Secrets Of The A-List Box Set, Volume 3

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?