Sophie Pembroke - Falling for the Bridesmaid

That day just wasn’t yet, that was all.

‘She thinks you’re cross with her, you know. Or me, possibly,’ Will said, standing beside her with his hands in his pockets. Such a familiar sight at these events. Usually Will’s presence was a comfort, a reliable soul to help her through the amused looks, the only half-whispered comments, and the occasional drunken suggestion from guys she barely knew but who clearly thought they knew all about her—and her sexual proclivities.

Today, though, he was just a reminder that things wouldn’t ever be the same again.

‘Cross with Rose?’ Violet asked, mustering up a smile. ‘Why on earth would I be cross with her? For stealing you away from me? Good riddance, I say.’

The startled look on Will’s face told her she’d misjudged something very badly.

‘Uh, no. She thinks you’re mad because you got landed with picking up that reporter guy from the airport tonight, so you’re missing out on the good champagne. That or the whole Benefit Concert thing.’

Ah, that. Yeah, that would make more sense. Especially since she hadn’t been completely silent about her unhappiness that the reporter was coming at all.

‘I hadn’t really...you think she stole me away from you?’

Violet gave him a withering stare. ‘Yes, Will. I’ve been lusting after you, pining away for you through every one of your ridiculous engagements and runaway groom stunts. And now you’ve finally married my sister, I don’t think I will ever recover.’

Her deadpan delivery apparently sold it because Will laughed with obvious relief. ‘Good. That’s...okay, then. And you’re not mad about the reporter either?’

‘I’m mad about the champagne. Otherwise, I’ll cope.’

‘You’re sure? I know you’re a little...’

Violet tried to guess the word he was avoiding saying. Nervous? Worried? Paranoid?

Probably paranoid.

‘Apprehensive about him coming,’ Will finished.

Violet sighed. Apprehensive wasn’t the half of it. But her dad had made up his mind that he wanted to tell his story, have that official biography on the shelves, and he’d picked this guy to do it. Rose had looked at her with worried eyes when he’d announced it, but even she admitted it made sense to do it now, ahead of the new tour and album. The reporter guy would have exclusive access, in-depth interviews and enough connections to get a real buzz going in the media.

‘Rose says he’s nice,’ Will tried. ‘They met in New York before she came home.’

‘I’m sure he’s a doll,’ Violet replied. It didn’t matter who he was. He was press, and only interested in them as a story, as something he could sell.

Violet had learned that lesson the hard way.

Will frowned. ‘Maybe if you talk to your dad...’

Shaking her head, Violet gave him a gentle smile. ‘It’s fine. I promise.’ Dad had made up his mind and that was it. As always. Nothing Will, Daisy, Rose or Violet could do to change it. And so there was no point dwelling on it. She’d just stay out of his way as much as possible and hope for the best.

What else could she do?

‘And about the Benefit Concert—’ he started, but Violet cut him off.

‘Go on, Will.’ She pushed against his arm. ‘Go whisk Rose away on your honeymoon. I’ll take care of things here, I promise. Since you’ve apparently already texted the reporter guy my phone number, he’s my responsibility now, and I think I can manage one airport pick-up. You two go relax for a bit. Get used to being married for once, instead of just temporarily engaged.’

‘Okay. See you soon, kid.’ With a quick hug and a peck on the cheek, he headed back towards Rose, and Violet was alone again.

As usual.

She hadn’t exactly lied to Will, she decided. She had never thought of Will as husband material—or even one-night stand material. He was worth far more to her as a friend, and she’d never felt that spark, that flash of something more that hinted that they could be anything else.

It was just kind of weird that he obviously felt that flash with Rose of all people. Her so-identical-it-was-actually-spooky twin sister.

Although, really, she should be used to people seeing something in Rose that they never saw in her. After all, hadn’t their parents made Rose stay home instead of going back to the States after Daisy’s wedding, just so she could organise their vow renewal ceremony and party? Even though Violet had been right there, with time on her hands, happy to help?

Not that she was bitter. She knew why they hadn’t asked—because they’d been sure she wouldn’t want to do it. Wouldn’t want to have to deal with so many people, so many knowing eyes.

And they were probably right.

Will hadn’t thought about that as he’d told her where to find Rose’s black planner, though, and asked her to make sure everything kept ticking over for the annual Huntingdon Hall Benefit Concert while they were away on their honeymoon. Maybe he’d just been too caught up in the flush of true love to think about it. Or maybe he expected her to hand it over to some agency person, hired to cover Rose’s job.

Maybe she should. After all, she knew absolutely nothing about how to organise a concert for thousands of people. Will had insisted that Rose had already done all the hard work, that there’d be practically nothing left for Violet to do.

Because obviously otherwise they’d have found someone more competent to put in charge.

Violet shook her head. She was being ridiculous. She hadn’t wanted to organise the vow renewal anyway. Or the Benefit Concert, come to that. She had other obligations. But now that Rose had told their dad she’d be stepping down from her job managing the PR and events for The Screaming Lemons once she got back from her honeymoon...well, someone would have to do it. And Violet couldn’t ignore the very small part of her brain that thought that person could be her.

No. She had no experience, and no desire to deal with people who laughed at her behind her back all day long. She’d just stick to things she knew she was good at. Like arranging flowers, thank you very much.

The flower displays she’d designed for the vow renewal were, she decided, by far her best displays yet. Lots of exotic blooms in deep jewel colours. Striking and memorable, just like her parents. Her flowers rocked, everyone said so.

There you had it. Twenty-seven years on the planet, and that was all she could say about herself.

Violet Huntingdon-Cross—kick-ass flower arranger, wannabe crocheter. Potential cat lady in waiting.

No, that wasn’t all. That was just all that other people saw—and she was happy to keep it that way. She made a difference in the lives of young people and teenagers every day, even if no one ever knew it was her. After all, if word got around that Violet Huntingdon-Cross was manning the phones at the troubled teen helpline, their calls would skyrocket with people wanting to ask her about her own past, or just talk to a minor celebrity—and the kids she really wanted to help wouldn’t be able to get through at all. So she helped where she could. Even if she wished she could do more.

Her parents did the same, helping out charities anonymously when they could. The only difference was, they also did enough charity work—as well as music and the occasional modelling gig respectively—in public that everyone assumed they already knew everything there was to know about Rick and Sherry Cross.

But with Violet...well, Violet could only imagine what they were still saying about her. Probably the nicest was that she’d become a recluse.

Still, that was a hell of a lot better than what they’d been saying about her eight years ago.

Pulling her phone from her tiny clutch bag, she checked the time and then double-checked the email Will had sent her from Rose’s account with the reporter guy’s flight details. Thomas Buckley...that was his name. She must make an effort not to just call him reporter guy all the time. Although it never hurt to have a reminder that the press were press and always on the record, whatever they said. Not something she ever wanted to forget again.