At the Billionaire’s Wedding

by Maya Rodale, Caroline Linden, Miranda Neville, Katharine Ashe

  “Ms. Kilpatrick, is it not? I owe you for this gig.”

  Unless.

  With horror Arwen recalled getting up from her seat to ask the maître d’ how long his boss would be. Angus Whatsit could easily have taken a peek and one glance at her spreadsheet would tell him all he wanted to know.

  Crap, crap, crap. It was her fault the paparazzo was here.

  “I’m sure you remember our meeting. I feel we’re friends and friends lend each other a hand. I’d be grateful if you’d give me a little insider tip about the time and location of the ceremony.” He rolled the R in the last word with horrible emphasis. “If it’s indoors I need a little time to find myself a good viewing spot when Duke and Jane tie the knot.”

  “No way.” Arwen found her voice. “Since we’re friends, I would appreciate it if you took your camera away and left the couple to their privacy.”

  “I’d like to oblige you, I truly would, but I have to feed my children.” He handed her a card, which she accepted as though handling a scorpion. “Here’s my number. I’m staying at The Bull’s Head if you’d like to join me for a drink later tonight.”

  “Thanks, but I have too much to do.”

  “As long as you’re employed as the wedding planner you do. I wonder if you’d keep your job if the happy couple knew how I found them.” He shook his head mournfully. “I hope I won’t have to tell, but the kiddies eat a lot. And then there are the school fees. I’ll be getting along now, but I expect I’ll hear from you later. I look forward to our chat.”

  Her stomach churned as she scowled at his cheery parting wave. With the nondisclosure agreement, Duke would be in his rights to fire her without paying a penny, and she wasn’t sure even Jane would stick up for her this time. This was far worse than no Internet. She had screwed up. Big-time.

  She jumped at the sound of the door opening behind her. “Do you know who that was?” Harry asked. He stood on the steps with his hands in the back pockets of his jeans, looking at the retreating figure of the Scotsman. “Snooper MacBracken, the most ruthless paparazzo in Europe. He’s the one who caught Prince Harry peeing into a flower bed at a polo match and the Duchess of Cambridge scratching her bottom. Not to mention the famous shot of Silvio Berlusconi groping Gwyneth Paltrow.”

  “I had no idea you were such a tabloid fan,” Arwen said, trying to pretend, just for a minute or two, that she didn’t have a massive problem on her hands.

  “They’ve given me and my parents grief on occasion. MacBracken’s like a virus. He gets everywhere and there’s no cure but to live with him. And he’s not afraid to play dirty.”

  There was nothing for it but a full confession. “He’s blackmailing me.”

  “Darling, what did you do? Don’t tell me you’ve been having an affair with the former Prime Minister of Italy. Not a good idea. The man’s an utter shit.”

  “This isn’t funny, Harry. I have totally screwed up.”

  “It can’t be that bad.” He put his arm around her and gave her a squeeze. “Tell me all about it and we’ll work something out.”

  “It’s my fault he knows about the wedding here. I met him in London and he snuck a look at my laptop. Now he’s going to tell Duke if I don’t tell him everything he wants to know.”

  “Bastard. I told you he played dirty.”

  The man was a saint. “How can you be so nice when I was a heinous bitch about the Internet thing? Aren’t you going to crow even a little bit?”

  Pulling her into a full embrace, he rested his forehead against hers. “You didn’t mean it, darling Elf. It’s just your way to be a bit bitchy. It’s one of the things I like about you.”

  She couldn’t allow herself to relax into his blissful hold when she faced the worst crisis of her career. Neither did she have time to melt at having found a man who appreciated her for her worst traits. “Obviously I can’t tell this Snooper guy what he wants to know, so I guess I’ll have to face Duke and Jane. Even if they give me the boot, it’s too late for them to move the wedding, so you and your library should be okay.” She didn’t want to have messed it up for Harry too.

  “We can’t have you getting the sack. I wouldn’t know how to get through the next day or two without you. Let me think.” She tried to pull away but not very hard. Instead her tension subsided by a degree at the confidence in his voice. “We’re not going to tell the truth,” he said, “not the whole truth, anyway. I have an idea. We can present it as a way of getting rid of Snooper without letting on how he got here in the first place. Let’s find Mark. We’ll need him to set this up.”

  An hour later, summoned with the brief explanation that they needed to have an urgent discussion about anti-paparazzi measures, Jane and Duke joined them in the small sitting room.

  “What’s happened?” Jane said. “Surely we can get rid of one guy without too much trouble.”

  Duke raised an eyebrow at Harry and raised an invisible shotgun to his shoulder. “We’d better or People will call off the deal and the puppies and kittens will lose out. We’re already on shaky ground with them.”

  “I’ve texted Roxanna to hurry back here. She’s good at plotting.”

  Arwen exchanged a quick glance with Harry. They’d discussed the maid of honor’s little feature on Jezebel and wondered if she could possibly be in cahoots with Snooper. Also, Harry had reminded her that Damien Knightly, Roxanna’s boyfriend, had something of a media empire himself. But when she asked Jane about the Jezebel pictures, the bride had told her not to worry. It was some kind of joke that Arwen didn’t have time to figure out.

  “Let’s get started,” Harry said. “I can escort Snooper MacBracken off the estate a dozen times and he’ll keep coming back since I can’t actually have him put in prison. Worse comes to worst he’ll call in his charming colleagues and we’ll have a dozen of the bastards to deal with, not just one. However, old Snoops has a problem.”

  Arwen took up the narrative. “He tried to make me tell him where and when the ceremony will take place. We thought the best thing is to give him the information he wants.”

  “It’s all right,” Harry said quickly when Duke started swearing. “We’ll set up a decoy wedding at the gazebo. I gather Jane has two wedding dresses. Arwen will wear one and I’ll dress like Duke. With a veil and a hat respectively, we should be able to fool anyone at a distance.”

  Duke looked intrigued. “I’m guessing the fake bride will be wearing that weird thing Roxanna showed in her article. I was praying you weren’t really going to be married in that.”

  “No way,” Jane said. “The real one is lovely and that’s all you’ll know until I walk up the aisle.”

  Consoling herself with the fact that her face would be covered when she wore the ugliest dress in creation, Arwen nodded. “We’ll have a quick fake ceremony at the top of the hill so that Snooper will get his pictures. Then he’ll be shown from the premises and hopefully be too busy selling his pictures of the false wedding to bother to come back.”

  “And when do we get married?” Jane asked.

  “Immediately afterward. I already had a closed passage built from the house to the big marquee. The real guests—the fake wedding will be attended by the hotel staff—will get into place without anyone outside seeing them.”

  While the wedding party went off to change for the rehearsal and dinner in the State Rooms, Harry and Arwen planned setting up the gazebo—as he’d now become used to calling the Mausoleum—for the fake wedding.

  Mark, predictably, was enchanted by the whole thing. “Bags I perform the ceremony for you two lovebirds. I have the very costume in mind. Now I’d better tell the staff to go home tonight and dig out their best clothes and Ascot hats. This could be the worst-dressed wedding in history, especially the bride.” He nodded at the gigantic pouf of sequins and feathers that Arwen had fetched from the bridal suite. Much to her disgust, it fit her. “Now I must be off to find enough white tulle to drape the Mausoleum. And flowers in some really ghastly clashing colors.” />
  Arwen sat on a sofa in the small sitting room, frowning at the endless lists on her laptop. Harry could feel her tension, yet she managed to keep going, no matter what the Fates bowled at her. When he’d accepted Duke’s offer he’d been hopelessly naive about what was involved. The billionaire’s wedding had been a baptism of fire and without the wedding planner it would have been a disaster. He hoped the bride and groom appreciated what she’d done for them.

  She kept patting at her hair absentmindedly as though bothered by it. He remembered the shining bob she’d worn that first day, when he’d shouted at her in the car. Since the hairdryer incident her style had been looser, a little crazy, and he liked it that way. But he guessed that perfect hair was emblematic of the way she liked to keep everything under control and he couldn’t help wondering why that was so. While respecting her organizational talents, his best moments with Arwen had been when she metaphorically took her hair down: the couple of times he’d been able to help her with a problem, or just given her a neck rub. And when they shagged. God, he wanted to do that again. And the other things, too. Now he was certain he wanted more than a temporary romance.

  “So we’re going to be married,” he said. She looked up, as startled as he at the words that had popped out. “As the decoy bride and groom, I mean.”

  “I’m not happy about that. I’m more of a stage manager than an actor. I will worry about what’s going on in the house without me to keep the guests quiet and inside.”

  “Sergeant Elf.”

  “Also,” she said scowling, “I’ll have to wear the most horrendously ugly dress ever made. Why did Jane and Roxanna have to pick out such a monster?”

  “Perhaps they were drunk.”

  “I’m quite sure they were, but that’s no excuse. I’d better call Snooper and set up a date.” She put aside her computer and went to the telephone, a vintage dial phone that sat on a French writing desk along with a supply of Brampton House writing paper and envelopes. The first time she saw it, Arwen had teased him about needing a quill pen.

  “Right,” she said. “Eight o’clock, but not in the pub. I have all the information you need but no one, and I mean no one, must know we’re meeting.” She scribbled a note. “I’ll find it. I look forward to seeing you, Mr. MacBracken. And if word gets out that I’ve met with you I’ll cut your fucking balls off, you asshole.” She slammed down the phone.

  “I like the way you make dates,” Harry said.

  She wriggled her shoulders in disgust. “Just talking to him makes me feel dirty. How could I ever…? Never mind. I’m looking forward to screwing him over royally.”

  “And I love it when you’re vengeful.” Harry patted the sofa. “Do you want a drink?”

  “Better not. I need all my wits when I lie through my teeth. You know what I’d like to do? Watch something on TV. Pretend everything is normal.”

  For fifteen minutes it was. Climate change: right. No peace in the Middle East: right. England losing the test match: right. He could get used to observing the disasters of the world with Arwen beside him, problems so much worse than any that Duke’s wedding had thrown at them. Well, perhaps not the cricket.

  “Have you ever been to a cricket match?” he asked.

  “I hate sports.”

  Oh well, nobody’s perfect.

  “Except rowing.” She smiled at him so he felt goofy and didn’t notice the new arrival until Arwen jumped up.

  “What a gorgeous dress!” said a female American voice. “Is that what the bride is wearing?”

  “Mom?” Arwen said. “What are you doing here? I was going to stop by the pub later tonight and see how you were.”

  “I promised Nanny my recipe for brownies.”

  Arwen hadn’t said anything about her mother visiting and Harry had hardly seen Nanny in the past couple of days. Mrs. Kilpatrick had long curly blond hair, but he could see a resemblance to her daughter. They shared the same breathtaking prettiness.

  “Not the special brownies, please! Nanny won’t understand.”

  Harry grinned broadly. If she only knew what Nanny had put up with over the years of working for the Melburys. Mrs. Kilpatrick, if that was her name, looked like the kind of person who would get on well with his parents. “Will you introduce me to your mother, Arwen?”

  “Harry, this is my mom, Molly Stanton. Mom, this is…”

  “No need,” she said. “You won’t remember me, Hari, because I last saw you when you were three.” To his amazement, she pronounced his name as only his parents did. “You’re the image of your father and I’d recognize you anywhere.”

  Arwen collapsed into a chair. “You know Lord and Lady Melbury?”

  “Of course I do. You’ve often heard Benjamin and me talk about our friends Lionel and Sonia from the ashram. And their little boy Harikrishna. How are they enjoying Bali?”

  “Harikrishna?” she said faintly.

  So his secret was out. “That’s right,” Harry said. “My legal name is Harikrishna Godfrey-Granville-Compton. The Honorable Harikrishna if we’re being formal. H-A-R-I for short. I’m sorry.”

  “And I thought I was weird being named after an elf. No wonder you go by Harry Compton, and no wonder I couldn’t find you on Google. I take everything back about you hiding your identity. I wouldn’t blame you if you went into the Witness Protection Program.” She laughed a little hysterically. “This is bizarre.”

  Molly held the wedding dress against her and admired herself in the Chinese Chippendale mirror over the console table. “Why is this down here, anyway? I seem to remember that it’s bad luck for the bridegroom to see the dress before the ceremony.”

  “Mom,” Arwen said, “I know it’s counter to your principles, but on the other hand you’d get to wear that for an hour or two. How would you like to pretend to marry Harry tomorrow?”

  When Arwen returned from her tryst with Snooper MacBracken she bypassed the house, where she could hear the rehearsal celebration in full swing in the State Rooms. By now they should be dancing in the Gold Saloon, under the wedding fresco, and spilling out on the terrace to enjoy a gorgeous night. She ought to make sure everything was running smoothly. Instead, in an unprecedented dereliction of duty, she trusted Mark to deal with any unforeseen difficulties.

  The world would continue to spin on its axis, and the wedding party would manage without her supervision for a few more hours. She was going up to the gazebo. In theory she was still at work, checking out the location for the fake wedding, but she hardly even fooled herself. She had another tryst tonight, arranged by text while she fed Snooper a pack of lies.

  Dazzling Lighting Designers had done a brilliant job illuminating the pathways. The light seemed natural, mysterious, and wonderfully romantic, like wandering through a production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The floodlit gazebo gave the illusion of floating above the park. Mark and one of the women from Extremely Costly Florals had swathed the columns surrounding the circular structure in white cloth and wound garlands of greenery and flowers around them.

  As she climbed the hill, she saw Harry framed by the arched inner door to the building. Tomorrow he would be dressed in jeans and a T-shirt—Duke Austen’s usual uniform and his too—for the fake wedding. Tonight he wore black tie and made her mouth water. With a slight adjustment—tall leather boots!—she could imagine him as one of the aristocratic heroes in Jane’s novels. But he also meditated and was a “half-arsed” vegetarian and had parents who went to ashrams. And they were friends with her folks.

  “Good evening, darling,” he said as she reached the end of the climb.

  “Hi, Harry. You look gorgeous.”

  “I was about to say the same thing.” She shrugged. She hadn’t bothered to put on a good dress to meet Snooper. She wished she’d stopped to change out of her slim red skirt and white silk blouse but she’d been anxious to get here. “How did it go with MacBracken?”

  “Fine, I think. We won’t know for sure if he swallowed my story until tomorrow. Le
t’s not talk about him. I’m dying of curiosity to hear about Lionel and Sonia. You’ll forgive the informality, but I’ve heard about them over the years without a single clue that they were English and titled. My parents are weird.”

  His smile made her heart flutter. “I’ve been dying to swap parental stories. First some champagne.” Among the amenities provided for Internet seekers were a series of cushioned benches and small tables under the colonnade. On one of the latter was an ice bucket holding a bottle of his favorite Krug and a couple of glasses. “And a selection of Natalie’s cakes. I had to fight the hordes for these, but I thought you’d be hungry after baiting the paparazzo.”

  Arwen moaned. He must have noticed during the tasting which were her favorites. “The dark chocolate and cherry cake. And the strawberry one. Did anyone ever tell you that you’re a hero?”

  Harry handed her a fork and a glass. “While you eat I’ll tell you about life with the Noble Hippies, which is what the tabloids have called them as long as I can remember.”

  She shook her head, realizing that a simple online search of Lord Melbury would have revealed all. Being at Brampton had broken her of the habit of googling everyone and everything and she found she liked it. It made life more … surprising. She washed down a mouthful of strawberry cream frosting with some golden bubbles.

  “They were absurd, being hippies at least a decade too late. All very well in the Sixties but so un-Thatcherite. Despite everything, you can’t help liking them, though as parents they were a mixed bag. When we weren’t traveling—India was only the beginning—we lived at Brampton, letting the house fall down around us. I probably wouldn’t have survived their weeklong descents into the world of magic mushrooms had it not been for Nanny. My grandmother insisted they hire her and she’s the only reason I’m relatively sane. That and school and university, where I learned what normal life was like.”