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Secrets Of The A-List Box Set, Volume 3
Dani Collins
Maya Blake
Karen Booth
Dazzling secrets are meant to be discovered…Maya BlakeThe Fixer has been hustling to keep the Marshall family’s scandals at a simmer, but nothing turns up the heat like the very public opening of a new nightclub. And when Vegas nights turn to Vegas fights, things look ready to boil over. They don’t call it Sin City for nothing. But between vicious jealousies and staggering betrayals, is anyone ready to confess their sins? Remember, dear Marshalls, social climbing has no safety net…Dani CollinsPoor Elana Marshall. She just can’t catch a break. But balancing the men in her life is nothing compared to her latest earthshattering secret. Too bad the Fixer can’t help – there’s a much bigger distraction: a demanding new client looking to pay big money for an even bigger job. Still, with the Marshalls circling the drain, and the Fixer’s reputation on the line, ‘no’ is simply not an option…Karen BoothWhen a sudden change in Harrison’s condition summons the Marshalls to his bedside, their loyalties will be pushed to the breaking point. Until now, the Fixer has been holding all the cards. But there’s a new player in town and they’re playing for keeps, forcing the Fixer to make a bold move that could lead down a dangerous path—and could uncover long-buried skeletons the family would rather keep underground.


Episodes 9 to 12 of this explosive family drama!
Who doesn’t love a good society wedding? The decadence, the drama, the father of the bride’s mistress—or is it mistresses? Harrison sure was a busy boy before he fell into a coma. Rachel’s been busy, too, doing anything and everything to keep Luc’s wandering eyes on her. Elana has a new earth-shattering secret; too bad the Fixer can’t help—he’s juggling a demanding new client. And when the family head to Sin City for wild nights—and fights—things look ready to boil over. But between vicious jealousies and staggering betrayals, it’s a change in Harrison’s condition in hospital that brings the family to his bedside...
Better grab ahold of something, Marshalls. This house of cards is about to collapse!
Super Rich. Super Sexy. Super Addictive.
Secrets of the A-List—read all 12 episodes!
Secrets of the Alist Box Set, Volume 3
Maya Blake
Dani Collins
Maya Blake
Karen Booth


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Praise for Maya Blake
“A masterful mix of intense emotion and laugh-out-loud humor. Her embattled couple is the perfect yin and yang. It’s a sensual feast.”
—RT Book Reviews on What the Greek Can’t Resist
Praise for Dani Collins
“Her couple is the epitome of miscommunication, but watching them finally ‘get’ each other is worth every page. Oh, and the love scenes are jaw-dropping sizzlers!”
—RT Book Reviews on More Than a Convenient Marriage
Praise for Maya Blake
“Had me hooked till the last page.”
—Harlequin Junkie on A Deal with Alejandro
Praise for Karen Booth
“This captivating romance appeals on many levels, from the forbidden lovers angle to the strong, dynamic characters.”
—RT Book Reviews on Pregnant by the Rival CEO
Contents
Cover (#uacd17f02-2607-53f7-8b35-7558a920deb0)
Back Cover Text (#u0bd278c8-5cc2-54ba-b44d-1f5c7de453f0)
Title Page (#u16b11989-297f-5a05-9a5d-1ef7d7f947c0)
Praise (#u8187d071-66a0-5889-b8b8-0bb8cf0b6f58)
Episode 9 of 12 (#u4d5a9aa6-85f1-5437-836b-4760c2a5f47b)
Introduction (#ueb4cf259-2bd8-5446-a260-5203c5b99319)
About the Author (#u1999a860-604b-5a53-8099-0aec1d875111)
Episode Nine (#u5a093c12-a454-52be-afbe-162bbcbf3d8c)
Chapter One (#ube1e74df-894d-5295-af02-f6959e9cda71)
Chapter Two (#u0fb32fc9-0ba6-5e84-a55a-ea1e95448308)
Chapter Three (#ua0ee005d-7290-53ec-a9ad-eff3d2e7b305)
Chapter Four (#u8a51d4e9-3d68-54a2-bdbb-272da914da49)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Episode 10 of 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Introduction (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
Dedication (#litres_trial_promo)
Episode Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Episode 11 of 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Introduction (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
Episode Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Episode 12 of 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Introduction (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
Episode Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
SECRETS OF THE A-LIST (Episode 9 of 12) (#u50a36db6-4929-595b-8539-9b46ec00c124)
Maya Blake
You’re invited to the wedding of the year!
Who doesn’t love a good society wedding? The decadence, the drama, the father of the bride’s mistress—or is it mistresses? Harrison sure was a busy boy before he fell into a coma. Rachel’s been busy, too, doing anything and everything to keep Luc’s wandering eyes on her. At least Elana and Thom look like they are finally honeymoon-bound. But can they leave the past behind so easily? People do say the first year of marriage is the hardest...
Super Rich. Super Sexy. Super Addictive.
Secrets of the A-List
About the Author (#u50a36db6-4929-595b-8539-9b46ec00c124)
MAYA BLAKE’s hopes of becoming a writer were born when she picked up her first romance at thirteen. Little did she know her dream would come true! Does she still pinch herself every now and then to make sure it’s not a dream? Yes, she does! Feel free to pinch her, too, via Twitter, Facebook or Goodreads! Happy reading!
Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) for more titles.
Episode Nine (#u50a36db6-4929-595b-8539-9b46ec00c124)
It’s Elana and Thom’s wedding day, and everything is less than perfect. Elana goes missing before the walk down the aisle because she’s hit with waves of nerves. Again. A quick recovery sets everything back on track...or does it? Thom has just stopped the ceremony to say something...
Chapter One (#u50a36db6-4929-595b-8539-9b46ec00c124)
What the fuck are you doing?
Thom tried to suppress the voice in his head as it screamed louder. Was he really doing this? Here, in front of all these people, had he just objected to his own wedding? Who the hell did that?
It seemed surreal, and yet, the words he’d uttered moments ago glared like neon signs in his mind. Better still, the words felt right.
The hush that had settled over the crowd at his brash announcement started to fracture. Mute shock gave way to wide-eyed speculation then super-eager anticipation of salacious gossip on which to dine on for the rest of the year. Well, not quite a year. One month, tops. This was TMZ Central, after all.
He glanced at the woman by his side. Elana had paled. For the first time since he’d known her, she looked green around the gills, even worse than she had after Harrison’s accident. Her wide, uncertain gaze held his, the bouquet clutched tight in her fist trembling a little. But within that look, he caught something else. Relief, perhaps? Or was he projecting his own feelings onto her? What the hell did that matter now?
Sweet freedom beckoned. He could taste it at the back of his throat. With a few words, this nightmare of living in the darkest part of the closet would be over.
But... Jesus...at what cost?
“Thom?”
He blinked.
Elana’s voice was as shaky as he felt.
He tightened his gut against the anxiety he heard in her voice. She could be wild and frivolous sometimes, but Elana was still human. And he was fucking up what should be her perfect day.
He was fucking up the day for everyone. Including his parents.
Shit. His parents. He could feel their gazes boring into his back, his mother’s especially. He didn’t need to turn around to see her narrow-eyed are-you-outta-your-mind? stare.
They would hate him for doing this. Enough to disown him? Maybe. Maybe not. He had the advantage of being the only child to eventually sway them, but still, love and hate could cohabit just fine. He should know. It was what he felt each time he looked in the mirror and acknowledged the fact that was still hiding his true self.
This alliance meant a great deal to his parents.
But, hell, wasn’t it time he stood his ground? Claim the life he truly wanted for himself, instead of living this sham?
Elana was still staring at him. Her eyes were slowly narrowing with that curious mix of anxiety and resignation.
Behind him, the crowd waited, expectant.
He swallowed past the rock in his throat and turned, carefully avoiding looking at where his parents were seated and focused somewhere in the middle distance.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I know what you’re all thinking—what the hell is he up to? But, hey, the groom needs a little attention at his own wedding, too, am I right?” His laughter sounded forced, even to his own ears.
A smattering of nervous laughter. More than a few disappointed expressions that said they’d hoped for something more earth-shattering than his pathetic joke. Nevertheless, they were all poised on the edges of their seats. They sensed there was more to come.
For a moment, his gaze dropped to the VIP section on the front rows. His future mother-in-law’s megawatt smile was flawless but fixed, her eyes demanding to know what the hell was going on. He hurriedly looked away. He couldn’t afford to waver.
He needed to do this.
“First of all, I’d like to thank you all for coming, even if most of you are here to see the most beautiful woman in the world marry a nobody like me.” Self-deprecating laughter, joined in by one or two. More exchanged looks. Mariella’s eyes started to narrow as more guests fidgeted. His gut churned harder.
Come on. Time to stop fucking around and man up.
“Seriously, though, there have been many times in the last few months when I’ve been overawed and so honored at the thought of becoming a part of the wonderful Marshall family. To be honest, I’ve also wondered why a gorgeous creature like Elana agreed to marry me in the first place. I know how many of you guys out there would kill to be in my shoes.”
Shit. Kill? Really? With an inward grimace, he pushed back thoughts of the Fixer and the threat hovering over his head and plowed on. “God knows I don’t deserve her.” He stopped, sucked in a breath. He tried to halt the haziness encroaching the edges of his consciousness from taking over. “And it’s because I don’t deserve her that I...that I just can’t bring myself to—”
From the corner of his eye, he saw a single figure rise from his seat. The movement was unhurried, indolent even, as if the guest was merely excusing himself to take a stroll.
But still, Thom’s words caught in his throat. Because he knew exactly who it was. Even before he turned his head to confirm his identity.
Icy fingers of dread crept down his spine as he watched Gabe walk calmly over to Thom’s family’s side of the seated guests. Watched him station himself with silent menace next to his father. Samuel Scott glanced up, a little puzzled by Gabe’s presence beside him, but he wasn’t distracted for long. Like everyone else present, he was too caught up in the spectacle his son was causing to be interested in much else. And to anyone else watching, they would’ve thought Gabe was there to offer support for whatever was coming. But Thom read the clear intent in his dark eyes.
Say what I think you’re about to say and your life is over.
Back out of this now and I’ll destroy you.
Thom read them and understood that the Fixer wouldn’t hesitate to strike where it hurt the most. Destroying the union he didn’t want even before he’d taken his vows was one thing. Having his closet door thrown wide-open, risking his career and reputation, would be extremely hard to take. But he would survive it. But was the Fixer now threatening his parents?
Like a popped balloon, the bravado he’d been high on a minute ago drained out of him. Palm clammy, he took Elana’s hand, forced himself to look into her eyes.
“It’s because I don’t deserve her that I just couldn’t let his moment pass without giving her the chance to object. But now I realize I don’t want her to. She’s here, standing by my side, ready to allow me this opportunity to promise to be the best husband I can be.” He lifted her hand, brought it to his lips and brushed a kiss over her knuckles. A small exhalation popped from between her lips. “And I will be, Elana. I promise you that if you’ll have me, I’ll spend the rest of my life making you happy. Deal?”
The alarm slowly drained from her eyes. In fact, every emotion drained out of her eyes for a startling minute.
Then she was smiling that flawless Marshall smile, her gaze sweeping away from his before it returned. Resolute. “Deal.”
The scent of scandalous drama denied lingered in the courtyard for a taut, silent few seconds. Then someone in the crowd clapped. Several hands joined in the applause. A bunch of awws followed.
And just like that, his life was once again on the straight and narrow.
Thom suppressed the buzzing in his head long enough to follow the instruction of the minister, long enough to utter the words that condemned his whole existence as a lie. And before he knew it, the cold band of gold had sealed him in his eternal prison.
* * *
Gabe returned to his seat, ignoring the speculative stares that followed him. Mariella glanced at him with a mixture of relief and curiosity. He threw out a hell-if-I-know shrug, unfastened the single button that held his bespoke tuxedo jacket and sat down. He knew he’d gotten away with not being grilled because his aunt was relieved and overjoyed that another small hiccup had been overcome.
He gritted his teeth. He couldn’t believe Thom had nearly thrown a monkey wrench in the works. The cold sweat that had broken over him when he realized what Thom was up to still lingered. For a single moment, he toyed with teaching the bastard a lesson anyway, just to ensure he didn’t get any other bright ideas down the line.
But no. The message he’d sent had hit home. He’d seen it in Thom’s eyes. Still, he intended to keep a close eye on him.
“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Thom, you may kiss your bride.”
He watched the newly married couple turn to stare at each other, each hiding their hundred and one secrets. Thom’s gaze flicked over to him for a millisecond. Gabe, very much aware of the photographer recording every second of the proceedings, made sure his face was devoid of all emotion except brotherly, congratulatory acceptance.
Thom’s gaze returned to his bride. He took Elana in his arms and pressed his mouth to hers.
The crowd went wild.
“Gracias a Dios,” Mariella murmured fervently under her breath.
Gabe rose with the rest of the guests as the recessional began to play. The smiling couple stepped down from the altar and started down the aisle, laughing with joy as white rose petals and expensive silver glitter were thrown their way. His cousin blushed. Thom laughed and leaned down to his mother as she stepped up to him, whispered something in his ear before she kissed his forehead.
Sharply dressed ushers started directing guests down the aisle.
Taking his aunt’s arm, Gabe smiled wide and breathed a silent sigh of relief.
Another fucking crisis averted.
For now.
* * *
Luc watched the newly married couple waltz gracefully to “Thinking Out Loud” by Ed Sheeran. The spotlight in the impeccably decorated grand ballroom hit the bride and groom just right, highlighting his sister’s exquisitely designed gown and the impressive figure the groom cut in his tuxedo as they executed their first dance as husband and wife.
Thom said something to Elana that made her laugh before she leaned in to whisper in his ear. Whatever she said drew a wide grin from him. He twirled her away from him and caught her back with the suave elegance and confidence of a born sophisticate. From every angle, they cut a dashing, eye-catching figure, the very epitome of envy-inducing wealth, youth and power.
Luc caught a few wistful sighs and more than a few green-eyed looks directed at his sister and his newly minted brother-in-law. Wisps of conversation swirled around him. A couple of grandma types commented on how lovely the flowers were. How gorgeous the new couple looked. How soon they would be having children.
Really?
For fuck’s sake. They’d only been married five seconds. Of course, it didn’t take long before the good old-fashioned celeb bitchy comments about everything from the décor to the quality of the caviar, filtered through. He walked away as one guest started a knock knock joke about Elana’s dress. It was that or ruin his sister’s wedding by punching a guest in the face.
He had to admit he wasn’t surprised though that speculation was so rife. There’d been a hot minute during the ceremony when he’d thought Thom was about to hightail it out of there.
He grimaced.
Clearly, his brother-in-law had fast developed the flair for the dramatic that some members of his family were fond of. That was the sort of shit Luc wouldn’t have put past Rafe. Or even Elana herself considering the locking-herself-in-the-bathroom stunt she’d pulled earlier. He hadn’t expected it from Thom, though. Hell, for a moment he’d thought the guy had been ready to bail—
“Dance with me, baby.”
He abandoned his thoughts and glanced down. Rachel was smiling up at him, her eyes bright with a new kind of light that scared the shit out of him. His proposal had fueled a zeal in her that he knew most newly engaged women fell prey to, but his sister’s wedding seemed to have added an extra layer of determination. One he wasn’t altogether comfortable around. He let Rachel tug him onto the dance floor. A beam of light fell on her. Luc had to admit she looked gorgeous. Every inch the kind of woman a man like him married. Had he already told her she looked gorgeous? He couldn’t remember. Wonder of wonders, his mind had been somewhere else. On someone else, the way it stubbornly strayed these days.
Dammit. Why couldn’t he—
“Wasn’t the ceremony wonderful?” Rachel gushed.
He looked down at the woman in his arms. The woman he’d asked to marry him. He needed to stop thinking about the other woman, concentrate on this one.
“Uh-huh.”
She smiled. “Their vows were divine. I thought they’d go another way, make it really personal, but I guess Thom’s little speech was great, too. Do you think we should do that? Have personalized speeches?”
Luc shrugged. “Sure, why not?” he muttered.
“Hmm, I don’t know if I want to go down that route. My family are sticklers for tradition. They’ll probably want the ancient verse, right down to the honor-and-obey bit,” she said with a cute wrinkle of her nose.
“Whatever you want, baby,” he said, only half listening.
She slid her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his. “I’ll do it if you want, but the only place I intend to obey is in the bedroom. I’ll let you be my master there any time you want, Luc.”
Another brush of her body against his refocused his wayward thoughts. He wasn’t made of wood, after all. He settled his hands on her narrow waist and swayed with her, even managed a smile. He needed to pay her more attention. More compliments. Rachel loved that. He needed to remember that his girlfriend—no, fiancée—got sulky when she thought she had competition. She especially didn’t do well around other women more entitled to the limelight than she was. Like a bride. Or a certain housekeeper.
He opened his mouth to do just that.
And swallowed a curse when Vanessa and her date glided by. Where the hell did she even find him? And what the hell was he saying to her to make her smile like that? Laugh like that?
Luc’s stomach clenched against the husky sound of her laughter as they danced past.
She didn’t once glance Luc’s way, although he was less than three feet away. It was as if he didn’t fucking exist for her. Jealousy and anger congealed in his stomach.
He felt Rachel wince and realized his fingers had tightened around her. He opened his mouth to apologize, then thought the better of it. Doing so would invite questions he didn’t want to answer.
So he pulled his fiancée even closer, pressed his cheek to hers. And danced them away from the woman he couldn’t get out of his head.
* * *
“Dance with your mama, querido.”
The words, whispered in his right ear from behind him, made Gabe’s spine tense.
Shit. He’d been too busy watching Thom and a few key people in the room that he hadn’t clocked Ana heading his way until it was too late. A second later, she sashayed to a stop in front of him, blocking his view of everyone else in the room.
“Stop calling me that,” he said under his breath, thankful the music was too loud for them to be overheard.
A crestfallen expression drifted down her face. All practiced, right down to the tail end of the wince that followed. Gabe wasn’t moved. Nothing about this woman moved him. What did surprise him, though, was that she’d stuck around in Santa Barbara this long. On the few occasions she visited, she tended to split as soon as Harrison or Mariella scrawled a handful of zeros on a check.
She was up to something. He was almost sure of it.
But he had too much to deal with tonight to include the woman who’d given birth to him on his to-do list. He’d find out soon enough.
Also, he needed her to stop looking at him with those mournful eyes before she sparked another torrent of rumors.
Resigned, he held out his hand and watched her brighten dramatically.
Her pleasure seemed so genuine that, as he led her to the dance floor, Gabe wondered if perhaps his mother had gained a tiny fraction of humanity.
* * *
“Are you happy?”
It took concerted effort for Mariella not to startle as she waltzed across the floor in Joe’s arms.
There were so many ways she wanted to answer that question. A few short weeks ago, she would’ve said yes, with perhaps a hint of cynicism. Hell, a few days ago she would’ve imagined herself happy enough to be incapable of doing what she’d done with Joe on the beach, and last night in his room. So much had changed, while so much remained the same. Was she happy? Hell, no.
The scales had been cruelly peeled from her eyes.
But this was her only daughter’s wedding. So Mariella chose the most obvious answer as her daughter and new son-in-law glided across the dance floor, complemented by their bridesmaids and groomsmen.
Elana was smiling, but Mariella knew it, too, was a facade, not the happily-ever-after smile of a blissful bride. Had there ever been such a thing, she thought cynically. Had any woman ever found a love that lasted forever? Who was truly, madly, deeply happy without an ounce of heartache or disappointment?
“Mariella?”
She blinked and refocused on Joe as his arm tightened around her a fraction with the question. This close, she could feel his hard torso, his powerful thighs. The outline of his cock. The memory of what he’d done to her mere hours ago dragged slowly across her senses. Firing her up. She wanted to sway closer still. Brush her own thighs against his and deepen the intimacy.
But. No.
“I’m happy my Elana is married,” she replied to his first question. “Now I have one less thing to worry about when I go to sleep at night. Thom is dependable. He’s successful, ambitious and rich.” She shrugged. “What else can a mother ask for?” she asked.
A look passed over Joe’s face. She knew she hadn’t answered to his satisfaction. But she didn’t intend to. Not here. Not now. Maybe never. How could she, when she had no clue herself?
His answer was to smile down at her, the arm around her waist drawing her a fraction closer.
She sighed.
A few familiar faces were staring at them from the edge of the dance floor. Her sister, as she danced with Gabe.
Teresa St. Claire, the wedding planner and MSM team member, looked refreshingly different in a dress despite her customary headset attached.
A few of the women from the handful of specially selected charities who she hadn’t been able to not invite, despite despising them.
Gossipmongers and carrion lovers. One or two were even brazen enough to openly gossip about her, their rabid eyes fixed on her and Joe as they sipped the vintage Krug Clos d’Ambonnay and nibbled on Iranian Almas caviar on crackers she’d provided.
She should care about the gossip.
She should create some distance between herself and Joe, or she risked inviting the kind of speculation she couldn’t afford right now, when her whole world seemed to be poised on the edge of an abyss.
She would.
As soon as the song ended.
* * *
Look at them, gliding around in their ten-thousand-dollar dresses and priceless diamonds. Self-absorbed. Pampered and primped and made to think they were kings and queens. Not a care in the world.
The urge to bare her teeth and scream out her secret rose like a tidal wave within Nora. She could march onto that dance floor right now, drop her grenade in the middle of their snobbish existence and watch their world detonate.
And why not?
Harrison, the handsome fool, deserved it for abandoning her. Would she feel an ounce of remorse?
Absolument pas.
They all deserved it.
She didn’t doubt that each and every one of them would look down their fake noses at her if they knew who she was and what she’d been to their precious Harrison. He kept her tucked away at home in Paris like some dirty little secret.
Nora suppressed a bitter laugh. No, she didn’t plan on remaining a secret much longer. As for being little...well, her bump would tell its own tale in time.
A waiter walked past bearing a tray of the golden caviar Nora had only read about in Marie Claire and on Billionaire.com. Since her arrival at the reception, dozens of trays of the stuff had been carted around as if it cost nothing, except she knew the true cost of the world’s most expensive caviar. These people treated it like nothing when one mouthful could pay her rent for a month! Not that she’d ever paid rent. Since she’d turned sixteen, her many lovers always cared for her. And Harrison was no different. Until he walked out a few months ago, leaving her future uncertain...
She flicked her hand out to stop the waiter as he would’ve walked past her. For an instant he looked startled to see her standing there, in the shadows beside the delicate cake tree bearing three hundred cupcakes frosted with edible twenty-four-carat-gold leaf.
“I’m so sorry, ma’am, I didn’t see you there,” he blurted, confirming her suspicions.
She waved his apology away, took her time to spoon a heap of the expensive gold onto a delicate cracker, then flicked her hand in dismissal.
As he hurried away, she turned back to observe her quarry, musing on how best to strike for maximum effect and maximum gain. With a smile, she placed the cracker on her tongue, let the flavor of success suffuse her senses.
Her hand dropped to rub her bump. “Very soon, mon cher enfant, this will become our daily staple.”
* * *
Vanessa smiled as the band struck up a more up-tempo beat. The waltzes and slow smooch songs were fine for a bit, but while she’d thoroughly enjoyed the Cinderella dreaminess of it, the dancer in her preferred music that heated her blood and spoke to her soul. Even in this dress that cost more than she would earn in a year, even feeling as she did today—like a fairy-tale princess granted one night’s reprieve from drudgery—she couldn’t deny who she was. Or what she was.
Tomorrow would come soon enough, and with it the uniform that announced to whomever she came into contact with just what her role was within the esteemed Marshall household.
But right here, right now, she could pretend she was one of these people.
You are one of them.
She smothered the voice inside her head and smiled wider at her dapperly dressed dance partner.
“Thanks for agreeing to come with me. I’m sorry for the short notice.”
Her date, Bernard Atwater, raised his eyebrows. “Are you kidding? This is one of those times when I’m not ashamed to admit I don’t mind coming second on your list. Although I was a little surprised to hear from you. What happened to your date, anyway? Did she bail on you at the last minute?”
She laughed. “Yes. Her loss is your gain.” Joy had decided at the last minute not to come, preferring to stay back at Casa de Catalina and defy Mariella’s strong hint that she wanted all her staff to be here.
Vanessa got the feeling her absence wouldn’t go down well. One of the mounting set of negative marks the disgruntled chef was accumulating. Fireworks were brewing between her friend and her employer, and Vanessa, for one, wasn’t looking forward to the eruption.
She caught the smitten look in Bernard’s eyes. “You look sensational.” His gaze dropped to subtly brush her cleavage on the way down her body.
She tried to fight the blush that rose in her cheeks and failed miserably. The dress Mariella had lent her fit like a dream. Her jaw had dropped when she’d spotted the label. And she hated to be superficial, but God, the dress made her feel like a million bucks. Finally she was beginning to get why these filthy-rich people looked like they were walking on air all the time. Money certainly gave one a cushion against most things. Not everything, though...
“Thanks. But you don’t need to say things like that,” she murmured.
Bernard smiled. “Why not? It’s true.” He leaned closer. “I know I’m supposed to say the bride is the most beautiful woman in the room, but to be honest, you beat her hands down.”
Vanessa shook her head as she laughed. “Seriously, stop it.” She couldn’t let it go to her head.
Just like she couldn’t let this thing between her and Luc continue.
As if she’d conjured him straight from her imagination, he crossed her line of vision with his woman on his arm. Tall, broad shouldered, suave and elegant, he carried that inherent sophistication all the Marshalls seemed to have been born with so effortlessly, it was almost impossible to overlook him. The laughter dried in her throat, and her whole body stiffened before she could stop the reaction.
“Hey, what’s the matter? Did what I said offend you?” Bernard’s gaze held a touch of contrition.
She hurried to reassure him. “No, not at all. I just...there’s someone here that... I’m trying not to bump into someone and...” She stammered to a halt and hid a grimace.
“Someone like...an ex-boyfriend?” he inquired. His voice was light, but the question in his eyes was serious.
Her heart lurched. She and Luc Marshall could never have a relationship like that. Not that he seemed prepared to take the hint. Even now she could feel his gaze on her. She’d felt the sensation on and off throughout the day. “No. But he’s determined to be...something.” How could she elaborate without giving away her secret?
Bernard frowned. “You’re my date.”
“Yes.”
“Is he watching you?” Bernard pressed.
The question threw her for a moment. “Um...yes. Why do you ask that?”
His grin reappeared along with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Well...do you want to send a clear message that we’re together?” he probed as she continued to stare at him.
Her eyes widened, her mind darting in several random directions. Did she? What if she pissed Luc off enough to jeopardize her position at the Marshall household? Her job meant everything to her. She didn’t want to lose it. “Uh... I don’t think...”
“Relax. I’m not suggesting anything risqué. And the last thing I want to do is embarrass you, but I really want to kiss you again.” He leaned forward, and his soft lips were on hers.
Dios mío! He was a good kisser. They’d gone out several times after striking up a conversation over the past six months when he’d started delivering the exclusive brand of bottled water the Marshalls preferred to have on hand at Casa Cat.
Finally coming up for air, Bernard asked, “Do you trust me?”
“Sure,” she answered, slightly breathless.
He laughed. “You could sound a little more convincing, but...look, just go with the flow, okay?”
Vanessa wondered if she wasn’t risking jumping from the frying pan straight into the fire. Before she could make up her mind one way or the other, Bernard dragged her closer, clamped his hand on her hip and began to move to the unmistakable rhythm of a tango.
It was the last thing she’d expected. So much so, her mouth dropped open for an inelegant second before her ingrained rhythm kicked into place. Another second later, she was moving with him and they were flowing together as if they’d been practicing for years.
They cut a swath through the crowd, keeping up with one another’s flicks and kicks as the music pulsed around them.
Halfway through the routine, Bernard grinned. “This is so awesome. I’m so glad the dance lessons my sister forced me to take for her wedding last year are paying off. At the time I was seriously weirded out that I’d have to dance the tango at my sister’s wedding, but now...jackpot!”
The boyish pleasure on his face drew a belly laugh from Vanessa. He joined in a second later, right before he lowered her over his arm in a melodramatic dip.
Around them, heads turned. Vanessa’s smile began to dim as she realized they were drawing multiple stares. Suddenly self-conscious that she might be making a spectacle of herself, her stomach rolled in anxiety, and her fingers tightened in Bernard’s grip. When her next step faltered, he smoothly directed her.
“No, don’t let them get to you. We’re putting on a show, remember?”
She suppressed the urge to bite her lip and took a breath. Gave a small nod.
“That’s my girl,” he breathed in her ear, as he swung her round and carried on dancing.
Again, as if by drawn by the magnet of her mind, there he was right in her direct line of vision. This time he was staring at her with something close to censure in his eyes. As if she’d done something wrong. As if she’d hurt him.
The vise around her heart tightened unbearably. The last thing she wanted was to hurt him. Or any of the Marshalls.
She’d arrived in Santa Barbara five years ago with no money and very little hope except for the mere scraps of information that held her world together. The Marshall family, Mariella especially, had given her a start and elevated her to the status of trusted employee. The secret she held in her heart had the potential to sink all of the mega yachts her employers owned, but until she was sure of her facts, she needed to keep it to herself.
And in this instance, keeping it to herself also meant hurting Luc. It meant letting him think the worst of her. Vanessa swallowed the hurt that rose again. Telling herself this thing had risen out of nowhere and almost immediately gotten out of control was a poor excuse. Although nothing untoward had happened, she should still have nipped it in the bud long before now.
Now the man who, for the moment, could be nothing more than her employer stared at her with condemning eyes. And she had to take it. Because what other choice did she have?
None.
Because what Luc Marshall had no idea of was that if she gave in to his pleas, he was in danger of committing incest with his half sister.
Chapter Two (#u50a36db6-4929-595b-8539-9b46ec00c124)
Elana stepped off the dance floor with Thom, their loosely linked fingers holding them together as they crossed the beautifully decorated room. They stopped every now and then to chat with guests, accept more congratulations and give promises to get together soon with other married couples.
A cynical part of her laughed at the thought. So the women no longer thought her a threat to their marriages now that she herself was married. She supposed that was a plus.
She smiled as her new parents-in-law, Samuel and Caroline Scott, approached them.
“Do you mind terribly if we steal your husband away for a few minutes, my dear? There’s someone I’m dying to introduce him to,” Thom’s mother said with a wide smile, although the steel in her eyes told Elana she wouldn’t be taking no for an answer.
Elana had realized very quickly after first meeting Caroline that she wore the pants in the Scott household.
She nodded gracefully. Although she should’ve felt a little pissed at being excluded, she let it go. All this couplehood was great. Up to a point. She could do with a breather herself, even if this was her wedding. “Not at all. As long as you promise to return him soon.”
“Of course I will,” Caroline laughed. “Promise.”
“Save me another dance, my sweet. I’ll be right back.” Thom drew their fingers to his mouth and kissed her knuckles before he let his parents lead him away.
Elana turned in the opposite direction, relief surging through her as she realized her smile didn’t feel forced anymore. The tension headache that had threatened her earlier had eased considerably. As had that tight band of anxiety and unease that had gripped her for months now. The serious case of prewedding jitters had finally disappeared.
That certainly called for a celebration.
She saw Thom’s tuxedoed personal waiter heading for him with refreshments a second before her own personal waiter, drafted by her mother to serve only her, stopped in front of her with a single glass of champagne set on highly polished sterling silver tray.
Used to beautiful things as she was, Elana should’ve been blasé about the spectacular offer the waiter presented her with. But even she was awed right now as she paused for a moment to study the exquisite cut of the champagne glass and the four impressively large diamonds set within the eighteen-carat-gold stem, and the new name etched into the glass—Elana Marshall-Scott. Elana hadn’t officially decided on her name yet, but she liked how that looked. Decision made. Elana Marshall-Scott. That was now her. She smiled.
She knew how much the stunning piece of glassware cost after overhearing one of her bridesmaids gush over it. Even Elana had to admit she’d been impressed. She also knew there were two security guards dressed as wedding guests keeping an eye on this glass and other priceless pieces her mother had commissioned in order to give Elana the wedding of her dreams.
And it was a beautiful wedding.
That she could finally admit to the fact that she was married, and actually hadn’t ended up in the mental institution in the process of getting to the altar, sent another burst of relief through her.
Those weird moments during the ceremony with Thom’s interruption notwithstanding, everything had gone off without a hitch. She was well and truly, for better or for worse, hitched.
And for once, her mother’s smile was full of pride, with not a hint of the customary quiet despair in sight. In fact, most of the guests here were smiling approvingly.
Power players who used to treat her like an expensive but dumb ornament in the presence of her father, mother and brothers had actually stopped to talk to her like she was a human being with a functioning brain. Sure, it could be because this was her wedding and as guests they were obliged to acknowledge her, but Elana also knew that wouldn’t have stopped those who didn’t feel like acknowledging her if they didn’t want to.
A warm glow welled up within her. Had she stepped into a different class by getting herself respectable? Was this what if it felt like to be deemed responsible?
If so, she’d been an ass to worry so much because, seriously, it wasn’t too bad. In fact, she rather liked it.
She took a sip of her champagne, inhaling with a pleased inner smile. For once, she’d done something right.
She glanced around, basking in the rare moment of peace and quiet. About to raise her glass to take another sip, she paused when her gaze landed on Rafe.
He was seated alone at one of the tables reserved for Thom’s side of the family. The guests in question were on the dance floor, throwing serious shapes to a Bruno Mars number.
Her brother was half a room away from her, but even from that distance, she could tell he was shit-faced. Or making a concerted effort to get there.
She watched him jerk his head at waiter. Seconds later, a fresh bottle of Macallan M was placed before him.
Elana winced. She wasn’t so much worried that her brother was intent on drinking himself under the table with a bottle of whisky worth half a million dollars, more that he was doing it with a drink he’d professed to hate on many occasions. Rafe was strictly a tequila guy.
Making sure to keep the worried frown off her face, she started across the room, smiling her pleasant can’t-stop-to-chat smile at guests who tried to catch her eye.
She arrived in front of Rafe and stood for a good half minute before he raised his head.
He stared her up and down before he raised his glass to her. “My sister, the blushing bride,” he slurred. “No, wait.” He frowned and tilted his head. Or he tried a tilt that wobbled precariously. “You stopped blushing when you were twelve, if I recall. Right after you let Timmy Carson kiss you just so Luc and I would lose the bet that you would never let that acne-faced little twerp touch you in a million years.”
She winced. “Jesus, I could do without that memory. And keep your voice down, Rafe. I may not be your innocent little sister anymore, but I prefer you not air embarrassing stories about me at my own wedding.”
“Oh, you mean you’re actually capable of being embarrassed?” He hitched the glass to his lips and sucked down half its contents.
The words held no malice, but a tiny thread of anxiety fizzled through her anyway. Rafe had been acting odd lately. He’d said all the right words when she’d gotten engaged, and he’d been supportive in the months after. But last night something had changed. Was he not ecstatic about her marriage because he was in love with Thom? Fuck. Now was not the time, but she’d have to talk with him about this soon, get the truth, hope she’d read the look on his face wrong.
With a sigh, she skirted the table, made sure the train of her dress was tucked neatly to the side, and pulled out a chair and sat down beside him.
She set her champagne flute on the table, toying with the diamonds on the stem for a moment before she glanced at him. “Rafe, are you all right?”
Rafe paused for an infinitesimal second before he shrugged. “Sure. Why do you ask?”
“You’re drinking a lot these days. I’m worried about you. Why else would I ask?” she demanded.
“Fuck if I know,” he mumbled, staring into the dregs in his glass. “Maybe you want to pass the time?”
“Or maybe I’m finding it odd that you hate whisky and yet you’re throwing it back by the mouthful?”
“You have nothing better to do at your wedding reception than spy on your big brother, sis?”
Again there was no malice, only a haunting melancholy.
“Is this about Dad? You’re drinking his favorite drink, after all,” she said.
His mouth twisted in a mockery of a smile. “Yeah. Sure. It’s about Dad. Everything’s about dear old Dad these days, isn’t it?” This time there was a touch of bitterness in his voice.
The frown she’d tried to stop before threatened to break through. “Rafe—”
“Do you remember the time we took his Porsche out for a joyride and came back to find he’d called the cops because he thought it’d been stolen?” His chuckle was a little forced.
Elana allowed herself to be sidetracked.
“Do I remember how I was stupid enough to let you and Luc talk me into joining you on that episode of madness? That day will be branded on my memory forever. Dad just stood there, let the cops handcuff us and put us in the back of the patrol car and drive to the end of the driveway before he stopped them. I nearly pissed myself, I was so terrified.”
Rafe snorted, peering at her. “Nearly?”
She felt the first signs of a long-forgotten flush creep up her neck. “I plead the Fifth,” she mumbled.
Rafe barked out a laugh. “Don’t worry, sis. I was pissed-scared, too. I kept thinking how long it’d take before I was forced to become some skinhead’s bitch in prison.”
“Ha, you were thinking much farther ahead. I was wondering if I’d survive Mom skinning me alive when she found out what we’d done. Luc was as cool as a cucumber, though, wasn’t he?” she mused.
“Isn’t he fucking always?” The mirth had disappeared from his tone, and for a moment Elana was sorry she’d mentioned their brother. “Mr. Goddamn Perfect.”
He poured another shot. Elana placed her hand on his before he could raise the glass.
“Come on, Rafe. You’re going to wake up with a killer hangover if you keep knocking it back like that. Do you really want to miss my wedding reception that much?”
“Elana, you’re already married. I was there for the whole thing. And I wish you and Thom well. I really do, but right now I just want to be left alone to—”
“Oh my God!” Elana gripped her brother’s wrist tighter as a woman—a visibly pregnant woman—walked past a group of guests in the middle of the room. Elana only caught the side of her face, but the woman was too striking to miss or dismiss as someone else. “What’s she doing here?”
“What? Who?”
She pulled harder at Rafe, ignoring his slurred curse when the whisky sloshed over his fingers. “Over there.” She pointed to the figure weaving her way through the guests. “That’s the woman we saw at the airport!”
“What airport? And let go, would you? You’re creasing my Tom Ford,” he grumbled.
She leaned forward to catch a clearer sight of the woman. “The pregnant woman who spoke to us at Charles de Gaulle.”
Rafe frowned for a moment, then his eyebrows spiked. “No way. She’s here? Why? Do you know her?”
“No, of course not.”
He looked from Elana to the throng of guests. “Then how is she here? Are you sure it’s her?”
“Of course I’m sure. I’ve barely had a drink. I’m not as hammered as you are.”
Rafe stopped searching the crowd, glanced at her and shrugged. “Give me a couple of hours. I’ll get there just fine.”
Elana scanned the crowd for another handful of seconds. She was sure it was the woman they’d met in Paris. What were the chances of seeing two pregnant women who looked like that in such a short space of time?
Then her gaze returned to her brother. This was one of the times that she knew discretion was the better part of valor.
So she sat with him for a minute, then stood, placed a light kiss on his cheek and smiled as she saw Thom making his way toward her. She’d deal with Rafe later.
This was her wedding day. And she was determined to enjoy it.
Five minutes later she was laughing and dancing again, the strange episode of the pregnant woman forgotten.
* * *
Traditionally every wedding had to have at least one minor hiccup for it to be deemed a successful event. Whether it was misplaced wedding rings or a bridesmaid’s outfit suddenly not fitting, it was all supposed to be a blessing on the lucky couple.
Mariella had been keeping her fingers crossed mentally that Elana’s bathroom episode and Thom’s strange interruption during the ceremony was this wedding’s only speed bumps. She really couldn’t take anything else going wrong.
The six-course dinner service had gone flawlessly. Many guests, including those who considered themselves connoisseurs in food and drink, had complimented her on the excellent seared branzinoand the accompanying wines with every course. One stuck-up cow she wouldn’t be inviting to any future Marshall function had had the nerve to comment on the ethics of serving such a meal—while stuffing her face with it. Mariella had shut her down by reminding the woman of the foie gras she’d served at her last party.
She’d shed a tiny tear as she’d helped Elana hand out the personalized wedding goody bags that contained diamond tennis bracelets for the women and designer cuff links for the men to the VIP guests, then left the staff to distribute the rest to the remaining guests.
Even watching Elana and Thom cut the gorgeous ten-tier Fiona Cairns wedding cake had produced tears.
After decades ensconced in a world of superficial glitz and glamour, Mariella had grown jaded in so many ways—and had grown even more so with the recent revelations of Harrison’s secrets—but even she couldn’t help but take pride in the magnificence of the wedding she’d planned and the happiness she wished for her daughter.
And now, three hours after her daughter’s first dance, Mariella stood on the edge of the dance floor with Joe next to her and smiled indulgently as Elana walked to the middle of the spotlighted floor, her beautiful bouquet gripped in her hand.
Her daughter glanced coquettishly over her right shoulder, a mischievous grin on her face as she surveyed the sea of designer-clad single women eager to catch her bouquet.
The excitement in the air was palpable. You’d think that she was about to throw a handful of Harry Winston’s latest diamond collection into the waiting crowd rather than a bunch—albeit a twenty-thousand-dollar bunch—of flowers.
But as much as Mariella didn’t want to think too much about it, she wished Harrison hadn’t missed any of this. Regardless of the challenges they faced right now with his accident and the resulting fallout, no father should miss his child’s wedding. Deep down she was still angry, but at least she was here, watching their daughter become a woman firsthand, while he was missing everything. Damn it. Life was so unfair sometimes!
“Are you okay?” Joe asked from beside her. He hadn’t strayed far from her side all afternoon. Was she being uncharitable by wishing he was someone else right now? Yes, she was.
“I’m having a mother-of-the-bride moment. I’ll get over it.”
“No rush, my darling,” he whispered in her ear. “You’re fully entitled.”
She summoned a smile. She might be entitled to this, but what about what she was doing with her husband’s business partner and best friend? Was she entitled to that?
* * *
Dead center in the middle of the crowd, Rachel stood, her hands propped on her hips with her elbows out to give her more room on either side should she need to move to the left or the right.
The bouquet was hers. It would be an awesome conclusion to her future sister-in-law’s wedding if she were to set her own wedding plans in motion right here and now. A passing of the baton, so to speak.
She caught Elana’s gaze and smiled. Elana’s smile widened just a touch. Oh, yeah. She had this in the bag. Hell, she had the ring, and her dress could almost pass for bridal. With a bouquet in hand, how hard would it be to get Luc to make everything official tonight? What a wild thought. But God, what if?
They could elope tonight, maybe head to Vegas and be hitched by morning. She would still have the big wedding of her and her family’s dreams later, but wouldn’t it be super awesome if she could become Mrs. Luc Marshall before the weekend was over?
Her thought screeched to a juddering halt as she watched the bouquet hurtling almost in slow motion toward her. The trajectory was all wrong. And her hands weren’t even raised.
No!
Panicked, her arms jerked up, her feet leaving the floor as she launched herself into the air. And watched the bouquet sail right over her head. She landed back on her feet with her hands staggeringly empty. She felt her mouth actually drop open with the shock of her loss. Elana had winked at her, she was sure of it.
At the sound of stunned laughter and applause, she whirled around. With everyone’s attention on whoever had caught her bouquet, Rachel had a few precious seconds to tamp down her disappointment and put her game face back on. Had Elana missed her deliberately? She didn’t think so. They’d shared a look.
Was she making too big a deal of it? Maybe. Maybe not. They were just flowers, after all. But it would’ve been nice for the baton to have been passed on, as it were. Elana had to know she and Luc were serious, right?
She turned around, struggling to brush off her disappointment, and joined the crowd. Only to feel another layer of disquiet settle over her.
Of all the marginally worthy people here, Mariella’s housekeeper—the one Luc acted weirdly around, the one who kept glancing at Luc when she thought no one was looking—was the woman who’d caught what was rightfully hers? And she had the audacity to fake blush her way through the whole thing as a round of applause scattered through the crowd.
Rachel’s teeth met in a jaw-crunching clench as she fought the urge to spit out one of those curses her mother detested. She took a breath. Then another. Forced her features into neutral as a smiling Elana joined the crowd gathered around Vanessa. When her future sister-in-law placed a soothing hand on Rachel’s arm, she forced herself to swallow.
“Sorry, Rachel. I tried to throw it your way. I’m sure Luc will tell you my aim has always been atrocious,” Elana murmured.
“That’s true. Elana can’t throw for shit,” Luc confirmed.
Rachel smiled, conscious that gossip-hungry eyes were beginning to turn their way. “Oh, that’s absolutely fine, Elana,” she said in a light, airy voice, making sure her voice carried over the crowd. “After all, I’ve already said yes to my Prince Charming.” She flashed the huge diamond on her ring finger.
Elana gasped, then squealed before enfolding Rachel in her arms. A gratifying number of women who’d been hovering around Vanessa the ho-bag made a beeline for her. Satisfied that the limelight was back where it belonged, Rachel’s smile widened. As she answered the when, how and wheres that came with proposal announcements, her gaze skated over to where Vanessa now stood, her smile gone and her hand hanging on limply to the bouquet.
As their eyes met, Rachel quirked a brow at the girl.
Too fucking right. I’m the princess in this castle, bitch.
“Oh my God, Luc! Why didn’t you tell us?” Elana exclaimed.
Rachel watched her fiancé shrug as his brother and mother joined them. “It’s your wedding day, sis. You would’ve attempted to castrate me if I let my gorgeous fiancée take the spotlight away from you.”
Elana smacked him hard on the arm. “That’s for making me sound shallow. Seriously, I’m really happy for you two.”
Pleasure surged through Rachel as she accepted the congratulations.
“This is wonderful news, Luc. I couldn’t be happier for both of you,” Mariella added, bestowing a smile on both of them.
“Thanks, Mom,” Luc said, accepting a hug from his mother.
“Thanks, Mariella,” Rachel chimed in. “I can’t wait to become part of your wonderful family.”
And the sooner the better. She looked to Luc to see if he would add something more, but he was turned away, talking to his brother.
Well, she’d come this far in getting him to propose. If she had to work a little harder to get him to the altar ASAP, so be it.
“Hey, Thom, aren’t you forgetting something, buddy?” one of the groomsmen called out.
Thom frowned. “Uh...”
“The garter, numbskull. Some of us have been waiting all day to catch sight of your wife’s killer legs. So hop to it or one of us will do it for you.”
Good-natured catcalls and wolf whistles sounded, followed by a cheer. Thom executed an exaggerated bow before leading his wife back to the chair in the middle of the dance floor.
The DJ struck up a saucy number as Thom, minus his jacket, got down on one knee before Elana. With a saucy smile of her own, Elana slowly drew up her wedding gown. Inch by inch, her legs were exposed. More wolf whistles flew across the room as she extended her right leg and planted it in Thom’s lap.
A slow hike of the dress to the middle of her thigh, and the white lace garter was exposed. A few exaggerated groans from the groomsmen triggered laughter.
A smiling Thom, now on both knees, slowly drew the elastic band down his wife’s leg. Once the garter was off, he took Elana’s hand and kissed the back of it before he stood up, twirling the garter around his forefinger.
“You ready, guys?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows.
The catcalls stopped abruptly. The men scrambled to get out of his line of fire. With a wicked grin, Thom strolled around in a taunting arc, then lobbed the scrap of fabric over his shoulder.
“Oh, hell no!” Thom’s best man, Greg Dalton, jumped as if he’d been scalded with hot water, then tossed the garter that had landed on his shoulder into another group of men. The women burst into laughter as several men attempted to stop themselves from inheriting the garter.
* * *
Luc watched with detached amusement as the piece of silk traveled through the crowd. Beside him, Rachel laughed, her left hand splayed possessively on his chest as they watched the antics.
A waiter approached with a tray of champagne. He took one and handed it to Rachel. About to reach for another glass, he froze when the garter whizzed through the air and landed at the last place he wanted it.
Hell, no.
For a charged few seconds, Luc stared at the piece of silk lying on top of his polished shoe as if the thing was a snake about to sink its fangs into him. Sadly, that moment of immobility cost him dearly.
“Luc! Luc! Luc!” Relieved male voices urged him on.
He wasn’t sure what made him glance at Rachel in that moment. But there was no mistaking she was as pissed as he was stunned. Although he had to hand it to her for keeping a confident, smiling face, even while her eyes blazed blue murder at him. She really had a remarkable poker face when the occasion demanded it.
A sliver of unease whispered down his spine at the thought. He didn’t have time to dwell on the sensation, though. A crowd was gathering around him.
Which meant...
He raised his head, scanning the crowd until he saw her. Vanessa’s gorgeous eyes were filled with alarm, and she looked like she wanted to throw up.
Fuck.
Would it have killed her to look a little less terrified?
If it were any other wedding other than his sister’s, he probably would’ve picked up the fucking thing and tossed it back into the crowd. But he could feel the weight of his mother’s stare on him. The wedding everyone had stressed about for weeks had gone off with only a tiny hitch, and the last thing his mother needed was for him to fuck up the proceedings in the final stages.
He could also feel Rafe and Gabe watching him, wondering if he was going to be the dick who ruined everyone’s fun. Hell, even Joe was in on the don’t-fuck-this-up act.
Luc dragged his gaze away from Vanessa’s, slowly bent down to pick up the silk and lace. Absently, he noted its softness. Smooth. Just like her skin.
He clenched his jaw for a single moment, then inhaled a steadying breath.
“Come on, let’s get this show on the road,” someone shouted.
The galvanized crowd herded a stumbling Vanessa toward the chair his sister had vacated minutes ago.
“For fuck’s sake, Luc, you don’t have to do it,” Rachel muttered under her breath, her fingers clamping on his arm for a tight second.
Luc knew he had no choice. Already he was shrugging off his fiancée’s hold, and his feet were propelling him to where the woman who made his heart race with terrifying longing sat waiting.
Under the lights, she looked even more gorgeous than he’d first thought when he saw her dancing the fucking tango with that asshole. Her made-up face was flawless, if a little pale, as she watched him approach.
Her eyes, though...
Hell, she looked as if all her nightmares had decided to take the form of one Luc Marshall. His gaze dropped in time to catch the hands in her lap trembling before she tightened them into fists.
God, had he really read her and the chemistry he’d sensed between them that wrong? If so, why the hell was his blood thrumming in his veins as he stood before her? Why did he have an almost unstoppable urge to bend and bury his face in her neck, refresh his memory with the intoxicating scent of her?
He pulled himself back from the edge.
Get this fucking thing done already.
He dropped to his haunches and tried his best not to stare at her cleavage or her small, delicate feet framed by her spectacular heels.
“Lift up your skirt.” Shit. Could his fucking voice sound any more like a rusted drainpipe in a thunderstorm?
Her mouth compressed at the corners for a tiny second before she tugged up one side of her dress. At the sight of her long shapely leg, Luc swallowed. With mounting alarm, he felt his cock stir to life.
Great, all he needed was a boner to compound this hell he’d been flung into.
“Higher,” he instructed, his voice none too smooth.
She hitched the material higher until her upper thigh was visible. A deep tingle charged through to his fingertips as he fought the urge to glide his hand up the back of her leg, investigate for himself if her naked flesh was as smooth as it looked.
The knowledge that he was seconds away from developing a tent in his pants had him grabbing Vanessa’s ankle and pulling it toward him. And hell if her skin wasn’t as warm and silky as he’d known it would be.
He ignored her gasp, concentrated on shoving the damned piece of silk over her foot and up her leg with minimum contact.
All around him, the wolf whistles had started again, louder this time, perhaps because the guests sensed something more? Because he wasn’t the only man turned on by the sight of her exposed leg?
Another emotion—a hot, green, slimy one he recognized as jealousy—spiked through him.
Jesus, what was wrong with him?
Luc pulled the garter up and over her knee. The moment it reached the vicinity of her upper thigh, he dropped his hands and lurched to his feet.
Had it been any other woman, he would’ve held out his hand to help her stand. To accept the suggestive congratulations he was receiving with a smile.
But this was Vanessa.
The woman whose Keep Off signs were flashing as big as the Hollywood sign. Hell, she was already putting daylight between them by sidling away.
Awesome.
Luc turned away and stalked toward the nearest waiter. He grabbed a drink and downed it just so he wouldn’t have to make conversation with anyone just yet. He needed a moment to get his head—and libido—under control.
He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or resigned when he saw Rachel making a beeline for him.
He swallowed the last of his champagne just as she reached him. Her smile was still in place, but her eyes were edged in steel. As were the fingers she laced through his in blatant possession.
“I think it’s time we said our goodbyes, don’t you?” she suggested pointedly.
Luc discarded his glass, then gave a curt nod. “Sure. Lead the way, sweetheart.”
He didn’t mind that she all but dragged him through their hasty goodbyes and bossed him all the way out the door.
Like Vanessa, he was more than ready to put some daylight between himself and the unwanted feelings she drew so effortlessly from him.
Chapter Three (#u50a36db6-4929-595b-8539-9b46ec00c124)
A few days later
Elana untied her white sarong, dropped it on the lounger and dived into the blissfully cool waters of her private infinity pool. She swam a few lengths of the black-and-aqua-tiled pool before she slowed to a stop, braced her arms on the edge and basked in the view.
Their three-bedroom Balinese honeymoon villa was beyond spectacular. Perched on the side of a hill with a secluded bay beyond the extensive grounds, the tropical paradise was stunning enough to make Elana’s jaw drop. In the four days since they’d been here, their every wish had been catered to and exceeded.
Although she was reluctant to admit it, she felt miles better now that the wedding was behind her and she was a world away from Santa Barbara and the fraught situation with her dad.
She’d been pampered to within an inch of her life, and the first signs of stress relief she’d felt when she and Thom boarded her family’s private jet at Van Nuys airport had finally bloomed into full-blown relaxation. And the extra bonus was the disappearance of the nausea that had plagued her. It was enough for her to conclude that old woman’s comment in the bathroom before the wedding had been exactly what she’d thought it was at the time—complete crap! But, truth be told, she’d been seriously worried there for a while that she was pregnant. Hell, the thought had lingered long enough to ruin her drinking at her own wedding, save for a few sips of champagne to prevent any probing questions.
But just as quickly as it’d started, her nausea had abated. And now all of that worrying nonsense was behind her, she could truly enjoy her honeymoon.
Bali was truly beautiful, and their piece of heaven even more so.
A tiny part of her wished she and Thom could stay here forever. She didn’t want to go back to Santa Barbara and spend endless hours watching the worry on her mother’s face she tried so hard to hide, or witnessing Luc and Rafe skirt each other like cage fighters about to tear each other to pieces.
Above all, she didn’t want to go back to having Jarrod within tempting distance. In fact, she didn’t feel like thinking about or even seeing Jarrod again.
Liar.
She smothered the pang of guilt. Sure, she missed him. Missed the excitement he evoked in her. Missed the illicit thrill of their connection. Missed the unmistakable power of his cock inside her, pounding her to mind-altering ecstasy.
But this was her honeymoon.
She was married now.
Thom was a good, sweet man, if a little clueless at times. The sex wasn’t exactly setting her world on fire, but surely there was more to life, and marriage, than great sex, right?
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
She jumped at the voice that scattered her thoughts. “What?”
“You’re staring at your wedding ring and frowning,” Thom observed from his relaxed position on the lounger next to the one she’d been using.
Beside him stood a silver bucket with a bottle of Dom Pérignon chilling on ice. On the low, wide table, next to twin crystal champagne glasses, a platter of appetizing hors d’oeuvres prepared by their personal chef was ready to be devoured.
She quickly smoothed her features, suppressing thoughts of Jarrod and the toe-curling orgasms he’d given her the night before the wedding. “Am I?” she asked absently, weaving her legs in the water to cool her rising temperature.
“Yes. Should I be worried?” he asked with eyebrows raised.
She forced a laugh. “Of course not, silly. I... I was just think about my dad,” she lied blithely.
Thom sat up, tossed his gold-rimmed Ray-Bans onto the table and stared at her with worried eyes. “You haven’t heard anything, have you? Has he taken a turn for the worse?” he asked.
“No. At least I hope not. I’m taking no news to be good news.” She attempted to smile, a little regretful she’d spoiled the lovely atmosphere with lies and thoughts of her married lover. “I wish he could’ve been at the wedding, though.”
Thom rose and approached where she was clinging to the side of the pool. In his turquoise swimming shorts and the darker coffee tan he’d achieved in the few days they’d been in Bali, her husband’s sleek, athletic figure was eye-catching enough to capture and hold her attention. He had a six-pack most men would envy, he moved with an inherent grace and his face and soulful brown eyes were movie-star gorgeous.
He was a catch. She couldn’t deny that.
When he folded his tall length down beside her and dangled his legs in the pool, she looked up into his face, wishing he evoked the same thrill in her that Jarrod did.
She smashed the thought away as Thom reached out and gently cradled her cheek. “I wish your dad had been there, too. But I’m sure he’s being well taken care of. Try not to worry too much, okay?”
Sudden tears clogged her throat, his unfettered concern touching her. She wasn’t sure why she felt so emotional lately. Again that pang of guilt pierced her. She quickly blinked the tears away, blaming it on the final release of all the pre-and post-wedding jitters. She should be enjoying her honeymoon, not second-guessing the choices she’d made.
Thom cared for her. She wasn’t sure what she felt for him was love—maybe just deep friendship—but she truly believed they could make this work.
The smile she managed to summon felt natural, and she breathed an inward sigh of relief as she laid her hand over his and basked in his affectionate smile. “Okay, I’ll think only positive thoughts.”
“Good.” His hand traced her jaw then caressed down her neck to her shoulder. “Are you coming out to grab a bite to eat? The steak tostada bites are amazing, and you’ll love the cucumber and shrimp bruschetta.”
“Ah, so many carbs, so little time.”
“We have another few days. You can work it in,” he replied with a grin.
“I’m sure I can. But I need to work off some calories first.” Her wicked smile was all the warning she gave him before she grabbed his hand and yanked him into the pool.
He paid her back by diving deeper into the water, then grabbing her legs to drag her down to join him. They were both spluttering and laughing when they resurfaced.
It felt like the most natural thing in the world right then to link her arms behind his neck when Thom pulled her close and nuzzled her cheek. “Need to work off some calories, huh? What do you have in mind for that?”
Elana leaned closer and whispered in his ear, “I don’t know, Thom. I could continue swimming.”
“Or I could go for something even more stimulating,” she said.
“I might have a suggestion.”
“Do you? Fine. Surprise me,” she challenged.
When he hesitated for a moment, then reached behind her to free the ties to her white bikini top, Elana wished her heart would race as fast as it did when another set of hands touched her.
When Thom settled his mouth over hers and pressed his tongue into her mouth, she guiltily wished for a deeper, more carnal version of the kiss.
When he carried her naked out of the pool, laid her down on the double-wide cabana bed and positioned himself between her thighs, she closed her eyes and tried to steep herself in the moment.
And when her husband called her beautiful and slid deep inside her, Elana called herself ten kinds of fool for wishing for more pleasure, for wishing that her bliss didn’t feel so far out of reach.
Sex wasn’t everything. And hell, more often than not, it was overrated.
The inner voice that mocked her assertion was ruthlessly ignored as she redoubled her efforts to enjoy her husband’s lovemaking. She must have succeeded, because very soon Thom was moaning his release, peppering her face with kisses as their breaths resettled. And minutes later, he was dozing, sated, beside her.
She listened to his light snores as she stroked his smooth chest. And as drowsiness and the call of exotic birds drew her into sleep, she reiterated to herself that she would make her marriage work.
Somehow.
* * *
Thom padded barefoot over the dark polished teak floor of the main hallway in search of the snack for his wife.
His wife.
He was beginning to get used to the term, maybe even getting comfortable with it. Any wish he harbored that the term was a different one now was suppressed beneath the acceptance that this was his life now.
From here on out, he would choose to count his blessings. For one thing, their honeymoon had gotten off to a great start. There was a naturalness between him and Elana that hadn’t been there before. For another, his secret was even safer now he was married. He didn’t doubt that leaving Santa Barbara and Gabe’s menacing threats behind had a lot to do with his calmer state of mind.
Or it could be the fantastic couple’s massage he and Elana had shared before lunch three hours ago, during which they’d had a lighthearted debate about their favorite moments on The Big Bang Theory.
He smiled to himself as he entered the immaculate chef’s kitchen.
“Mr. Scott, you didn’t have to come out. I was just about to bring this in to you,” the chef said, sliding two large bowls of popcorn onto a tray.
Thom waved him away. “It’s fine. I needed to stretch my legs. And my wife isn’t exactly known for her patience.”
He watched the chef sprinkle cinnamon on one bowl and extra butter on the other before he took the tray and made his way back across the sunken living room and through a series of hallways back to the screening room.
Second only to the pool, the villa’s sumptuous red-leathered upholstered private cinema had become their favorite place. And they’d been making vigorous use of it so far. Elana was sprawled on a lounger large enough to hold six people, her hair spread out on the cushion tucked beneath her head. She was scrolling through her phone, but she set it aside and smiled at him as he handed her the cinnamon popcorn.
She planted the bowl on her stomach and shoved a handful of popcorn into her mouth. “Oh, yum. So good,” she groaned. “I don’t know what they put in this stuff, but I’m taking a suitcase of it back home with us.”
Thom smiled and took his place beside her. “Happy?” he couldn’t help but ask. Perhaps he was seeking reassurance of his ability to be a good husband to her. Perhaps he was seeking to solidify a foundation that would hold against external pressures once they returned home.
He’d discovered for himself just how powerful and ruthless some of the Marshalls could be. He needed to shore up his defenses. If ensuring Elana was happy was one way, then that was what he would do.
She rolled her eyes and took another mouthful of popcorn. “Ecstatic. Thank you, husband,” she mumbled with a grin.
His smile widened as he picked up the remote and hit Play. “You’re very welcome, wife.”
Yes, the path of his life was truly set. And hopefully, now that he was married, the Fixer would leave him the hell alone.
* * *
“If you’re ready, madam, just close your eyes. Breathe in through your nose. Out through your mouth. That’s it. Now, slowly repeat the process until you feel each inhale and exhale flow right through your body. Out through your fingertips and the soles of your feet, making you as light, light, light as the very air itself...”
Elana closed her eyes, blocking out the diminutive dark-haired, dark-eyed Balinese woman who’d arrived at the villa for a private meditation session ten minutes ago.
She’d never done anything like this before. For one thing, she didn’t think she needed it. For another, her attention span when it came to sitting still for long periods was abysmal. But having done everything on their tailored relaxation list at least twice since their arrival, and with Thom working out in their private gym, she’d had a couple of hours to burn and had agreed when the butler had recommended the meditation session.
Now she made an effort to concentrate, letting the late-afternoon sun warm her back and the aromatic candles burning nearby soothe her as she sat cross-legged on the woven mat in the glass-walled spa room at the opposite end of the villa from the pool.
On the other side of the glass, across the vibrant garden, a stone water feature tumbled water into a plunge pool. The muted sound filtered into the room, adding nature’s music to the calm atmosphere.
“Hold out your hands, please?” the woman garbed in colorful Balinese tie-dye instructed softly.
Elana extended her palms. A moment later, she felt the cool touch of metal. One was rough, the other smooth.
“The copper and zinc coins will help renew your energy, center your chakra. Keep breathing,” she murmured, her lyrical accent lulling Elana into a deeper sense of peace than she would’ve imagined she was capable of.
She closed her fingers over the metals, rested her upturned hands on her thighs and breathed out. Something soft and warm and steady settled inside her. Like a hug from her mother when she was a child, it soothed her.
“Clear your mind of all your troubles. Invite love. Invite peace. Invite warmth to your center. Breathe them in, exhale your troubles. Be at one with yourself.”
The urge to fidget melted away as the gentle instructions feathered over her. Her pulse dulled to soothing thuds, the churning in her brain that had felt like a part of her life for so long slowing right down to a steady stream of pleasant thoughts.
Elana had never felt this calm. This at peace. She was more than a little in awe of what the session was doing to her body and mind.
Rachel had raved about the effects of Pilates and yoga, but Elana had always preferred a harder workout. There was something about sweating out your stress by punching a bag or pounding a treadmill that always did it for her. But perhaps she’d been too quick to rule out meditation. She would definitely look into finding a private tutor when she got back home to Santa Barbara.
She lost track of time, submitting blissfully to an inner peace she’d never known before.
A burst of orange behind her eyelids told her another spectacular Balinese sunset was exploding across the horizon when the woman spoke again.
“Open your eyes and be at peace, madam.”
Elana sighed, then slowly opened her eyes, almost unwilling to let go of the magic she’d found. “Thank you. That was amazing,” she murmured.
The woman inclined her head deferentially and took the metal coins from her. “There is an inner warmth and peace that comes with having a beautiful new soul to care for.”
Elana smiled. “Oh, you mean Thom? My new husband? I wouldn’t call him a new soul, but I guess...” Her words trailed off as the woman shook her head.
“No, madam, I don’t mean your husband.”
The woman’s gaze dropped to where Elana had subconsciously placed her hand on her belly.
The sensation that lanced through her in that moment was almost cosmic, if you believed in that sort of crap. Which she sure as hell didn’t. Nevertheless, this time she couldn’t stop the knowledge she’d been subconsciously holding at bay from resurfacing, hammering home a truth she could no longer escape.
And when the woman smiled indulgently and opened her mouth, she knew. She knew what was coming. “It’s happening, madam. I think you know that you carry a new life in your womb.”
* * *
Thom was beginning to think he should’ve joined his wife in her meditation ritual. Because contrary to what he’d hoped for when he’d decided to wake up his endorphins, the last thing he felt was relaxed. He’d hoped the strenuous workout session would help clear his mind. Instead, with each passing second that the clock counted down to the end of his honeymoon, his thoughts and gut churned.
Was it only a couple of days ago that he’d foolishly reassured himself his life was on solid ground? That he had what it took to deny his true self and be a good husband to Elana? Tomorrow they were leaving Bali to head back to Santa Barbara.
Back to the reality of the presence of the Fixer in his life, possibly watching his every move. The man with a definite upper hand when it came to how badly he could ruin Thom and his family.
Back to thoughts of Lane Devereux, Mariella’s hairdresser, and the man Thom had sworn he’d obliterated from his mind.
Why the hell was he thinking about that now? He knew why, he mused darkly.
Like each and every encounter when he was forced to acknowledge his true self, the moment had been real. It had reminded him of the possibilities out there if he were brave enough to step out of the closet.
He was also thinking about it now because he’d seen the shrewd recognition in Lane’s eyes during that moment they’d shared on the edge of the cliff. His mother-in-law’s stylist was so in touch with his sexuality, he could spot a fraud from twenty paces. It’d taken a single look for him to know exactly what Thom was hiding.
Thom also knew men like Lane eventually came to detest people like him. Would he out Thom? Probably not now that Thom was married to a Marshall. The stylist wouldn’t risk alienation from one of California’s most powerful families by running his mouth.
Except none of that brought Thom any reassurance. Even if he could deal with Lane, Gabe the Fixer was another matter entirely.
Thom tossed back the last of his pre-dinner cognac and swallowed the smooth taste, wishing the booze would dull the edges of his rioting senses. Because short of alcohol, the only thing that would soothe him was—
Shit. No.
He clenched his fists on his thighs and tried to steer his mind away from the secret stash of gay porn on his laptop. He hadn’t watched any in a while, certainly not since the wedding.
For a while he’d toyed with getting rid of the folder entirely. Maybe it was time to put all that behind him?
The sound of approaching footsteps put a mocking end to that train of thought less than a minute later. Thom cursed under his breath as he turned toward the sound, then cursed some more at the sight of the pool cleaner.
The young guy was built like a dark Adonis, the almost shy greeting he sent Thom’s way as he skirted the pool firing up thoughts he had no business thinking if he wanted to keep his cock from broadcasting his impure musings.
Fuck.
He raised one leg to hide the man’s effect on him as torrid images tumbled through his mind. Just fucking great, he mused bitterly, that even thousands of miles away from sunny Santa Barbara pool attendants were still hot enough to warrant second and third looks.
Enough already!
He should go in. Take a shower and take matters into his own hands like he’d toyed with minutes ago. Or better still, find Elana. Make love to his wife like he’d been doing since they got here. Or they could just talk.
When he was around her, thoughts of other men stayed suppressed in the secret vault in his mind where they belonged.
But his body refused to obey his brain. He remained on the lounger, his gaze once again straying to the man’s tight abs and ass. It was almost a relief when the attractive attendant gathered his cleaning equipment, wished Thom a good evening and vacated the terrace.
With one obstacle gone, his mind, still eager to find trouble, slid once again to Gabe. Within twenty-four hours he would be back in the Fixer’s orbit.
Under his mercy.
Hell, no.
Whatever he had to do, there was no way he was going back to being intimidated by the guy. From what he’d overheard on the phone, the Fixer had as much, if not more, to lose than Thom did. If nothing else, his new position as a member of the Marshall family would buy him some leverage. Would Gabe really threaten a member of his family?
He was pondering how best to turn that to his advantage when the sliding doors of the living room jerked open.
He managed to school his features into neutral before turning his head to watch Elana walk slowly toward him. But he needn’t have. Her head was downcast, her face severely pinched as she chewed on her bottom lip. As she drew closer, Thom noticed how pale she looked.
“Hey, are you okay? Did the meditation go that badly?” he half joked.
She shook her head distractedly and carried on walking straight past him. Thom frowned as he watched her stroll to the edge of the pool then stare blindly at the view.
If he had to guess, he would’ve said his wife had just had unwelcome news shoved down her throat. Except all she’d done was attend what should’ve been a mind-calming session. He knew she hadn’t received any phone calls from Santa Barbara regarding Harrison, because her phone was where she’d left it on the poolside table.
As if his thought connected to hers, she whirled around, stalked to the table and snatched up the phone. Frantically, her fingers flew over the surface, her frown deepening.
He sat up and planted his feet on the ground. “What’s going on, Elana?”
“What? Nothing. I’m... I’m fine.”
“Really? ’Cause you sure don’t look it. In fact, you look the opposite of post-meditation bliss.”
She flicked a shrug at him, her eyes still glued to the screen. “Yeah... I’m not cut out for it, I guess. Should’ve stuck to swimming.”
She was being cagey about something. But what? Was she sick? Surely she wouldn’t think he would berate her for being ill on their honeymoon? He wasn’t that much of an asshole, was he?
He dismissed the thought a second later. This was Elana Marshall. She didn’t need anyone’s permission to be sick.
Nevertheless...
“Honey, if you’re not feeling well, just tell me. I’m sure we can get one of the private doctors to see you—”
“No!” Her head snapped up from the phone, her eyes going wild for an intense moment. Then she smiled a very false, forced smile. “Seriously, Thom, I’m fine. I didn’t think I’d be the first to crack, but I think I’m just about ready to take a break from paradise.”
A thin band of steel tightened around his chest. “Tired of me already?”
She shook her head, but her gaze slid away from him, back to her damned phone. “No, of course not. I’m just...eager to start our lives together, you know?”
Thom nodded automatically, despite not being able to shake the thought that she was lying. Or at the very least not telling him the whole truth. He could’ve pressed her for more, he thought as she flashed a smile at him and retreated back into the villa.
But then, wasn’t he keeping huge secrets of his own?
Chapter Four (#u50a36db6-4929-595b-8539-9b46ec00c124)
“You need to stop reading the tabloids, Tía. You know it’ll only upset you.”
Mariella whirled around to face her nephew. From behind the desk in her home office at Casa Cat, Gabe stared back at her with calm, steady regard.
Not for the first time, she wondered how he could remain so dispassionate, act like this was nothing but a storm in a teacup, when the tablet in her hand was trembling from the sheer force of her anger and outrage.
It didn’t matter that she’d relied on Gabe’s unruffled strength so many times in the past, and on many occasions in the last few terrible weeks. Right now, she would’ve loved to see a little of the righteous anger twisting inside her reflected in his eyes.
She’d thought the furor about the wedding would come before the occasion. This was turning out to be the bullshit after the storm. How could the media treat her this way? Not a single one of the wedding guests had turned down the lavish gifts offered to them. Many had even tweeted and Instagrammed their good fortune. Every single person who’d attended the Marshall-Scott wedding had left happy.
Except the media’s portrayal of it suggested the opposite, ripping into them about every tiny aspect of her daughter’s special day. How unnecessarily extravagant the whole affair had been. One had even called the whole thing gaudy, for heaven’s sake.
And not just that.
So what if she’d blown the twice the budget she’d intended to spend? They’d worked damn hard to earn every single dime of that money.
Hadn’t they?
The thought brought her up short, reminding her there was so much she’d taken for granted that she hadn’t known before. Renewed anger flashed through her bloodstream. Was there something the media knew that she didn’t? Something else waiting in the wings to sink its poisonous fangs into her vulnerable existence?
“Damn right it upsets me! Why aren’t you upset? Look at this.” She stormed over to the desk and thrust the tablet in his face, let him see for himself the damning headlines blazing across the screen. “They’re not letting this go. All the newspapers have been ripping the wedding to shreds, and it’s been over a week since Elana and Thom got married. This wedding was supposed to reestablish us as being stronger than ever. That we were forging ahead despite our adversities. Instead, they print this crap!” She almost spat at the words blazing at her.
Marshalls Flaunt Shameless Wealth While Harrison Lies Dying!
Marshall Bride Dragged to Wedding as Groom Suffers Cold Feet
A Diamond for Every Guest? Get Real, Elana Marshall!
Has Mariella Won the Crown of Most Garish, Over-the-Top Society Wedding?
“Garish! How can they take something so beautiful and trash it like this? There’s nothing in there about how beautiful my baby girl looked on her wedding day. Nothing about the love and laughter in the room. All everyone’s talking about is how much money we spent! What the hell business is it of anyone’s how much the wedding cost? It’s not as if we stole or borrowed it.” But could she say that with absolute conviction?
“Tía—”
“And what is this crap about Harrison lying dying? The news anchor’s report was supposed to shut down endless speculation.”
Gabe leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk. “The paparazzi will always go for the most attention-grabbing headlines. You know that. This will all blow over very soon.”
Mariella shook her head, anger and panic welling up higher inside her. “I don’t think it will, Gabe. Not this time. And not until Harrison wakes up, at least.”
“Keep calm, Tía. Give it another week and it’ll be yesterday’s news.”
Mariella tossed the tablet onto the sofa, uncaring that it almost bounced to the floor. Hands on hips, she stalked back to where her nephew sat.
“That’s just the problem. What if this time next week, they’re still on this...this witch hunt? What if it’s even worse by then? They’re already damaging our brand, Gabe. A few of the hacks have started speculating as to whether our restaurants are overpriced. They’re questioning the quality of our business, whether we bribed our way into our last Michelin star. Can you believe that nonsense? It hasn’t affected our bottom line in any substantial way, yet, but I’m not prepared to sit back and watch them decimate our brand or our livelihood. Hell, a few of them are even wondering if with Harrison out of the way, I have what it takes to keep the business going. The utter gall of them!”
Gabe shrugged, still nonchalant. “Then give them something else to talk about.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Surely you don’t mean another scandal? If so, need I remind you that there are still questions about Harrison’s health?”
“Of course I don’t mean an exposé on Uncle Harrison. Come on, give me some credit. I meant give them something positive to talk about. Something that will either impress the pants off them or bore them out of their minds so they move to something or someone more salacious.”
Mariella took a few minutes to mull the suggestion over. Then she snapped her fingers. “That’s a brilliant idea, although I’m more in favor of impressing them, since apparently my daughter’s tasteful and beautiful wedding didn’t quite make the cut. We could throw a charity gala.”
Gabe’s nod was less than enthusiastic. “Or something more exciting?”
She tapped her forefinger on her bottom lip. “Well, it’s October. Halloween is almost here. Last year the Templetons threw a killer Halloween party that had everyone talking for weeks. But I know I can do it so much bigger and better...” Her finger tapped faster. “How about a masquerade ball somewhere attention grabbing? A-list invites only, of course. We sell the tickets and give the proceeds to charity. They can’t very well throw me to the wolves when there’s a worthwhile charity involved, can they?”
This time her nephew’s agreement was more energetic. “No, they can’t. And this could work very well. I have a few contacts in the media who owe me favors. I’ll make sure they’re invited. That way we’re guaranteed fair reviews.”
Mariella’s lip pursed, her hands back on her curvy hips. Against her stylish, off-white Chanel skirt suit, her perfectly manicured nails flashed an icy pale pink. “I don’t want fair. I want wow in capital letters and goddamn exclamation points.” She jerked her thumb at the discarded tablet. “I want those headlines to be wiped from everyone’s memory as soon as humanly possible.”
Gabe cracked a smile. “You ask for the world, Tía, and I will deliver it to you. Starting right now.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket.
Placated and less panicked now, Mariella even managed a small smile of her own. “You’re so good to me, querido. I don’t know where I’d be without you.”
He looked up from his phone. “I promise you, you’ll never have to find out.”
They shared a solemn, bonding look. Then a ringing phone shattered the atmosphere. It was her personal cell phone. Mariella turned and headed for the large wall cabinet where she’d dropped her purse. As she fished the phone out, apprehension gripped her nape.
Then she exhaled sharply when her fears were confirmed. “It’s the clinic,” she blurted, fear climbing into her throat and paralyzing her.
What if Harrison had taken a turn for the worse? Or, equally disturbing, what if he’d woken up? In that exact moment, Mariella wasn’t sure which scenario she preferred. Dios mío, was she a bad person to even wonder about that?
“Answer it, Tía.” Gabe was standing beside her, calm and composed as ever, his voice a touch authoritative. In that moment, he reminded her a little of her husband.
Her finger slid across the screen and she raised the handset to her ear. “Mariella Santiago-Marshall.”
“Mrs. Santiago-Marshall. I hope I’m not disturbing you—”
“You’re not,” she cut across the chief medical officer’s voice. “What is it? Is my...is there any news on my husband?”
“Oh, no. Well, yes, in a way,” Dr. Malone answered.
“Yes or no? Get to the point, please.”
“I have good news, Mrs. Santiago-Marshall. Dr. Aebischer, the doctor from Switzerland, just arrived at the clinic. He’s here to treat your husband.”
Mariella frowned. “But I thought he wasn’t able to work here—he said we’d have to transport Harrison to the clinic in Zurich?”
The administrator laughed. “Well, so did we, but it turns out his schedule has suddenly freed up and he is able to bring some of his equipment and materials. Much to our good fortune, wouldn’t you say?”
She wasn’t sure why the “good” news didn’t please her as it should. Her gaze darted to Gabe, who was staring back at her with those steady, inscrutable eyes. “Yes, it’s wonderful news. How soon can he start?”
“Right away, once you give your consent for him to examine Mr. Marshall.”
“Yes, of course. Give him immediate access.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Santiago-Marshall.”
Mariella lowered the phone, a little relieved at the readiness with which she’d given her consent. She wasn’t a bad person. She wanted the best for her husband. She wanted Harrison to wake up.
Although...
* * *
Gabe knew what was coming even before his aunt pressed End on her phone. Knew it and girded his loins against it. Mariella had grown suspicious of everything and everyone ever since she found out her husband hadn’t been as open and honest with her as she’d thought.
Suspicion was a good thing, up to a point. But he couldn’t afford for her to start probing too deeply into his affairs. He already knew she was obsessed with finding out who the Fixer was.
“Did you know that this Swiss doctor was coming to Santa Barbara?” came the predictable query. “According to Dr. Malone, he just turned up at the clinic,” she murmured.
He produced the shrug he’d been mentally practicing. “I all but ruled him out when he stormed off. But this is great news, right?” He smiled and ran his hand affectionately down his aunt’s arm. “Harrison now has the best care possible.”
Mariella returned her phone to her purse, straightened. When she smiled, it was genuine and a lot relieved. “God, yes. Finally, something is going our way. Can you believe it?”
“Sure I can. Uncle Harrison is a good man. He deserves only the best.” And he’d worked hard to make it happen. Dr. Aebischer now knew the consequences of saying no to the Fixer. It was a shame he’d had to find out the hard way.
A little carefully applied pressure, a hint of blackmail and a sudden investigation into his clinic’s practices by a particular medical board had seen the good doctor’s Swiss practice shut down for the foreseeable future.
Did Gabe care that several of the doctor’s patients in dire need of attention had been left in the lurch? Hell, no. When it came to his mentor and the only father figure he’d ever known, Gabe would breach the depths of hell itself for Harrison. And woe to anyone who dared stand in his way.
* * *
“Luc, the wedding planner’s here. Are you coming down?” Rachel’s voice filtered through from the hallway, preceding the sound of her footsteps.
In the bedroom, Luc clenched his teeth for a single second before he neutralized his features. He wished he could shake off the vile mood he’d been in since his sister’s wedding.
“Sure, I’ll be right there,” he called out, hoping that would stop her from coming in to find him.
It didn’t.
She appeared in the doorway of his dressing room, a wave of displeasure sliding over her face as she took in the towel wrapped around his waist. “Baby, you’re not even dressed! Stefano’s been waiting for ten minutes.”
Luc met her irritated gaze in the full-length mirror he’d been standing in front of for the last five minutes, staring at nothing, and tried to stem his own annoyance.
“I was kinda hoping, what it with being a rare Saturday off for me, to not have to go traipsing around wedding venues. And with respect to Stefano, we’re paying him to deliver a service, not the other way around. I don’t give a fuck how in demand he is. He can wait a damn minute for me to get my pants on.” Luc took his time to select a pair of Versace cargo pants, a black T-shirt and his favorite Italian loafers.
He was pulling his leather jacket from the hanger when she approached and stopped in front of him, a full-mouthed pout on display. Her small hand trailed up his abs to rest on his chest. “Luc, I’m the daughter of a congressman. I can’t just get married anywhere I please. There are expectations. This wedding has to be perfect. Besides, you promised you would do this for me, remember? That we would do this together.”
Yeah, a promise made when he was more than halfway to getting hammered after almost unmanning himself with that garter fuckup with Vanessa at Elana’s wedding. Even days after the incident, he couldn’t think about it without feeling equal amounts of arousal and humiliation.
Luc could barely remember the so-called promise he’d made to Rachel afterward on the way home. But he couldn’t bring it up now, not without the risk of setting off the volatile spark he’d seen in his fiancée’s eyes after the incident. No, that was one subject he was going to leave the hell alone. And if that involved pissing away his Saturday venue hunting, then so be it. But he didn’t intend to be joyous about it.
He tugged on his jacket and grabbed his wallet and phone.
“Lead the way, honey. I’m all yours,” he said with as much false enthusiasm as he could muster.
The pout disappeared, and her trademark killer smile made an appearance. She slid her arms around his neck and angled her hips against his crotch with unmistakable teasing intent. “I would get down on my knees right now and show my appreciation, baby, but—”
“The esteemed Stefano is waiting. Yeah, I got that.”
Undeterred by his droll tone, she rose on tiptoe and pressed her mouth against his. “I promise to blow your goddamn mind later. But for now, know that I love you, Luc Marshall. So much.”
He should return the sentiment. Say something equally mushy. But the words stuck in his throat. So instead, he slid his arm around her waist and pushed his tongue into her mouth. By the time he lifted his head a minute later, she was flushed and her eyes glazed.
He let her take his hand and lead him out of the dressing room and downstairs to meet Stefano, the wedding whisperer.
A mind-numbing forty-five minutes later, after their driver had meandered through enough hills to make Julie Andrews burst into ecstatic song, he looked up from his phone as they drove through the gates of a sprawling ranch that wouldn’t have looked out of place on that old show Dynasty his mother used to love watching.
He read the sign as they passed under it.
Red Horn Stud Farm
Jesus fucking Christ. Was his fiancée really planning for them to get married at a stud farm?
He swallowed his irritation as the limo drew to a stop in front of what looked like a plantation house. The mansion was impressive, even by California standards, he had to admit. But still. What the hell was wrong with a priest in a church or a hotel, with a reception in a ballroom just like his sister had done?
He was still wearing the dagger marks from the glare Rachel had slashed him with when he’d suggested the very same thing last night. Apparently a hotel wasn’t good enough. And what had she said this morning? Oh, right. His future in-laws had standards to uphold. Because clearly marrying a Marshall wasn’t enough.
It had to be the château in France like the one he’d been roped into viewing online last night, a private island somewhere in the Caribbean or this here ranch.
Luc stifled another curse and threw open the door. He alighted to be greeted by the smell of horse shit. Fucking hell. Was he really supposed to take his vows while inhaling the aroma of freshly turned manure?
“Isn’t the house amazing? Wait till you see inside,” Rachel gushed as she slid her fingers through his. “It’s been in the same family for four generations.”
“Hmm,” he responded noncommittally. For a moment, he wondered whether he should give his mother a call, let her deal with this venue-chasing nonsense.
He sighed inwardly. He couldn’t call, because she was pissed off that Rachel wasn’t using a wedding planner from MSM. Stefano was her mother’s best friend’s, and she was going to be the bride, so... He fingered his phone all the same, the need to scroll through the wedding pictures his mother had sent to him this morning biting hard again. There were a couple in particular he hadn’t been able to stop looking at or thinking about. The one where Vanessa was standing alone, staring at the bubbles in her champagne glass. Fuck, she’d looked so gorgeous, basked in a single spotlight—
“Luc, are you sure you’re okay? You barely said a word on the ride over,” Rachel muttered heatedly under her breath as the owners of the mansion—a husband and wife wearing almost identical Stetsons, plaid shirts and jeans—led them through the endless reception areas on the property.
“I was thinking we probably should’ve taken the chopper instead of driving. We could’ve been done with this fucking thing an hour ago,” he replied, then belatedly bit his tongue.
He’d just invited another mood killer.
Predictably, Rachel’s expression dimmed. Flashing a fake smile at their hosts, who were busy drawing back drapes to show them yet another landscape, she turned her back on them and glared at him.
“This fucking thing? You mean our wedding? Or am I getting married to myself here? You said you wanted this. You said you didn’t want to wait to get married. Were you lying to me?” Her voice wobbled along with her bottom lip.
Jesus. Here come the fucking waterworks. The last thing he needed.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, Rach. Of course it’s what I want.”
“Then what’s wrong? You’ve been grouchy all week. Did I do something?”
He rubbed a weary hand over his jaw, suppressing a sigh. Not even the thought that Rachel usually followed every did-I-do-something? query with a very physical demonstration of an apology could shift his mood. In fact, he was relieved they were in public so she couldn’t do anything like that.
The reason behind his relief darkened his mood further.
The wedding photos Mariella had sent weren’t the only things bugging him. He’d been unable to stop thinking about Vanessa since he walked out of Elana’s wedding. And the couple of times he’d gone to Casa Cat this week, he’d been damn sure she’d gone out of her way to avoid him.
What irritated him more than anything else was the fact that his head and heart couldn’t seem to take the hint. Why the hell couldn’t he stop thinking about her?
“Luc?”
He refocused on Rachel. “No, you didn’t do anything.” He attempted a smile, breathed a sigh of relief when the pinched look left her face. “I’ll do better. Promise.”
He followed her into the next room, made the right noises. Right up until they started discussing which brand of soap Rachel would prefer her bridesmaids to have in their bathroom. Fuck that.
He mentally checked out. Spent a not-so-blissful twenty minutes inside his head as the tour moved from the kitchens to the pillared terrace that overlooked a manicured garden almost as big as the one at Casa de Catalina.
“Mama says the guest list could get as high as fifteen hundred. Do you think we’ll need three or four tents? Luc? Luc!”
He jerked away from the pillar he’d been leaning against. A quick glance showed their hosts again at a discreet distance.
He preempted another outburst from Rachel by diving straight into it. “Look, it’s not you. It’s me. You’re right, my head isn’t in the game.” Wow, could he sound any more like one of the actors from D-grade rom-coms Rachel made him watch?
If he’d thought his answer would placate her, he was seriously deluded. She widened her eyes, arms folded, waiting expectantly for him to elaborate.
He latched onto the most obvious excuse with a pang of guilt. “I’m worried about Dad.”
Her face immediately gentled. She started to reach for him. They both stopped as his phone blared to life. Relieved, he glanced down at the screen, then his gut clenched.
“Rafe. Everything okay?” He couldn’t stop the snap in his voice. Luc knew his brother wouldn’t call him just to shoot the shit.
“Did Mom tell you about the new doctor?”
“Yeah, I spoke to her this morning.” It’d been after that phone call that his mother had emailed him a bunch of Elana’s wedding photos. “Apparently his schedule freed up. Great news for Dad, right?” Rachel, hearing his side of the conversation, smiled encouragingly.
“I guess. Let’s hope he performs his miracles sooner rather than later, though. This shit can’t go on much longer.” He heard the hope in his brother’s voice and couldn’t help but absorb some of it for himself. “Anyway, I’m at the house. Mom wants to know whether you’re visiting Dad today.”
“Yeah. Tell her I’ll swing by the clinic later, check out the new doctor.”
“Cool.” His brother hung up.
Luc slowly returned the phone to his pocket, then his gaze swept over the terrace and gardens. He wasn’t sure he believed in miracles. In his opinion, hard work and cold cash in the bank trumped faith any day. It was what had made the Marshalls a success. It was what had made him the man he was today. Except this time, he found himself hoping for just such a miracle for his father.
“He’s going to be okay, Luc. You’ll see.”
He turned at the sound of Rachel’s voice. Stared at the woman he’d asked to marry him. She was beautiful, poised and respectable, and their sex life was unbelievable. And yet, he felt no joy at the prospect of making her his wife. Was he making a mistake? What kind of man thought about another woman while picking out wedding venues with his fiancée? The kind who had probably jumped before he was ready?
“Rachel, I think we should postpone the wedding,” he said before he could stop himself.
Her face slackened in shock. “What?”
He held up his hand. “Hear me out. My dad already missed Elana’s wedding. I don’t want him to miss mine. I don’t think he’ll want to wake up and realize he’d missed not just one but two of his children’s weddings. I don’t think that’s fair to him, do you? This new doctor is the best there is. Why don’t we wait and let him do his thing? Dad could come out of his coma by this time next week. Then we can carry on with our wedding plans. What do you say?” he cajoled lightly.
She turned away from him, looking off into the gardens the same way he had moments before. There was a displeased stubbornness to her profile that made his stomach clench in anticipation of a fight. And he probably would stand his ground, because now that he’d spoken the words out loud, he knew he wasn’t ready for a wedding. Not just yet. Not until he had his head on straight about a few things. Mainly Vanessa.
“You’re right. It would be great if Harrison woke up to the news of our engagement and another wedding in the works. It would make missing Elana’s a little easier to bear, right?”
Relief punched through him. “Exactly. Thank you, baby.”
She turned and slid her arms around his waist. “Of course. I won’t intrude on your time, but I hope you don’t mind if Mama and I keep working in the background. We don’t want to lose the momentum we’ve got going, and of course we’ll be in constant contact with your mother with all of the details. But in the meantime...” She let her voice trail off.
Relief turned to something else. Something not so pleasant. “Yeah?”
“We should get back home and think of other things that might please your father to know when he wakes up.”
Tension ramped up his spine. “Things like?”
She toyed with the collar of his T-shirt. “Oh, I don’t know. My birthday’s coming up. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have a party? I know what I want. And what would possibly make everyone else happy.”
“What’s that?” he pressed reluctantly, knowing in his gut her answer wasn’t one he wanted to hear.
“Why, news of a baby on the way, of course, provided we get started right now. Wouldn’t that be the absolute best news ever for your father to wake up to?”
* * *
Nora grimaced at the unflattering hospital gown the technician had asked her to put on. Even before the material touched her skin, she knew the cotton would be scratchy and uncomfortable, nothing like the satin gown her doctor in Paris had provided before she’d been forced to switch practices.
In the not-too-distant past she would’ve gone to a much more exclusive practice than this one. But with her funds fast dwindling and the situation with Harrison still not resolved, she had to watch her spending. Much to her displeasure.
She wouldn’t have made an appointment with this ob-gyn at all. At least not here in Santa Barbara and this close to the Marshall family. While the word confidentiality was tossed about when reputations needed to be protected, she knew the chance to reap rewards from a scandal was never far away and more often than not trumped confidentiality.
She was probably being overly cautious, but after flinging herself into the Marshall family’s orbit twice in a few weeks, perhaps it was time to pull back a little. She couldn’t afford to let the cat out of the bag. Not just yet. Not when she hadn’t gotten to the bottom of where Harrison was hiding. Harrison had once told her she had an unforgettable face. Compliment or not, all it would take was some keen paparazzi to see pictures of her at the Marshall wedding for speculation to start. She couldn’t afford for her bargaining power to lose value before she had all the pertinent facts.
Anonymity was the reason she’d chosen a clinic on the outskirts of town.
She massaged the small of her back after she tugged off her Zac Posen sweater dress and draped it over a nearby chair in the sterile ultrasound room. Even that small effort was draining.
And that was the main reason she’d made an appointment with the specialist. The bone-deep tiredness had come out of nowhere. Despite her healthy diet and religious prenatal vitamin regimen, she couldn’t shake off the weariness.
For a couple of days, she’d tried to dismiss it. But now she was worried. This baby was her insurance and a passport to a far better life than she’d dreamed of. She couldn’t afford for either herself or the baby to be unhealthy. So although this was costing her a small fortune, she’d thought it best to get herself checked out before she boarded the plane back to Paris.

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