Sophie Pembroke - Wedding Promises

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

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

Seven years ago, it wouldn’t have done. Granted, seven years ago Melissa and Riley had probably been teenagers, but still. Back then, Noah had been a nobody, desperate for his big break but secretly afraid it was never going to come—the same as everyone else in town. He’d been living with his best friend Sally, sharing stories of awful auditions, commiserating over rejections with a bottle of cheap wine and trying to pretend that he wasn’t crazy about her. Seven years ago, he’d been looking at a future of giving up, going home and admitting to his family that he’d failed, just like they’d said he would.

Then that fabled big break had come—the same day that everything else had been taken away from him.

Noah shook his head, trying to send the memories scattering. He didn’t need them today—or any day, for that matter. Life was about the here and now, not the past.

And right now he was about to spend five days in some fancy hotel with a selection of the most beautiful women in the world. Surely he’d be able to find some way to pass the time.

The car turned off the main road onto a long sweeping driveway and past a pale sage-green sign with grey lettering, proclaiming the entrance to Morwen Hall. They were there.

Shoving the script back in his hand luggage, Noah peered out of the front windscreen, looking for the Hall itself. He hoped it was as nice as Melissa insisted it would be. He needed a break, a chance to unwind—preferably with company. It had been a long eighteen months making back to back films, plus the promotional efforts. Five days in the middle of nowhere didn’t sound all that bad, really. Even if he did have to spend them with Melissa.

The car broke through the last of the trees surrounding the hotel and Morwen Hall loomed into view—all grey stone and huge windows, reflecting the weak winter sun. It looked like something out of a bad Gothic movie, with its turrets and arched windows, and Noah couldn’t help but smile at the sight of it. Ostentatious, over the top and not quite the romantic vibe she thought she was going for. It suited Melissa perfectly.

‘Isn’t it gorgeous? It’s just as I remember it,’ Melissa squealed, and Noah recalled that Morwen Hall wasn’t just a venue for her. She’d lived there, or worked there, or something of the sort when she was younger.

Noah looked at the building again and wondered what spending significant time in such a dramatic place would do to a person. Then he looked at Melissa again. Question answered.

‘Look, honey, Laurel’s come out to meet us,’ Riley said and Melissa’s face soured.

Noah looked to where Riley was pointing and saw two women standing on the steps outside the huge Gothic front door, a wooden creation with twisty ironworks over the top. He couldn’t make out their features through the tinted glass, but presumably one of them was the hyper-efficient wedding planner, Laurel, who’d been sending Noah updates and asking him questions for the last six months.

He made a mental note to stay out of her way as much as possible for the next five days. Efficiency grew tiring quickly, he’d found.

The driver opened Melissa’s door and the bride swept out. Noah opened his own door and followed, wishing he’d brought his sunglasses as he lost the protection of tinted glass and squinted into the winter sun, looking up at the Hall.

Yep, still just as Gothic.

But the women standing on the steps... The tinted glass definitely hadn’t done them justice.

One was a petite brunette, all curves and smiles and bounce as she came down the steps to welcome Melissa with a hug. He hoped that was Laurel, who he’d vowed to avoid. Because the other...

The other stayed standing on the steps, her smile fixed and her hands clasped in front of her. She looked uncomfortable, as if she’d rather be anywhere else in the world. As if she was trying to fade into the background—something Noah wasn’t used to seeing in the circles he hung out in these days.

She’d never manage it, though. She had to be nearly six foot in her sensible black heels, almost as tall as he was, and her pale features were topped with a cloud of blazing red hair, pinned tightly back to reveal the classical beauty of her features. He couldn’t see the colour of her eyes from this distance, but he wanted to. He wanted to know if they were as striking as the rest of her.

Then she turned to look at him and he knew it didn’t matter what colour they were—if this woman was looking at him, he’d never see anything else.

This woman would never disappear into the background anywhere.

And Noah hoped to be seeing an awful lot more of her over the next five days. Maybe he’d even get to find out what that beautiful hair looked like tumbling around her naked shoulders...

Shouldering his bag, he put on his most charming smile, hoped that the effect of the champagne had mostly passed and strode towards the imposing front door of Morwen Hall, and the equally imposing woman standing in front of it.

Maybe this wedding wouldn’t be a complete disaster after all.

* * *

Noah Cross. Noah freaking Cross.

Okay, breathing was becoming an issue now. She really had to get hold of herself.

Eloise broke away from staring at the ridiculously handsome Noah Cross and sucked in a good lungful of crisp December air to replace all the oxygen that had been knocked out of her at the sight of him.

She was being ridiculous. Of course he was good-looking. He was a movie star. It was part of the deal. It definitely didn’t mean anything important—that he was a nice person, or someone she wanted to spend time with. In fact, in her experience, it meant the exact opposite.

No. She was not her mother. She would not let her head be turned by the first attractive—gorgeous—man who looked her way. Hadn’t she just decided that dating wasn’t for her?

He probably wasn’t even looking at her. He was probably looking at Morwen Hall. It was, after all, even more striking than her red hair, and considerably more beautiful.

That thought sobered her right up and knocked her back into business mode. She had a wedding to host, and an arch nemesis to deal with while she was doing it. She did not have time to get sidetracked ogling movie stars—especially given how many of them would be arriving later that afternoon.

Making sure her best fake smile was still in place, Eloise descended the front steps to join Melissa, Laurel and Riley on the driveway.

‘Eloise!’ Melissa cried, with what had to be phoney enthusiasm. ‘It’s just so wonderful to see you again, honey.’ The ‘honey’ was new, Eloise noted, as Melissa leant forward to kiss the air a few inches away from Eloise’s icy cheeks. Presumably something else she’d picked up in Hollywood, along with the fiancé.