Slow Dance with the Best Man

CHAPTER ONE

THREE DAYS AFTER CHRISTMAS, Eloise Miller stood on the ancient stone steps of Morwen Hall, her hands clasped over the buttons of her dove-grey wool coat, and waited for her childhood arch nemesis to arrive and all hell to break loose.

‘I wonder if she’ll wear the veil,’ Laurel mused beside her. ‘I mean, she sent me scampering all over the country looking for the absolute perfect lace confection, but I can’t help thinking that Melissa really doesn’t like it when people can’t see her face.’

‘Which explains those awful billboards for her latest film,’ Eloise agreed, thinking of the monstrosities, tall as double decker buses, which featured little more than Melissa’s flawless features, shiny blonde hair and slim, pale shoulders. Oh, and the name of the film, probably. But Eloise would bet money that no one who’d seen the posters could remember what the film was called.

Melissa had the sort of captivating beauty that made everything else fade into insignificance. Except the fact she was a perennial mean girl, of course.

‘Do you think she’s as...demanding on set as she has been over this wedding?’ Laurel asked and, not for the first time, Eloise felt a burst of sympathy for her new friend. As Melissa’s half-sister and wedding planner, Laurel had it far worse than Eloise. Not only did Laurel have to manage a whole five-day wedding celebration extravaganza for the rich and famous but, once this wedding was over, Eloise would never have to see Melissa again. Laurel would.

Mind you, having survived the teenage years, Eloise had been pretty sure that misery at Melissa’s hands was over for her, especially once Melissa set sail for Hollywood and stardom. And once she’d actually found it, against all the odds, Eloise had been certain that she’d never have to get closer to Melissa Sommers than a movie poster ever again.

That was until Melissa revealed her engagement to A-list Hollywood actor, Riley Black, in Star! magazine, wearing a giant rock of a diamond on her left hand, and announced her intention to get married back home in England. And not just England—at Morwen Hall, the elite, luxury Gothic stately home turned hotel where she’d spent her teenage years working as a maid, and making Eloise’s life miserable. Well, the last bit wasn’t in the magazine, but it was all Eloise had been able to see when her boss had shown her the article.

‘She can’t possibly be as bad on set,’ Eloise answered, shifting from one foot to the other to try and keep warm. She’d go back inside, but she knew the moment she turned her back would be the moment Melissa turned up, complete with her fiancé and his even more famous best man—Noah Cross. That was just the sort of luck she had. And, as the interim manager of Morwen Hall, it was her job to be there to greet their VIP guests. Even if they were planning on filling her hotel with actors. ‘She’s not that good an actress. They wouldn’t keep casting her in all those blockbusters if she was as much of a pain to work with as she has been lately. Or as she was at Morwen Hall ten years ago, come to that.’

Laurel turned to look at her, curious. ‘What was she like? I never even met her until she was sixteen, after my dad, well...you know.’

Eloise did know. She suspected most of Britain—the world, even—knew the story of how Melissa Sommers had been brought up by her sin

gle mum, her dad visiting only when he could get away from his real family across town. Laurel’s family.

‘Organising this wedding has been the most time I’ve ever spent with her.’ Laurel didn’t add thankfully but Eloise could hear it in her voice.

‘She was...’ Cruel. Evil. Nightmarish. A total witch in a blonde wig. ‘She liked to be the centre of attention,’ Eloise said, conscious that Laurel was Melissa’s sister, despite everything. She’d only met Laurel at the start of the wedding planning, six months ago, and most of their conversations so far had been wedding-related—with the occasional frustrated eye-roll and knowing glance when Melissa video-called in from LA with another hundred demands. But since Laurel had arrived at Morwen Hall the day before to set up for the wedding, Eloise had found it hard to believe that she and Melissa had even one parent in common, they were so different.

They had the same ambition, though. While Melissa had channelled hers into stardom, Laurel had taken a quieter route—setting up her own wedding planning company that was just starting to be featured in bridal magazines and websites. Of the two paths, Eloise felt strangely more envious of Laurel’s than Melissa’s. Eloise had never wanted to be a star, not really. But her own business... She shook her head. She had a good job at Morwen Hall. One she didn’t plan to jeopardise by daydreaming.

‘The centre of attention. I can believe that,’ Laurel said with feeling. ‘I guess maybe she feels she missed out on that, growing up. I mean, with our father staying with my mum instead of hers for so long.’

‘Perhaps,’ Eloise allowed. ‘But I reckon she made up for it by stealing all my boyfriends.’ She slapped her hand across her mouth as the words came out, but Laurel just laughed.

‘All of them? How many did you have?’

‘Two,’ Eloise said mournfully. ‘At different times, obviously. And, on both occasions, your sister managed to convince them that they’d be better off with someone else. Usually her.’ It hadn’t been too hard either. Growing up in the same town, going to the same school and working at the same hotel meant that Melissa had known all of Eloise’s secrets. She’d known every embarrassing story to tell about her family, and which ones to pick for maximum effect.

And she’d had more than enough to choose from.

‘Well, at least you won’t have to worry about her doing that this time,’ Laurel said.

‘Well, no,’ Eloise agreed. ‘Since I don’t have a boyfriend.’ And hadn’t had one for quite a while, actually, not that she was counting days. She’d rather wait and find the right one than try out any guy who came calling.

Not that she’d had any significant success since leaving school. In fact, the boyfriends Melissa had lured away might be considered the highlights of her dating career. Certainly a lot better than the one who’d left her for her mother. Or the guy at university who’d managed to screw her over both personally and professionally.

Maybe she just wasn’t born to date. Heaven knew her mother had done enough dating for the both of them.

Laurel rolled her eyes. ‘I meant I really think she’s properly in love with Riley.’

Eloise found it hard to imagine Melissa loving anybody besides herself, but then maybe she’d changed. Organising weddings didn’t tend to bring out the best in people. Maybe most of the time she was a total sweetheart.

Actually, no. That was even harder to imagine.

Still... ‘I hope so,’ Eloise said. ‘I hope she’s truly happy.’

Because the happier Melissa was, the better the chances of the wedding going off without a hitch, Melissa and Riley riding off into the sunset together and Eloise never having to see either of them again.

‘Me too,’ Laurel said. ‘If only so I never have to organise another wedding for her. I mean, I know this is a huge coup for my new business and everything, but still...’

Eloise laughed, ignoring the pang of envy she felt at the excitement in Laurel’s voice when she talked about her company. ‘At least being the wedding planner means you got out of having to be maid of honour. I mean, have you seen those dresses she picked?’

Laurel pulled a face, probably feeling slightly queasy at the memory of the miles of icy blue-green satin and chiffon that had been sacrificed to make the bridesmaids and maid of honour dresses. ‘Actually, it was never even suggested. I think Melissa was pretty set on having Cassidy Haven as maid of honour from the start. The celeb factor, you know.’

‘You’re probably right,’ Eloise agreed. As far as she knew, Melissa and Cassidy’s acquaintance went back to approximately one film, in which they had two scenes together. But, given Cassidy’s rising star and box office gold reputation, that would be enough for Melissa.

A crunching noise echoed from the end of the driveway, getting closer. The sound of tyres on frozen ground, Eloise knew from experience. ‘They’re here,’ she said, and Laurel raised her eyebrows with surprise.

‘They are? Where?’

‘Just coming around the bend.’ At her words, the large black four-by-four appeared from the tree cover and Eloise pasted on her smile. Time to start the show.

Laurel straightened her skirt and her shoulders, trying to pull herself up to her full height, Eloise supposed, although Eloise still had a full head and shoulders on her. She usually did with most people.

The four-by-four slowed to a halt in front of Morwen Hall and the driver stepped out to open the rear door. Eloise was vaguely aware of the passenger door opening too, but her gaze was firmly fixed on the blonde stepping out of the back seat, knees together, a picture of English elegance. Her light hair was fixed perfectly back from her beautiful face, her pale pink lipstick unsmudged. She hadn’t even spilt any coffee on her snowy white jumper—cashmere, Eloise was sure—and white trousers.

Maybe celebrities really were another species. No human should look that good after an eleven-hour flight.

Eloise recognised Riley Black from the engagement photos and the occasional video call he joined them for during the wedding planning. He smiled up at them as he came around from the other side of the car to take his fiancée’s arm. Laurel moved down a few steps to greet them and Eloise finally turned her attention to the fourth occupant of the car.

And promptly lost the ability to breathe.

* * *

Noah Cross had learned fairly early in his career how to tune out the meaningless chatter that came with the job but still pay just enough attention to assure whoever was talking that he was listening to them. The skill had served him well on movie sets across the world, in press junkets and at awards ceremonies.

Until he’d met Melissa Sommers.

The whole flight from LA he’d been trying to read a new script his agent, Tessa, had sent him, to ‘keep you too busy at this damn wedding to get into any trouble’, as she’d put it. Normally, he’d have tossed the script in his suitcase, relaxed with a drink on the flight and looked forward to seducing a bridesmaid or two, just to keep in practice. But this script was from a writer he admired, one he’d dreamt of working with for too long now—Queenie Walters. Her films were renowned for being deep, thought-provoking, meaningful—and for winning every award going. Basically, the opposite of the sort of films he’d been making for the last seven years.

The sort of films that had led to Riley Black asking him to be his best man somewhere in the middle of nowhere, England, in minus temperatures in December.

Maybe it was time to start making a new sort of film.

So, back to the script.

It was good, that much he could tell, even from one cursory reading with Melissa chattering in his ear and Riley chiming in every few minutes or so. He could even tell it through the champagne he’d drunk to make the journey just a little more bearable.

He wanted to make this film. More than that, he wanted to star in this film.

He knew that the leadi

ng role wasn’t the one his agent had suggested him for—that would be the light relief, the comic best friend. It was his own fault. He’d told Tessa he wanted to do something different, something other than action blockbusters and superhero movies. And she’d taken the not absurd mental leap and assumed he wanted comedy. She’d sent him a raft of terrible slapstick-without-humour typescripts to start with, until he’d asked for something a little...better.

Then she’d sent him Eight Days After and he’d known she understood at last.

Well, almost. She still saw him as the supporting actor.

He needed to convince her—and the director—that he was Best Actor material.

‘And then she suggested that maybe I didn’t need to have a veil at all!’ Melissa crowed with laughter, regaling them all with yet another tale about her wedding planner, apparently oblivious to the fact that her fiancé had already heard it, the driver of the car didn’t care and Noah was working very hard on not listening. ‘Not have a veil! Can you imagine?’

‘I heard that Rochelle Twist didn’t have a veil at her wedding,’ Noah said from the front seat, not looking up from his script.

‘She didn’t?’ Melissa’s eyes widened with alarm and Noah knew for certain that she would walk down the aisle without the veil on New Year’s Eve. Well, unless she checked the Internet for photographic proof and realised that Noah was making it up to mess with her. As if he had any idea at all what A-list actresses wore on their wedding days.

It was still weird to think that he was up there on their invitation lists. The fact that Riley had asked him to be best man after just three films said a lot. Noah liked the guy well enough, but he wouldn’t call him a best friend. They’d been out and got drunk a few times, played some poker. And Noah had spent one very long night listening to Riley weigh up the pros and cons of asking Melissa to marry him—the main pros apparently being ‘it’d be great for my image’ and ‘she really wants to’. But that was about it. Did that qualify him for best man status? Apparently, in Melissa and Riley’s eyes, it did.