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Falling for the Bridesmaid
Sophie Pembroke
Always the bridesmaid…?Violet Huntingdon-Cross is always the bridesmaid – but given her disastrous romantic past, that’s fine by her! Then she meets gorgeous journalist Tom Buckley, and suddenly Violet realises he’s the biggest threat to her heart yet!Tom might be writing a book about Violet’s father but this beautiful bridesmaid is a total distraction! Now Tom needs to persuade her he is different to all the other guys…and help her realise love isn't just something that happens to other people…


Summer Weddings
A season of confetti and whirlwind romances!
You are cordially invited to attend the
Huntingdon-Cross summer weddings.
Celebrate the shotgun marriage of Daisy
Huntingdon-Cross and Sebastian Beresford in
Expecting the Earl’s Baby by Jessica Gilmore
Save the date: on sale March 2015
Raise a glass to Rose Huntingdon-Cross and
Will Carter as they finally tie the knot
in
A Bride for the Runaway Groom by Scarlet Wilson
Save the date: on sale April 2015
Join us in celebrating Violet Huntingdon-Cross
and Tom Buckley’s star-studded wedding day
in
Falling for the Bridesmaid by Sophie Pembroke
Save the date: on sale May 2015
Falling for the Bridesmaid
Sophie Pembroke


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
SOPHIE PEMBROKE has been reading and writing romance ever since she read her first Mills & Boon
book at university, so getting to write them for a living is a dream come true!
Sophie lives in a little Hertfordshire market town in the UK with her scientist husband and her incredibly imaginative five-year-old daughter. She writes stories about friends, family and falling in love, usually while drinking too much tea and eating homemade cakes. She also keeps a blog at www.SophiePembroke.com (http://www.SophiePembroke.com).
For George and Karen, for making this book possible through coffee, childcare and cheerleading! Thank you both, so much.
Contents
Cover (#ucd5c402d-9024-5e08-8b3c-69b8ec279a6b)
Introduction (#u4e7e23c4-1cbb-5717-a5d0-fd3c0bd37cd5)
Title Page (#ud24e553a-16c0-5cf3-a73e-1376415e3e6f)
About the Author (#uc676eab2-8f51-5b9a-8cb6-e98176dffa48)
Dedication (#uc422574b-5479-54da-aa12-efc34310e92c)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_1106ec97-1f8d-5c1c-a5ea-b68c97c80e3e)
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_37da1b7d-4034-519a-86bd-5e46c99762b6)
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_862ee47c-9b6f-5284-83d0-e94aa455fe6e)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_e1df220c-23cb-5418-8960-991e4801f14b)
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_581a55ea-90a0-5924-97de-ea0bd9718929)
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_7758a490-364b-558e-b7a0-13ae062f3696)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_3feddaf3-d1c1-555d-ab18-72aed8057aea)
THE SWEET SMELL of rose petals filled the evening air, giving the falling dusk a sultry warmth. Music sang out from the band on the patio, romantic with just an undertone of sexy. Fairy lights twinkled in the branches of the trees and inside the marquees, and around them leaves rustled in the still warm breeze.
The whole set-up was so perfectly loved-up Violet thought she might be physically ill if she had to suffer through it a moment longer.
Glaring down at her lavender bridesmaid’s dress, she slunk to the edge of the celebrations where she could watch the live band play in peace. She needed to make more of an effort to enjoy the evening, and maybe the music would help. Her parents’ vow renewal ceremony had been beautiful, and the party that followed a huge success. Later, she had no doubt, her dad and the boys from The Screaming Lemons would take to the stage and wow the remaining guests all over again, even though they’d finished their official set an hour ago. Knowing Dad, it would probably be a lower key, acoustic set the second time around.
Keeping Dad off the stage was always more trouble than getting him on there, and he always wanted one more encore. But for now the support act seemed to be doing well enough. The courtyard in front of the stage was filled with people dancing, or just holding each other, or kissing. Falling in love.
Violet scowled and looked away.
Of course, the situation wasn’t helped by her family. There, leaning against her new husband—Lord Sebastian Beresford, Earl of Holgate, if you please—was her youngest sister, Daisy. No, the Lady Holgate now. Hard to believe that Daisy-Waisy was an honest-to-God countess, but somehow not quite as impossible to process as the slight swell of her baby bump under her carefully chosen emerald-green bridesmaid’s dress.
Just a few more months and Violet would officially be the maiden aunt of the family. Hell, she was already doing the church flowers most weekends, and taking tea with her mother’s ‘ladies who lunch’ crowd. Maybe she should just skip straight ahead to adopting a three-legged cat and taking up crochet.
Actually, she’d quite like to learn to crochet, but that wasn’t the point.
Seb rested his hand against his wife’s stomach, and Daisy’s soft smile grew into a fully fledged grin as she tilted her face for a kiss. Violet turned away, suddenly embarrassed to be staring.
But unfortunately her gaze just landed on Rose and Will, looking equally wrapped up in each other. Her twin sister and her best friend. Violet had to admit she really hadn’t seen that one coming either. An attraction, perhaps, or maybe even a fling. Not that Will would give up his runaway groom status for good and marry into her family. But there Rose stood in her own wedding dress, after sneaking away for their own secret marriage ceremony once their parents’ vow renewal service was over.
Maybe she just had no sort of love radar at all. Or maybe it was broken. That would explain a hell of a lot, really.
Will glanced up at just the wrong moment and, this time, Violet couldn’t look away quick enough. Even staring pointedly at the band, she couldn’t miss the whispered conversation between Rose and her new husband. Probably trying to decide whose responsibility Violet’s hurt feelings were now.
Violet sighed. It wasn’t that she wasn’t happy for her sisters—she really, truly was. And she knew that their happiness shouldn’t make her own sorry situation feel so much worse. But it did.
Swallowing, she looked down at her feet, and the high heels pinching her toes. It would pass, she knew. Any day now she’d be able to look at all the happy and loved-up people around her and just smile, without the bitter tinge that threatened to colour her whole world.
That day just wasn’t yet, that was all.
‘She thinks you’re cross with her, you know. Or me, possibly,’ Will said, standing beside her with his hands in his pockets. Such a familiar sight at these events. Usually Will’s presence was a comfort, a reliable soul to help her through the amused looks, the only half-whispered comments, and the occasional drunken suggestion from guys she barely knew but who clearly thought they knew all about her—and her sexual proclivities.
Today, though, he was just a reminder that things wouldn’t ever be the same again.
‘Cross with Rose?’ Violet asked, mustering up a smile. ‘Why on earth would I be cross with her? For stealing you away from me? Good riddance, I say.’
The startled look on Will’s face told her she’d misjudged something very badly.
‘Uh, no. She thinks you’re mad because you got landed with picking up that reporter guy from the airport tonight, so you’re missing out on the good champagne. That or the whole Benefit Concert thing.’
Ah, that. Yeah, that would make more sense. Especially since she hadn’t been completely silent about her unhappiness that the reporter was coming at all.
‘I hadn’t really...you think she stole me away from you?’
Violet gave him a withering stare. ‘Yes, Will. I’ve been lusting after you, pining away for you through every one of your ridiculous engagements and runaway groom stunts. And now you’ve finally married my sister, I don’t think I will ever recover.’
Her deadpan delivery apparently sold it because Will laughed with obvious relief. ‘Good. That’s...okay, then. And you’re not mad about the reporter either?’
‘I’m mad about the champagne. Otherwise, I’ll cope.’
‘You’re sure? I know you’re a little...’
Violet tried to guess the word he was avoiding saying. Nervous? Worried? Paranoid?
Probably paranoid.
‘Apprehensive about him coming,’ Will finished.
Violet sighed. Apprehensive wasn’t the half of it. But her dad had made up his mind that he wanted to tell his story, have that official biography on the shelves, and he’d picked this guy to do it. Rose had looked at her with worried eyes when he’d announced it, but even she admitted it made sense to do it now, ahead of the new tour and album. The reporter guy would have exclusive access, in-depth interviews and enough connections to get a real buzz going in the media.
‘Rose says he’s nice,’ Will tried. ‘They met in New York before she came home.’
‘I’m sure he’s a doll,’ Violet replied. It didn’t matter who he was. He was press, and only interested in them as a story, as something he could sell.
Violet had learned that lesson the hard way.
Will frowned. ‘Maybe if you talk to your dad...’
Shaking her head, Violet gave him a gentle smile. ‘It’s fine. I promise.’ Dad had made up his mind and that was it. As always. Nothing Will, Daisy, Rose or Violet could do to change it. And so there was no point dwelling on it. She’d just stay out of his way as much as possible and hope for the best.
What else could she do?
‘And about the Benefit Concert—’ he started, but Violet cut him off.
‘Go on, Will.’ She pushed against his arm. ‘Go whisk Rose away on your honeymoon. I’ll take care of things here, I promise. Since you’ve apparently already texted the reporter guy my phone number, he’s my responsibility now, and I think I can manage one airport pick-up. You two go relax for a bit. Get used to being married for once, instead of just temporarily engaged.’
‘Okay. See you soon, kid.’ With a quick hug and a peck on the cheek, he headed back towards Rose, and Violet was alone again.
As usual.
She hadn’t exactly lied to Will, she decided. She had never thought of Will as husband material—or even one-night stand material. He was worth far more to her as a friend, and she’d never felt that spark, that flash of something more that hinted that they could be anything else.
It was just kind of weird that he obviously felt that flash with Rose of all people. Her so-identical-it-was-actually-spooky twin sister.
Although, really, she should be used to people seeing something in Rose that they never saw in her. After all, hadn’t their parents made Rose stay home instead of going back to the States after Daisy’s wedding, just so she could organise their vow renewal ceremony and party? Even though Violet had been right there, with time on her hands, happy to help?
Not that she was bitter. She knew why they hadn’t asked—because they’d been sure she wouldn’t want to do it. Wouldn’t want to have to deal with so many people, so many knowing eyes.
And they were probably right.
Will hadn’t thought about that as he’d told her where to find Rose’s black planner, though, and asked her to make sure everything kept ticking over for the annual Huntingdon Hall Benefit Concert while they were away on their honeymoon. Maybe he’d just been too caught up in the flush of true love to think about it. Or maybe he expected her to hand it over to some agency person, hired to cover Rose’s job.
Maybe she should. After all, she knew absolutely nothing about how to organise a concert for thousands of people. Will had insisted that Rose had already done all the hard work, that there’d be practically nothing left for Violet to do.
Because obviously otherwise they’d have found someone more competent to put in charge.
Violet shook her head. She was being ridiculous. She hadn’t wanted to organise the vow renewal anyway. Or the Benefit Concert, come to that. She had other obligations. But now that Rose had told their dad she’d be stepping down from her job managing the PR and events for The Screaming Lemons once she got back from her honeymoon...well, someone would have to do it. And Violet couldn’t ignore the very small part of her brain that thought that person could be her.
No. She had no experience, and no desire to deal with people who laughed at her behind her back all day long. She’d just stick to things she knew she was good at. Like arranging flowers, thank you very much.
The flower displays she’d designed for the vow renewal were, she decided, by far her best displays yet. Lots of exotic blooms in deep jewel colours. Striking and memorable, just like her parents. Her flowers rocked, everyone said so.
There you had it. Twenty-seven years on the planet, and that was all she could say about herself.
Violet Huntingdon-Cross—kick-ass flower arranger, wannabe crocheter. Potential cat lady in waiting.
No, that wasn’t all. That was just all that other people saw—and she was happy to keep it that way. She made a difference in the lives of young people and teenagers every day, even if no one ever knew it was her. After all, if word got around that Violet Huntingdon-Cross was manning the phones at the troubled teen helpline, their calls would skyrocket with people wanting to ask her about her own past, or just talk to a minor celebrity—and the kids she really wanted to help wouldn’t be able to get through at all. So she helped where she could. Even if she wished she could do more.
Her parents did the same, helping out charities anonymously when they could. The only difference was, they also did enough charity work—as well as music and the occasional modelling gig respectively—in public that everyone assumed they already knew everything there was to know about Rick and Sherry Cross.
But with Violet...well, Violet could only imagine what they were still saying about her. Probably the nicest was that she’d become a recluse.
Still, that was a hell of a lot better than what they’d been saying about her eight years ago.
Pulling her phone from her tiny clutch bag, she checked the time and then double-checked the email Will had sent her from Rose’s account with the reporter guy’s flight details. Thomas Buckley...that was his name. She must make an effort not to just call him reporter guy all the time. Although it never hurt to have a reminder that the press were press and always on the record, whatever they said. Not something she ever wanted to forget again.
Time to go. She’d get changed out of her bridesmaid’s dress, grab the ridiculous name card Rose had left for her and be at Heathrow in plenty of time to grab a coffee before his flight landed. And, best of all, she wouldn’t be stuck in romance central another minute.
Moving towards the side door to Huntingdon Hall, Violet paused as she caught sight of her parents, dancing in the light of the just risen moon. So wrapped up in each other that the couple of hundred people watching, who’d come all this way to celebrate with them, might not even be there at all. Sherry Huntingdon and Rick Cross were famously crazy about each other, but it wasn’t until Violet caught them in moments like this that she really believed the media hype.
And that, she finally admitted to herself, was the real reason all this love stuff was getting to her. Deep down, she’d always believed that she’d just fall into a perfect relationship like her parents had, like both her sisters had now found too.
Instead, she’d got something else entirely. Like anti-love. The sort of relationship that tore up your insides and made you someone else. After that, if she was honest, Violet wasn’t sure she’d ever have the courage to try again.
Her phone rang in her hand and Violet answered it automatically, glad for the distraction. ‘Hello?’
‘I was under the impression that you, whoever you are, were supposed to be meeting me at the airport about twenty minutes ago.’ The American drawl made Violet’s eyes widen. The reporter guy. Except Rose’s email had him landing in an hour and a half. Dammit!
‘I’m so sorry, Mr...’ Oh, God, what was his name?
‘Buckley.’ He bit the surname out. ‘And I could care less about apologies. Just get here, will you? I’ll be in the bar.’
And, with that, the line went dead.
Picking up her skirt, Violet dashed for the garage and prayed no one had blocked her car in. She’d have to borrow one of her dad’s if they had. No time to change now, or even pick up that specially made name card of Rose’s. If she ever wanted to be relied on for more than flowers, she needed to not screw this up. And since the bad impression she—and by extension her family—had made on the reporter guy was already done, she needed to find a way to fix it. Starting with getting to Heathrow as fast as humanly possible, before he started drafting his story. She knew journalists. The truth seldom got in the way of a good story, and once they thought they knew all about a person it was almost impossible to convince them otherwise.
And Violet had already earned the Huntingdon-Cross family enough bad press to last a lifetime.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_c3dcdf79-28c3-5b9d-a3ac-82904e8e8b27)
TOM PUSHED HIS way to the counter, dragging his suitcase behind him like a weapon. A coffee shop. What the hell kind of use to him was that, especially at this time of night? He needed a drink—a proper one. But that was arrivals for you—never as good as the departures lounge. After so many years travelling the world, you’d think he’d remember that. Except he was usually being collected straight off a plane these days, and got whisked through arrivals to some hotel or another without even clocking his surroundings.
He’d just have to hope that whoever the ditsy woman Rose had assigned to pick him up was would check her phone and see his text telling her to meet him here instead.
Staring at the menu above the counter with bleary eyes, Tom tried to figure out his best option. He’d already consumed so much caffeine in the last two weeks that his muscles appeared to be permanently twitching. Add that to the distinct lack of sleep, and he wasn’t sure another shot of the black stuff was quite what he needed. Of course, what he needed was a big bed with cool sheets, a blackout blind and about twenty-four hours’ solid rest.
None of which was a remote possibility until his ride pitched up.
Ordering a decaf something-or-other, Tom tossed his jacket and laptop into the nearest bucket chair and hovered impatiently between it and the counter while he waited for his drink. If he’d flown first class, or even business, he could have had as many free drinks as he liked on the plane. But old habits died hard and, since this job was entirely on spec and therefore on his own dime, he’d been paying for his own flight. Something inside him still baulked at shelling out that much cash just for a better seat, even though money wasn’t really an object any more. Certainly not the way it had been growing up.
His music journalism career had taken off enough in the past few years that he could rely on his contacts for a good life and a better income. He’d come a long way from his first big, explosive story, almost ten years ago.
So yeah, he could have afforded the upgrade, easily, and without tapping those savings. And if he’d remembered about the free booze aspect of things, he probably would have done. As it was...
Snatching his coffee from the girl behind the counter, he settled at his table and prepared to hang around a while. God only knew how long it would take his ride to get there from wherever she was, but he might as well get some work done while he waited. Even if he felt as if his eyes might jump right out of his head if he didn’t close them soon.
At least the work was worth travelling all the way from New York for. A story like this, a break this big...it could make him, permanently. He’d be the go-to person for anything to do with The Screaming Lemons, and that was serious currency in the industry. It would give him access, and opportunities with the newer bands coming through. He’d have the pick of jobs.
He’d already made a pretty good name for himself with the bigger music magazines, websites and even the colour supplements. But this trip, these interviews, this was something more—it was a book in the making. That was what Rick Cross had promised him. And Tom was going to make sure the old man made good on his word.
He was annoyed to have missed all the upheaval in the Huntingdon-Cross family over the past two months, but it couldn’t be helped. He’d already been committed to another project at home in the States and, anyway, who could have predicted that one of Rick and Sherry’s famously blonde and beautiful daughters would get married and knocked up all within the space of eight weeks? And who knew what was going on with Rose now? She’d been in the press recently herself, he remembered, pictured with the famous Runaway Groom—who he’d thought was famously her sister Violet’s best friend. Maybe something had happened there—and he’d missed it, again. All he’d had was a text message when he turned his phone back on after the flight, with a contact number and the information that, due to unforeseen but brilliant circumstances, someone else would be collecting him.
Or not, as the case might be.
Tom sighed. He’d just have to make sure he got good interviews with them all when he could. And, wherever Rose might be, at least one daughter was still living at home—probably the most famous one, if you counted notorious Internet celebrity, which Tom did.
Opening his laptop, he pulled up his notes on the family. He was staying at the family home, Huntingdon Hall, so he needed to be prepared from the get-go. He’d spent weeks compiling old interviews, articles and photos of the whole family, and felt he had it pretty much down. And after speaking with Rose in New York and on the phone while planning the trip, he’d thought he had at least one ally there—until she’d decided to swan off and abandon him with no notice.
Presumably she’d got an offer too good to refuse, no matter how much it inconvenienced anyone else. Celebrity kids—always the centre of their own world, however nice and normal Rose had seemed when they met. He needed to remember that.
He’d only had one conversation with the man he was really there to see, though—Rick Cross himself. Rock star, family man, reformed wide boy. The interviews Tom had on file dated back almost thirty years, back to when The Screaming Lemons were the next big thing on the rock scene. Nowadays, they were the old standards—and they had to try harder to shock or surprise.
With his plans for a tell-all book about the band and his family’s history, it looked as if Rick had plans to do both.
Tom had asked him, ‘Why now?’ It couldn’t be money—the band still sold enough greatest hits records and got more than enough airplay that it didn’t matter if their latest album tanked. But all Rick would say was that it was time.
Scrolling through his family crib sheet, Tom reminded himself of all the most pertinent facts.
Most people in Britain and the States could pick Rick Cross out of a line-up and tell you his story. Same for his wife, the beautiful and rich mostly ex-model and now English society stalwart, Sherry Huntingdon. With his fame and her family, they made quite the impact.
Then there were the girls. The youngest, Daisy, was the newest Lady Holgate, which seemed pretty much par for the course for celebrity kids, Tom decided. After all, if you already had money and fame, surely a title was the only thing left to go for? Especially in the UK.
The twins were a few years older at twenty-seven. Rose, he knew from personal meetings with her, had been living in New York for the last few years, although she had planned to be in England until the annual benefit concert at least.
And then there was Violet. Tom had enjoyed the hell out of researching her. The thought made him smile even as he rubbed at his gritty eyes.
A commotion at the counter made him look up, and he blinked at the sight of a tall blonde in a ridiculous dress and heels crashing past a table full of customers. Was that Rose? Or a sleep deprivation induced hallucination?
‘Sorry!’ the blonde yelped, and he decided that she was probably real. Hallucinations didn’t usually yelp, in his experience.
Shaking his head to try and wake up, Tom packed up his laptop. It looked as if his ride had made it after all. Any time now he could fall into that nice, peaceful, quiet bed and sleep for a week. Or at least until Rick Cross summoned him for his first interview.
From all the reports he’d read, Tom was pretty sure Rick wasn’t an early riser. That lie-in was practically in the bag.
‘Rose,’ he said, hoisting his bag onto his shoulder and reaching for the handle of his suitcase. ‘I thought you were going away? You didn’t have to come all the way out here just because the idiot you asked to pick me up forgot. I could have just caught a cab, you know.’
Rose looked up, eyes wide, her hands still gripping her skirt. ‘Oh, um, no, it’s fine. Thomas. It’s fine, Thomas.’
Why did she keep repeating his name? And why was she calling him Thomas instead of Tom all of a sudden? They’d spoken plenty of times before, and even had lunch once. It wasn’t as if she might have forgotten it all of a sudden.
Unless...
The smirk formed unbidden on his lips. ‘I’m sorry, Violet. I thought you were your sister for a moment. And it’s Tom.’
‘That’s okay. You’re not the only one to get confused.’ She pulled a frustrated face, and Thomas couldn’t help but laugh. It was just so familiar. And not from Rose.
‘What?’ Violet asked, obviously startled by his outburst. Maybe he should have had caffeinated coffee. Obviously the sleep deprivation was starting to affect him.
‘I’m sorry,’ he managed, trying to keep his smirk in check. ‘But for a moment you looked just like you did in the—’ Self-preservation kicked in as her face turned stony and he cut himself off.
‘No, really. Do continue.’ Her cut glass accent was sharp enough to wound, and any humour Tom had found in the situation ebbed away. ‘I believe you were about to finish that sentence with the words “leaked sex tape”, right?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Tom started, realising he’d apologised to this woman more in the first three minutes of meeting her than he’d normally need to in even a month of dating someone. But Violet interrupted before he could get to the part about sleep deprivation and inadequate impulse control.
‘That’s right,’ she said, a little louder than Tom thought was strictly necessary. ‘I’m the famous Huntingdon-Cross Sex Tape Twin. Not one of the two sisters who found true love and settled down. The one who men only want so they can film us together and put it on the Internet. Get your autographs here.’
The café was almost empty, but a couple of guys sitting at the table nearest the front definitely had their camera phones out. What kind of audacity did it take to stand up in public and admit to being the star of a ridiculously explicit sex tape watched by half the world? The sort only the rich and famous had.
‘And apparently, according to the frustrated and annoyed look on my face, it can’t even have been good sex. Personally, I don’t remember, but Mr Buckley here has obviously watched it often enough to be considered an expert. Do feel free to ask him questions, if you like. I’m not in a hurry. I mean, I’m only missing my parents’ marriage renewal ceremony to be here. Carry on.’
Waving an imperious hand towards him, Violet perched on the edge of a stool by the counter and waited. Feeling the heat of embarrassment in his cheeks, Tom grabbed the last of his things from the table and headed for the exit. Violet Huntingdon-Cross might be used to this sort of exposure, but he certainly wasn’t.
‘No questions? Oh, what a shame. I suppose we’d better be on our way, then.’ Violet hopped down and followed him out into the arrivals hall.
‘I suppose I deserved that,’ he muttered as she held the door of the terminal open for him. He had laughed first. But she’d been over an hour and a half late to collect him. So the sleep deprivation was at least partly her fault, right?
‘I suppose you did,’ she replied. ‘And I’m very sorry for being late to collect you. Rose gave me the wrong flight times.’
Damn. There went that argument.
‘This is where you apologise to me for humiliating me in front of a crowd of people,’ Violet prompted, and Tom raised his eyebrows.
‘Me? Trust me, sweetheart, you did the humiliating all by yourself.’ As if a performance of that sort was second nature to her. Which, judging by the sex tape, it might well be. He’d heard that Violet had calmed down in more recent years, but maybe the family had just got better at hiding her exploits from the media.
Her whole face flushed bright red at his words, and she pushed past him as they left the terminal. ‘I’m parked in the short stay car park,’ she called back over his shoulder.
He was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to hear her muttered words as she strode off towards the car, but he did. ‘Hopefully not as short as your stay with us, though.’
Tom allowed himself a smile. Violet Huntingdon-Cross was definitely a worthy interview subject. And if he could get some new or hidden scandals on the eldest family wild child to help sell his book proposal, well, he’d be an idiot not to. Right?
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_16abe357-d130-5ddf-9591-4698f23c141a)
VIOLET’S HANDS WERE still shaking as she tried to get the key into the ignition. At the back of the car, Tom was struggling to open the boot for his cases, but she had no intention of helping. Not least because the way her body was trembling meant she’d probably be even worse at it than him.
What on earth had possessed her? Eight years of best behaviour, of keeping her head down, of politely ignoring all the comments and jokes—all gone in one moment of frustration and humiliation in an airport coffee shop.
It had been his laugh, she decided, as the key finally slid home. It had made it so abundantly clear that she wasn’t a real person to him, just a hilarious anecdote. One she had probably now ensured he would be dining out on for all time.
She was used to being seen as a public figure more than herself. She was always Rick and Sherry’s daughter first, and often Rose or Daisy’s sister before she was ever a person in her own right. Except when she was the Sex Tape Twin. And, quite honestly, she’d rather be nobody than that.
Except that was all she ever seemed to be to anyone outside her own family. And God, was she sick of it.
The car boot slammed shut; Tom must have managed to stow his cases away. Any moment now he’d slide into the passenger seat beside her and they’d have to make polite conversation all the way home. That, or sit in frosty silence. Violet wasn’t sure which would be worse.
She sighed. Yes, she was. Silence would be worse. Because only her dad had any idea how long Thomas Buckley would be staying at their house, and she couldn’t simply send him to Coventry indefinitely. This wasn’t boarding school; it was real life. And somehow that had turned out to be even more confining and stifling than the strict Catholic school they’d all been sent to.
She was a grown-up now. The mistakes of her youth were supposed to be in the past. She was more than the stories people told about her. Which meant sucking it up and making nice with the offensive American music journalist who would be writing some sort of tell-all about her family and their life any time now. And hoping he’d forget what a disaster this whole night had been.
It was like her dad had said, back when That Tape had first hit the internet and suddenly her sex face was splashed all over magazines and newspapers everywhere. He’d left the rest of the band in some hotel somewhere, mid-tour, and come home to check on her. While she’d lain sobbing on her bed, he’d rubbed her back and told her, ‘At least you know now, honey. Not everyone out there wants what’s best for you. And only you can decide who to trust.’
Well. There was an easy answer to that one, Violet had found. Don’t trust anyone—except family.
Will had been an exception to the rule, and a hard-won one at that. But it helped that he’d only ever been friend material. She wouldn’t trust even her best friend with her whole heart. Not like Rose had done.
The passenger door opened and Violet sucked in a breath before plastering on a smile. ‘All okay?’
Tom gave her a slightly wary look, as if uncertain whether she might just drive off with him half in and half out of the car. She couldn’t really blame him; she hadn’t been exactly consistent since they’d met.
Time to start mending fences before he started writing articles.
‘Fine.’ Tom slid into the seat beside her. ‘And, uh, you?’
She forced her smile to brighten further. ‘Just dandy.’
‘Right. And are you always prone to such extreme mood swings?’
Oh, God, he was probably thinking that she was on drugs, or bipolar, or something else that would make a good story. This was not going well.
Violet sighed. Time to try honesty. ‘Okay, look. We got off to a rotten start here, I know. But Dad wants you staying with us, working with him, and Dad doesn’t change his mind once it’s made up. So I just have to suck it up and get on with things, right? And since I don’t particularly want to spend the next however many weeks avoiding you or trading insults on sight, I figure the easiest thing is to pretend the last half an hour didn’t happen. Okay?’ Partial honesty, anyway. She didn’t need to mention—
‘Plus you don’t want me to tell the story of this evening in any future articles or books?’
Damn. ‘Well, do you blame me?’
Tom was quiet so long that she had to glance over to check that he hadn’t fallen asleep. When she looked, he was holding out his hand.
Eyebrows raised, she took it, biting her lip at the slight tingle she felt at his skin against hers. For heaven’s sake, it was a handshake! Had it really been so long since someone she wasn’t related to by blood or marriage had touched her that her body had forgotten what it felt like?
‘I’m Tom Buckley,’ he said with a half smile. ‘Nice to meet you. Thanks for coming to pick me up.’
‘Violet Huntingdon-Cross. Sorry I was an hour and a half late.’
He chuckled. ‘Let’s just blame Rose for everything, yeah?’
‘That’s what I’ve been trying to do for the last twenty-seven years,’ Violet said, and sighed. ‘Sadly, it never seems to stick.’
At Tom’s laugh, she slipped the car into gear and pulled out of the parking space. ‘Come on. Let’s get you home. I bet you’re tired after your long journey.’
‘Exhausted,’ Tom admitted, and when she looked she could see the dark circles under his eyes, even in the poor lighting of the airport car park. ‘That’s kind of my excuse, actually. For, well, everything. Sleep deprivation. It’s been a hell of a week.’
‘I’m sure. Rose said you were working out in Miami?’
He nodded. ‘For the last week. Then a flying visit home to New York to repack my bags, then straight here. I feel like I haven’t slept in a month. I’m looking forward to some peace and quiet, actually. Your dad told me that Huntingdon Hall is out in the middle of nowhere, right?’
‘Ye—es,’ Violet said, biting her lip as she remembered the party she’d left just a couple of hours before. It was long gone midnight. Surely everyone would have gone home by the time they arrived, right? Oh, who was she kidding? Rick and Sherry’s parties were legendary. They’d be lucky if they didn’t find anyone passed out on the tennis court in the morning, this time.
‘That sounds ominous,’ Tom said. ‘Do they have guests? Wait...’ Glancing over, she saw him frown, the moment it clicked into place for him. ‘Oh, hell. It’s their vow renewal today, right? You said you were missing it... That’s why you were so annoyed about having to come and fetch me?’
‘And why I’m wearing this fetching yet inappropriate dress,’ Violet confirmed. No need for him to know that, actually, she’d been happy to get out of there. ‘I’m afraid there’s a very real chance the party might still be ongoing.’ She glanced at the dashboard clock. ‘In fact, I think Dad and the boys will probably be taking the stage for their encore session right about now.’
Tom groaned and let his head fall back against the headrest. ‘So, no sleep tonight is what you’re telling me.’
‘Basically. Sorry! Maybe you can get some sleep in the car?’ She should feel worse about this. The guy was obviously exhausted to the point of losing all social niceties. She should feel bad that her parents and their friends were going to keep him up for another night.
She really, really didn’t, though.
* * *
It seemed to Tom that no sooner had he closed his eyes than a car door was slamming, then another opening, and cool night air flooded over his face. Followed swiftly by his ears being assaulted by one of The Screaming Lemons’ classic hits being played as an acoustic number.
Normally, he’d be up at the front of the stage, soaking in the moment, tucking the memories away for future articles, trying to find the right words to describe the perfection of that three and a half minutes.
Tonight—or rather this morning—he just wanted it all to go away. Including Violet Huntingdon-Cross.
‘Wake up, Sleeping Beauty,’ she said, in a voice far too jolly for someone who had recently glared at him with such loathing. ‘You’re missing the party.’
He cracked open one eyelid and waited for the yellow blur of her hair, the pale fuzz of her face and the purple blotch that was her dress to come into focus. Then he blinked; she was closer than he’d thought, and suddenly the only things in focus at all were her bright blue eyes, peering down at him.
‘Oh, good,’ she said, straightening up. ‘I thought for a moment I was going to have to leave you here for the night. That or get someone to come carry you to bed. That sort of thing never makes a terribly good first impression, you know.’
Unlike, for instance, pointing out a woman’s sex tape history within five minutes of meeting her. God, when he woke up properly he was going to have to work at getting Violet back onside. As the only daughter living at home, he had a feeling she could make life difficult for him if she wanted.
And he rather suspected she might more than want to. It might actually be her burning life ambition at this point.
‘I’m awake,’ he half lied, forcing himself to straighten up. Another couple of moments and he might even make it out of the car.
Violet grabbed his hand and, even through his sleep fog, he couldn’t help but be aware of the feel of her smooth, cool skin, or the way something indefinable crept up his arm at her touch. Something that seemed to crackle with possibilities.
Something that woke him up completely.
Blinking again, he twisted round to get his feet firmly on the ground and stood up, belatedly aware that he was still gripping onto Violet’s hand, probably rather tighter than she’d like.
He dropped it fast, but her blue, blue eyes were still fixed on his and the puzzled crease between her eyebrows told him that whatever he’d felt, she’d felt it too.
At least he had the excuse of sleep deprivation. What justification was she using?
Violet shook her head and stepped back, nicely out of his personal space. ‘I know you’re exhausted. But given that sleep is likely to be impossible for the next couple of hours at least, and since you are here to observe and interview and write about the band... Why don’t you come and meet Dad?’
Dad. Even after an hour in the company of one of the most famous celebrity kids in the world, it still felt strange to hear her refer to the infamous Rick Cross as ‘Dad’. How different a world must Violet live in to the real one he inhabited, to so casually be able to think of Huntingdon Hall as home, and one of the most recognisable couples ever as Mum and Dad?
Different, certainly, to the kid from New York who never even knew who his father was, only that he wouldn’t have done him any good in life if he’d stuck around anyway. The kid whose mother had so disapproved of the method he’d used to get out of the gutter, she hadn’t spoken to him for three years before her death.
Yeah, there were worlds between him and Violet. And however long he stayed at Huntingdon Hall, he had to remember that.
‘Isn’t he still playing?’ Tom said, hoping it wasn’t painfully obvious he was stalling. Rick had seemed sharp on the phone, the sort to see through people’s masks. He wanted to be on top form when he sat down with Rick for the first time.
Violet tilted her head to the left, listening to the music, he presumed. ‘This is usually his last number. He’ll be off stage soon and still on that performance high. It’s a good time to meet him if you want him to like you.’
‘And do you want him to like me?’ Tom asked. It seemed strange that she would, given everything.
A look of annoyance flashed across Violet’s face, as if she weren’t used to being asked this many questions about her motives and feelings. Maybe she wasn’t. ‘Yes.’
Tom couldn’t resist. ‘Why?’
‘Does it matter?’ Violet tossed her hair back over her shoulder as the last chord rang out from the stage. ‘We’re going to miss him.’
‘You haven’t answered my question.’ Tom folded his arms, leant back against the car and waited.
With an impatient huff, Violet grabbed his hand and started dragging him towards the stage. Tom didn’t budge until she started talking.
‘Because Dad makes up his mind about people and things in an instant, and that’s it. You’re here; you’re going to be writing about him and us. If he likes you, he’ll show you his best side, the stuff I want you to be writing about. If he takes a dislike to you...’
‘Things could get messy?’ Tom guessed.
Violet sighed as they reached the edge of the stage area. Even though the party was obviously filled with friends and family, the cheering as the band came off stage was still as loud as Tom had heard in any stadium.
‘Let’s just say this whole experience will be a lot less fun. For all of us.’
Suddenly, the familiar craggy face of Rick Cross appeared at the top of the stage steps, mouth open and laughing at something his band mate was saying behind him.
‘Showtime,’ Tom whispered, and Violet flashed him a quick grin—the first honest smile he’d seen from her.
Tom took a breath. Time to meet the parents.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_b3a5e0c6-e960-5ec8-a34b-d465747bdaa1)
VIOLET HID A grin at the slightly shell-shocked look on Tom’s face as Dad and the boys traipsed down the temporary stairs at the side of the stage set, all laughing, chatting and still clearly caught up in their own world—a world that consisted of music, noise and melodies.
She knew the kind of impact they could have, just off stage. When she was younger, just old enough to be allowed to stay up to watch the occasional gig from the wings, she and Rose had found it hard to understand this part—when Dad wasn’t Dad, just for a moment. He was all Rick Cross, rock star, right now. And that was a sight to behold.
The adrenaline would wear off soon enough, Violet knew. He’d come down, hug his wife, ask for a drink, and before too long he’d be heading to bed to sleep it off. Well, maybe after a little more time with his closest friends—drinking and talking and probably singing.
Right now, in this moment, he was exactly who Tom Buckley had come here to interview. She hadn’t lied when she said that this was the best time for Tom to make a good impression with her father. But it was also the best time to remind Tom that this wasn’t just anybody he’d come here to write about.
The press could publish all the stories they liked about her and her sisters—and heaven knew they would. But they couldn’t touch her parents. Rick and Sherry were rock royalty, beyond reproach. There were no affairs, no addictions, no mistakes made—nothing to latch on to and use to make their lives hell. It might have been different back in the day, but not any more.
Now they were national treasures, and Violet was unbearably proud of them for it.
‘Mr Cross.’ Stepping forward, Tom stuck out his hand, smiling warmly. Violet had to give him credit—if he hadn’t been slumped over in her passenger seat for the last forty-five minutes, she’d never have known he was utterly exhausted. He looked professional, ready to do a great job.
She just hoped that Dad’s idea of a good job and Tom’s meshed.
‘Mr Buckley, I presume!’ Rick’s famous smile spread across his face. ‘Great to have you here.’ He shook Tom’s hand with what looked like painful enthusiasm. ‘Boys, this is the guy I’ve invited over to write our musical life story.’
‘And your family’s,’ Tom put in. Violet rolled her eyes. As if any of them would forget that he was here to expose all their private lives as well as their public personas.
‘Oh, he’s here for the dirt, Rick.’ Jez—Uncle Jez to the girls—the band’s lead guitarist and Rick’s best man, elbowed his friend in the ribs. ‘Time to hide those skeletons in better closets!’
Rick laughed, his head tipped back in pure amusement and joy. Violet bit the inside of her cheek and just prayed there wasn’t anything hidden there that she didn’t know about. She couldn’t imagine how there could be, given how closely she’d been involved in her parents’ lives and work since she’d moved back home eight years ago.
But you could never be too careful when it came to the press. And if Dad had any secrets, Uncle Jez would be the one to know them.
‘Trust me, I’m just here to write the best, most honest story I can for your legion of fans. They’re only interested in the truth.’ Unlike Tom, presumably.
‘And that’s just what you’ll get.’ Rick clapped a hand on Tom’s back, and Violet knew the reporter had passed some test that no one but her father would ever understand. ‘The complete unvarnished truth, ready to be written down for posterity.’
Relief warred with apprehension inside her, and Violet clenched her fists so tightly her nails bit into the palms of her hands. On the one hand, the fact that her dad liked Tom would make the interviews go more smoothly, reducing the chances of a story about a recalcitrant, difficult star. On the other, it opened up the opportunity that Rick would get too close to Tom. As much as he talked about the unvarnished truth, surely her father realised there were some parts of their family lives, and history, that none of them wanted shared with the world. For the umpteenth time in some cases.
Well, there was nothing for it now but to see how things went. And try and keep tabs on both Tom and Rick, so she could try and head off any prospective trouble before it turned up in the papers this time.
‘Darlings, you were brilliant as always.’ Sherry floated up to them, kissing each of the band members on the cheek before planting a rather more thorough kiss on her husband. Tom, Violet noticed, was politely staring at the floor. Everyone else was too used to it to even bother.
‘Mum, this is Tom Buckley,’ Violet said once the public display of affection was over. Might as well get all the introductions over in one go. ‘He’s the writer Dad—’
‘The writer who’s going to tell our little story! Of course.’ Sherry held out a hand, although whether she intended it to be kissed or shaken Violet wasn’t sure.
Tom went for the handshake. Not fully charmed yet, then. Mum might have her work cut out with this one. Obviously he wasn’t taken in by her disingenuous description of his subject matter. Nobody in the world would describe the history of The Screaming Lemons and the Huntingdon-Cross family a ‘little story’. Least of all anyone who had lived it.
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Huntingdon-Cross,’ Tom said, releasing her hand.
‘Oh, call me Sherry, please.’ Mum flashed that legendary wide smile, the one that had been seen in magazines and on billboards for decades now. ‘Anyone who stays here at Huntingdon Hall rather automatically becomes part of the family, I’m afraid. You might as well get used to it!’
Tom Buckley, part of the family? Not on Violet’s watch.
But that was the problem with her parents. It wasn’t that they were overly trusting or naïve, particularly. They knew the dangers of fame as well as anyone, and took care to live their lives circumspectly. But once they’d taken someone in and claimed them as a friend...it took a lot to shake their faith in them. And that could be dangerous.
‘Where’s Daisy?’ Violet asked. She needed backup here and, with Rose and Will already gone on their honeymoon, Daisy-Waisy was going to have to be it.
‘Oh, she and Seb have already turned in, I think,’ Sherry said with a dismissive wave of her hand. ‘Daisy was exhausted, poor thing—pregnancy is extraordinarily tiring, you know,’ she added as an aside to Tom, who nodded, despite the puzzled crease between his eyebrows. ‘And I think Seb wants to get off back to Hawkesley first thing.’
Curses. With Tom about to collapse from sleep deprivation, the chances weren’t good that he’d be up in time to meet Daisy before she left. Which meant Violet was on her own trying to keep this whole project from blowing up in their faces. Lovely.
‘And Rose has already left?’ Tom asked politely. ‘I met her in New York last month, and I know she’d planned to be here right through until the concert...’ He left the sentence open. Not actually a question, so not really prying, but enough that politeness insisted that someone fill the gap. Tricky.
‘Oh, yes,’ Sherry said, beaming. ‘She and Will left on their honeymoon a couple of hours ago.’
Tom’s eyebrows inched up towards his hairline, and Violet winced. ‘Honeymoon?’ he asked. ‘I didn’t realise that she was planning a wedding.’
Or that she was even dating anyone, just like the rest of them. In fact, Violet was willing to bet that what Tom really meant was: Two daughters married in a suspiciously short space of time, and one of them pregnant...there has to be a story here. Especially if he’d seen the photos of Will and Rose in the papers.
Time to put a stop to that.
‘Oh, yes,’ she said, smiling cheerily. ‘Will has practically been a part of the family for years now. We’re delighted that they’ve made it official.’ All true—Will was part of the family—certainly more than Tom Buckley ever would be. And why did he need to know that up until the last month or so, Will had only been there as Violet’s best friend? And if he never realised that Will and Rose hadn’t met until Daisy’s wedding...well, that would be great. She just hoped that Tom Buckley didn’t keep up with the UK celebrity gossip too closely.
Rick slung an arm around Tom’s shoulders as the rest of the band wandered off in search of a drink or a bed. He had to reach up quite a bit to do it, Violet realised.
‘That’s the only downside of having daughters, you know,’ Rick said, grinning at Violet. ‘Having to give them away to unworthy men.’
‘Oh, hush,’ Sherry said. ‘You know you adore Will. And Seb is going to be a wonderful son-in-law.’
‘True. I have lucked out.’ Rick turned his wicked grin onto Violet, and she felt her stomach clench at what he might come out with next. The inability to keep his inappropriate comments to himself was definitely a downside to the post-performance adrenaline. ‘Makes me worry who Violet might decide to bring home. I can’t possibly get that lucky three times in a row.’
Heat flooded Violet’s cheeks. She’d spent more time blushing in front of Tom Buckley than actually talking to him at this point, she was sure.
‘Not something you need to be worrying about, Dad.’ Or be talking about in front of reporters.
Rick’s face turned a little sad. ‘No, I suppose not.’
‘Anyway, Rose will be back soon enough, and you’ll be able to catch up with her then,’ Violet said with forced jollity. Tom gave her a look that left her in no doubt he knew exactly what she was doing—steering the conversation away from anything interesting. Violet made a mental note to warn Rose that it might look better if her whirlwind romance with Will hadn’t been quite so...whirlwind-like. Rose would understand. Once she got home, everything would be so much easier.
‘Actually, darling,’ Sherry said, her smile just a little too wide, ‘I spoke to Will as they were leaving. I understand they’re going to be away for four weeks.’
Four weeks. Suddenly, with Tom Buckley standing there, it seemed longer than ever. Just when she really needed her twin at home with her. What had Will been thinking? Not about his best friend, stuck at home with the man who wanted to ferret out all her secrets. No, he’d been thinking about getting her twin sister naked for longer.
Damn men and their inability to think about more than one thing at once.
‘That’s right,’ she said, forcing a smile. ‘Although I couldn’t get him to say where they were going.’
‘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 (#ulink_3591e6a5-d553-5f73-b653-66743cc579b8)
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 (#ulink_9ec5a3f1-4c54-5730-a46d-60c293e0df2e)
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 supposed. 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?’
‘Strong and black, please,’ Tom replied. Actually, he normally preferred it somewhere in between, but he wasn’t taking the chance of failing the Rick Cross coffee test. Or any other tests he threw his way before Rick actually opened up to him and gave him the material he needed.
Rick nodded as he poured. ‘Good choice. Now, about today.’ He handed Tom a tiny steaming espresso cup with an apologetic smile that made Tom’s heart sink. There were going to be no interviews today, he just knew it.
This was always the risk in coming here. Staying at Huntingdon Hall gave Tom unprecedented access, yes. But it also gave the subject the illusion of limitless time—and plenty of excuses to dodge sitting down and talking to him.
Tom did not have limitless time, and he needed this story.
‘I was hoping we could make a start on some questions about what the Lemons are doing now,’ Tom said, hoping the allure of potential publicity for the new album would draw him in. ‘I’ve got a couple of possible slots in magazines and supplements coming up, and it would be good to let people know what’s next for the band.’
‘Rose would kick me if she heard me turning down the publicity, but I’m afraid I have some commitments today that I need to take care of before I can sit down with you.’ Rick reached for his own coffee mug—which, Tom noticed, had milk in it, damn him. ‘Sorry, Tom. I’ll be back this afternoon, though. And I’ll get Sherry to book some time with you too, as well as the boys from the band. I want us to get the bulk of the first few interviews down over the next week or two, so we’ve all got more time to focus on the Benefit Concert when it comes around. That sound okay to you?’

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