there,’ Tom promised. ‘I’ll meet you at the front door at two, yeah?’

  ‘Okay.’ Violet leant up and pressed a kiss to his mouth. ‘And, in the meantime, I need to go talk to Dad.’

  ‘You do.’ Neither of them were admitting it, but if the Lemons didn’t play at the concert, the Benefit would lose a lot of impact. Yes, people might understand Rick’s reluctance to get back on stage so soon after Jez’s death, might even respect it. But without Rick Cross on stage, the Huntingdon Hall Benefit would just be another concert. And Violet, Tom knew, wanted this year’s Benefit to be much, much more than that. She wanted to use it to change attitudes, to promote the availability of aid—for addicts and their friends and family.

  She wanted to make a difference, and Tom honestly believed she might.

  Plus, if there was anyone who could talk Rick Cross into anything, it had to be Violet.

  ‘Wish me luck,’ Violet said.

  ‘You don’t need it,’ Tom told her, but he kissed her again for luck anyway. Just in case.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  VIOLET JANGLED THE car keys in her hand, barely resisting the urge to tap her foot. Where was he? It was quarter past two and still no sign of Tom. She really had to leave to fetch Rose and Will—unless she wanted them grumpy and fed up after a thirty-six hour flight with no one there to meet them.

  ‘Any sign?’ Sherry appeared through the kitchen door.

  Violet shook her head. ‘You haven’t seen him either?’

  ‘Afraid not. I checked the study again, and his room.’

  ‘Did you ask Dad?’ Violet asked, then regretted it when Sherry’s face turned a little grey. Rick hadn’t been in the best mood after Violet’s conversation with him that afternoon.

  ‘He’s shut himself away in the studio,’ Sherry said. ‘I thought it best to leave him for now.’

  ‘Yeah, I can understand that.’ Guilt knotted in her gut. She shouldn’t have pushed him, certainly not so soon. It was just that she was so desperate to make this year’s Benefit Concert more of a success than ever. For Uncle Jez.

  ‘Violet...’ Her mother paused, and Violet felt the knot in her stomach twist tighter.

  ‘I know what you’re going to say, Mum. Don’t worry. I’m not going to pester him again.’

  But Sherry shook her head. ‘It’s not that. Sweetheart...we’re so proud of how you’ve stepped up these past few weeks. Taking over the Benefit, dealing with everything—even Tom being here.’ She gave Violet a sly smi
le. ‘Although I suspect that one wasn’t quite the hardship you imagined, right?’

  ‘Mum, I—’

  ‘Darling, I think it’s marvellous. He’s a great guy, and it was past time for you to find something worth coming out of hiding for. No, all I wanted to say was...I’m so proud of what you’re doing, turning this Benefit into a fitting memorial for your Uncle Jez, and a way to help others who might not know where to turn. It’s important work, and I know how much it took for you to do it.’

  Violet’s eyes burned. ‘Thanks, Mum.’

  ‘So, so proud, darling.’ Sherry wrapped her arms around her daughter and squeezed her lightly in a hug. ‘And I do think the Lemons should play. I know your father isn’t quite there yet, but I think he will be, once some of the fog clears. So...I’ll talk to the boys, get them all on board. So we’re ready when your dad bursts out of that studio ready to take to the stage, yes?’

  ‘That would be great. Thanks, Mum.’ Violet hugged her back, thinking, not for the first time, that the whole family would have been doomed years ago if Sherry hadn’t been there to take them in hand.

  ‘Now, you get off and fetch that twin of yours and her husband. We need all the family here right now.’ She made a shooing motion with her hands. ‘Go on. I’ll tell Tom you couldn’t wait for him when he shows up. He’s probably on a call or something.’

  Sherry was probably right, Violet decided as she pulled out of the garage and prepared to drive past the reporters still camped out on their doorstep. Tom wouldn’t have left her to do this alone unless something important had come up. And since he’d taken on the job of distracting and dealing with the media and their many, many questions about Uncle Jez and the family, the chances were he was probably yelling ‘no comment’ down the phone at someone he’d previously considered a friend and colleague right now.

  ‘Violet! Violet!’ The calls started the moment her car pulled around to the front of the house and headed for the driveway out to the main road. She checked her windows were completely shut, but it didn’t seem to do much for keeping the shouts out.

  ‘How’s your dad?’ someone called.

  ‘Any news on the car? How did Jez get hold of it?’ yelled a less concerned reporter.

  ‘Are Rose and Will coming home?’

  ‘Is it true that Daisy went into premature labour and is now on bed rest?’

  Violet had to smile at that one. Daisy was only five months pregnant and, if she was in bed, Violet was pretty sure she was ‘seeking solace’ in the arms of her rather attractive husband. Really, did they not think if something had happened to the baby they’d have seen the ambulances and medical experts lined up by the dozen? Sherry Huntingdon was taking absolutely no chances with her first grandchild.

  The questions followed her as she sped down the driveway and faded away as she hit the open road. It was strange to think that the last time she’d driven this way had been when she’d headed to the airport to collect Tom. So much had changed since then, she barely recognised the frustrated, lonely woman who’d let loose on him in the coffee shop.

  * * *

  In the end, it turned out that Rose and Will’s last leg flight had been delayed. Sighing as she checked the arrivals board for updates, Violet spotted a familiar-looking coffee shop and decided that was as good a place as any to try and avoid attention. Picking up a paper on her way, she grabbed a coffee, settled herself into a corner where she could still see the screens with flight information and prepared to wait.

  She heard a few murmurs as people spotted her, probably exacerbated by the fact that the front page of the newspaper had a splashy sidebar about Jez’s autopsy, but no one approached her directly, which Violet appreciated. In fact, it was possibly the most peace and quiet she’d had in days.

  She should have known it wouldn’t last.

  Violet was halfway through reading an editorial piece about the price of fame, idly making her own comments in the margins with a pencil, when her phone rang. She didn’t recognise the number, but that wasn’t exactly unusual these days. She had all the main contacts for the Benefit Concert programmed in, but every time someone rang from a different office line or their home phone instead of their mobile, it threw her off.

  ‘Violet Huntingdon-Cross,’ she answered, trying to sound both welcoming—in case it was someone from the Benefit—and dismissive—in case it was another reporter who’d got hold of her number—at the same time.

  ‘Hello, sweetpea.’ The voice on the other end made her muscles freeze up, her whole body tense. For eight years she’d avoided that voice, and the man it belonged to. Eight years she’d spent trying to pretend he didn’t exist—which was almost true. The man she’d thought she loved didn’t exist at all. Only this man, who could betray her in a moment for a good story.

  ‘Nick.’ She should hang up, switch her phone off and pretend this never happened. Go back to hiding away from him and everything he represented.

  Except she wasn’t that Violet any more, was she?

  ‘What do you want?’ she asked, her tone clipped. She was so far past him now. One little conversation wouldn’t kill her.

  ‘The same thing everything wants from you right now,’ Nick said. ‘An official comment on the recent untimely death of your father’s lead guitarist.’

  Violet laughed, loud enough to draw attention from the people sitting at the next table. ‘Why on earth would you imagine I’d give you that?’ Or anything else he wanted, for that matter.

  ‘Maybe for old times’ sake?’ Nick said. ‘But I suppose I should have known better.’

  ‘Too right you should.’

  ‘I mean, you’ve got another journo on the line these days, haven’t you? Stringing you along, just waiting for the story of a lifetime. I bet old Tom couldn’t believe his luck.’

  ‘You know Tom?’ It wasn’t really a question; Nick had always known everyone. Tom might be from the other side of the pond, but that wouldn’t mean much. They ran in the same circles. But Nick was wrong if he thought Tom was anything like him.

  ‘Doesn’t everybody?’ Nick said lightly. ‘But I suppose the real question is how well you know Tom. I mean, have you ever read through his stories? Not the recent ones, but the early stories. The story that gave him his first big break, for example.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I don’t want to.’ Violet swallowed down the fear that rose up her throat as she remembered Tom talking about the first paper he’d worked for. The one that had caused such a rift between him and his mother. He’d never talked about the stories he wrote for that paper...a fact she’d wilfully ignored in the face of their romance. ‘Tom’s not like you. And what the hell does it matter to you anyway?’

  ‘Maybe I just couldn’t bear to see you taken in so completely all over again.’ There was a pause, then Nick laughed. ‘Okay, take this call as your reminder. When you figure out what he’s really like and you realise that we’re all the same, us journos, perhaps you might think better the devil you know, yeah? You’ve got to talk some time. Might as well talk to me as the next man.’

  ‘It will never be you,’ Violet bit out. How could he even think that? And what did he think he knew about Tom that would make Nick seem like the better option? She couldn’t even think about it. ‘Goodbye, Nick.’

  She ended the call, her heart still racing. He was probably just winding her up. Taking a chance on having an in on the story of the century, or whatever. His editor had probably put him up to it. He couldn’t have ever imagined she’d actually talk to him, right?

  Which meant he was probably making it up about Tom, too. What the hell did Nick know, anyway? All Tom’s stories were music based—even his early ones for that cursed paper were probably album reviews. What could possibly be contentious in that? Maybe he gave the Lemons two stars once or something, but that wasn’t enough to drive a wedge between them. The past was the past; it didn’t matter now.

  Except...Nick had said they were all the same. A
nd Violet knew some of the stories Nick had written. Had starred in a few.

  Tom wouldn’t write anything like that. Would he?

  Violet glanced up at the arrivals screen. Still no word. So she had time to kill. It didn’t mean anything.

  At least that was what she told herself as she pulled her tablet out of her bag and began a search on Tom’s name.

  It took less time than she’d imagined. She wasn’t exactly an internet geek, but even she could find basic information on a person—and the articles they’d written. And it wasn’t exactly hard to figure out which one Nick had been referring to.

  There, in amongst all the album reviews, band interviews and concert coverage, dated ten years earlier, was the story that had started Tom Buckley’s career. And it made Violet’s stomach turn just to read it.

  Teenage starlet in nude photo scandal.

  The photos had clearly been taken up close and in person, rather than by telephoto lens. Whoever had taken them had got close. Very close. And had been invited there.

  Violet remembered the story breaking, remembered how these very photos had been splashed across the news, the papers and the internet within a matter of hours. And the text, the background info...he’d gone out looking for this, Violet could tell. Maybe he’d had a tip-off, maybe he’d played a hunch—whatever. Tom had deliberately and wilfully pursued and exposed this story. And maybe even seduced the actress to do it.

  Kristy Callahan had been barely eighteen at the time, Violet remembered. She’d been famous for starring in a wholesome family sitcom. And Tom’s story had destroyed her career.

  Violet didn’t want to know this. But now that she did...she couldn’t pretend the story didn’t exist. That she didn’t know what Tom had done. He hadn’t fallen out with his mother over the paper he worked for—it was because of this story. It had to be. He’d been lying to her after all, just at the moment she’d thought she had the truth. That she could trust him.