Mr. Knightsbridge (The Mister 1)

“Just so we’re clear, if anyone asks, we’re not engaged, right?” he asked.

“You look terrified at the prospect of even pretending.” I shook my head. Thank God I wasn’t dating Beck. We wouldn’t last an evening. He screamed scared of commitment from every pore. “We’re desperately in love but there’s no engagement. But of course, if someone nudges you and says, ‘You next,’ you have to try not to look as if they’ve just asked you to carve your leg off with a rusty knife. Smile and say something positive like—”

“‘If she’ll have me’ or ‘I hope so.’ I get it, Stella. You don’t need to worry that I’m going to mess up.”

I wasn’t really worried about Beck. He could more than handle himself. I was worried about me. How would I react to seeing Karen and Matt celebrating the official start of their lives together? Would I be able to swallow down the pain at the sight of everyone gathered to wish them well? Would I be wishing it was me and then hating myself for being so pathetic? “Is there a mini-bar? I need a drink.”

Beck glanced at his watch before heading over to the cabinet under the window. It was barely lunchtime, but I needed something to give me the courage to get down those stairs. “What do you want?” he asked, peering into the small fridge.

“Do they have wine?”

He pulled out a bottle and set about getting a glass and pouring it for me. “It’s going to be fine, Stella. We’ve totally got this. We just need to stick together like we did at the engagement party.”

What did he know? It wasn’t his ex and ex-best friend getting married. I just needed to remind myself that it was just a week out of my life and in return, I’d hopefully get my career back.

I could do this.

I could make people believe I hadn’t been broken by Matt and Karen’s cheating.

I could convince everyone I had a new, better life.

Probably.

Fifteen

Beck

I didn’t like weddings even if I’d been invited. There was always someplace better to be—work, hiking with the boys, an abattoir. But this wedding was different. This wedding was work. And Henry Dawnay was the only meeting I had planned. I scanned the bright, sunny room where they were having welcome drinks, trying to look as if I wasn’t looking for anyone. Which I totally was. It might be day one, but I didn’t want to miss an opportunity to run into Henry.

“God, this is pretty,” Stella said. I wasn’t sure if she realized she’d tightened her hand in mine as if I were her life jacket in choppy, open waters. I looked around the room again, trying to see what she did. I supposed it was pretty. There were blue and white fresh flowers everywhere I looked—framing the doors, in swags around the picture rails, and small arrangements on every table. The French doors opened up to a brick patio where people were spilling out onto a lawn. Perhaps Henry was out there. It sounded like they had a string quartet playing—maybe he liked the music?

As we walked through the room, a waiter approached us with a tray of champagne. I took two glasses and handed one to Stella, who promptly downed hers, so I handed her mine. She smiled, slightly embarrassed, but took the glass nonetheless. She needed to take it easy on the alcohol, or I was going to have to carry her back up to our room. She was beyond stressed out. And I wasn’t sure if it was just because it was her ex’s wedding or if she was worried that we’d be caught faking it. Getting to know her had been eye-opening. I’d gotten an insight into how women thought. With me, what you saw was what you got. I’d realized over the last couple of weeks that the women I normally spent time with didn’t tell me half what they were thinking. In contrast, Stella didn’t hold back. I had a near-constant running commentary on what was going on inside her head. She’d assured me that all women thought similarly about various issues—men who only called late at night, men who wouldn’t go down on a woman but wanted a blow job, and men with back hair, among many other things. I also knew her opinion on men who ghosted women—which had happened to Florence before Gordy came along, apparently—on the joys of working from bed, and the importance of hedgehogs. It was as if I’d suddenly inherited a sister.

Except Stella was hot.

“You look beautiful,” I said, trying to calm her nerves. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she had a drinking problem, but I’d never seen her like this before.

She was looking particularly stunning today. She’d picked out a floaty, floral dress with long, billowing sleeves and a deeply cut neckline. When she walked, I got a glimpse of her toned, tanned legs. It was a dress that looked demurer than it turned out to be.

And that suited Stella—one thing on the face of it, hinting at something more interesting underneath.

That dress could have been made for her. But my favorite thing about her today was the way she’d scraped up one side of her hair with a clip that had fresh flowers on it. It was innocent and sexy at the same time. It showed off her long neck and emphasized her cheekbones. She was gorgeous, even if she didn’t realize how gorgeous.

She had nothing to worry about. I’d only laid eyes on the bride once, but the first time I’d seen Karen, I wondered why on earth Stella’s ex had dumped her. Not that Karen wasn’t attractive, but she wasn’t as beautiful as Stella, either. Not even close.

“I don’t see Henry,” she said, emptying her second glass of champagne and catching a passing waiter, swapping her empty glass for two full ones.

She handed one to me.

“Are you sure you’re not going to take both of them?” I asked with a smile.

She grimaced. “Sorry. I need to be medicated to get through tonight. Hopefully it won’t be so difficult after I see them for the first time.”

But she was friends with them, wasn’t she? I wasn’t getting the full story from Stella, but given she’d been so open about so much with me, she must have her reasons to keep secrets. I wasn’t going to make her feel uncomfortable.

“Here’s Florence and Gordy. They might have seen Henry.”

“How are you holding up?” Florence asked once we’d all greeted each other.