Falling for the Bridesmaid

by Sophie Pembroke

  ‘I’m sure. Rose said you were working out in Miami?’

  He nodded. ‘For the last week. Then a flying visit home to New York to repack my bags, then straight here. I feel like I haven’t slept in a month. I’m looking forward to some peace and quiet, actually. Your dad told me that Huntingdon Hall is out in the middle of nowhere, right?’

  ‘Ye—es,’ Violet said, biting her lip as she remembered the party she’d left just a couple of hours before. It was long gone midnight. Surely everyone would have gone home by the time they arrived, right? Oh, who was she kidding? Rick and Sherry’s parties were legendary. They’d be lucky if they didn’t find anyone passed out on the tennis court in the morning, this time.

  ‘That sounds ominous,’ Tom said. ‘Do they have guests? Wait...’ Glancing over, she saw him frown, the moment it clicked into place for him. ‘Oh, hell. It’s their vow renewal today, right? You said you were missing it... That’s why you were so annoyed about having to come and fetch me?’

  ‘And why I’m wearing this fetching yet inappropriate dress,’ Violet confirmed. No need for him to know that, actually, she’d been happy to get out of there. ‘I’m afraid there’s a very real chance the party might still be ongoing.’ She glanced at the dashboard clock. ‘In fact, I think Dad and the boys will probably be taking the stage for their encore session right about now.’

  Tom groaned and let his head fall back against the headrest. ‘So, no sleep tonight is what you’re telling me.’

  ‘Basically. Sorry! Maybe you can get some sleep in the car?’ She should feel worse about this. The guy was obviously exhausted to the point of losing all social niceties. She should feel bad that her parents and their friends were going to keep him up for another night.

  She really, really didn’t, though.

  * * *

  It seemed to Tom that no sooner had he closed his eyes than a car door was slamming, then another opening, and cool night air flooded over his face. Followed swiftly by his ears being assaulted by one of The Screaming Lemons’ classic hits being played as an acoustic number.

  Normally, he’d be up at the front of the stage, soaking in the moment, tucking the memories away for future articles, trying to find the right words to describe the perfection of that three and a half minutes.

  Tonight—or rather this morning—he just wanted it all to go away. Including Violet Huntingdon-Cross.

  ‘Wake up, Sleeping Beauty,’ she said, in a voice far too jolly for someone who had recently glared at him with such loathing. ‘You’re missing the party.’

  He cracked open one eyelid and waited for the yellow blur of her hair, the pale fuzz of her face and the purple blotch that was her dress to come into focus. Then he blinked; she was closer than he’d thought, and suddenly the only things in focus at all were her bright blue eyes, peering down at him.

  ‘Oh, good,’ she said, straightening up. ‘I thought for a moment I was going to have to leave you here for the night. That or get someone to come carry you to bed. That sort of thing never makes a terribly good first impression, you know.’

  Unlike, for instance, pointing out a woman’s sex tape history within five minutes of meeting her. God, when he woke up properly he was going to have to work at getting Violet back onside. As the only daughter living at home, he had a feeling she could make life difficult for him if she wanted.

  And he rather suspected she might more than want to. It might actually be her burning life ambition at this point.

  ‘I’m awake,’ he half lied, forcing himself to straighten up. Another couple of moments and he might even make it out of the car.

  Violet grabbed his hand and, even through his sleep fog, he couldn’t help but be aware of the feel of her smooth, cool skin, or the way something indefinable crept up his arm at her touch. Something that seemed to crackle with possibilities.

  Something that woke him up completely.

  Blinking again, he twisted round to get his feet firmly on the ground and stood up, belatedly aware that he was still gripping onto Violet’s hand, probably rather tighter than she’d like.

  He dropped it fast, but her blue, blue eyes were still fixed on his and the puzzled crease between her eyebrows told him that whatever he’d felt, she’d felt it too.

  At least he had the excuse of sleep deprivation. What justification was she using?

  Violet shook her head and stepped back, nicely out of his personal space. ‘I know you’re exhausted. But given that sleep is likely to be impossible for the next couple of hours at least, and since you are here to observe and interview and write about the band... Why don’t you come and meet Dad?’

  Dad. Even after an hour in the company of one of the most famous celebrity kids in the world, it still felt strange to hear her refer to the infamous Rick Cross as ‘Dad’. How different a world must Violet live in to the real one he inhabited, to so casually be able to think of Huntingdon Hall as home, and one of the most recognisable couples ever as Mum and Dad?

  Different, certainly, to the kid from New York who never even knew who his father was, only that he wouldn’t have done him any good in life if he’d stuck around anyway. The kid whose mother had so disapproved of the method he’d used to get out of the gutter, she hadn’t spoken to him for three years before her death.

  Yeah, there were worlds between him and Violet. And however long he stayed at Huntingdon Hall, he had to remember that.

  ‘Isn’t he still playing?’ Tom said, hoping it wasn’t painfully obvious he was stalling. Rick had seemed sharp on the phone, the sort to see through people’s masks. He wanted to be on top form when he sat down with Rick for the first time.

  Violet tilted her head to the left, listening to the music, he presumed. ‘This is usually his last number. He’ll be off stage soon and still on that performance high. It’s a good time to meet him if you want him to like you.’

  ‘And do you want him to like me?’ Tom asked. It seemed strange that she would, given everything.

  A look of annoyance flashed across Violet’s face, as if she weren’t used to being asked this many questions about her motives and feelings. Maybe she wasn’t. ‘Yes.’

  Tom couldn’t resist. ‘Why?’

  ‘Does it matter?’ Violet tossed her hair back over her shoulder as the last chord rang out from the stage. ‘We’re going to miss him.’

  ‘You haven’t answered my question.’ Tom folded his arms, leant back against the car and waited.

  With an impatient huff, Violet grabbed his hand and started dragging him towards the stage. Tom didn’t budge until she started talking.

  ‘Because Dad makes up his mind about people and things in an instant, and that’s it. You’re here; you’re going to be writing about him and us. If he likes you, he’ll show you his best side, the stuff I want you to be writing about. If he takes a dislike to you...’

  ‘Things could get messy?’ Tom guessed.

  Violet sighed as they reached the edge of the stage area. Even though the party was obviously filled with friends and family, the cheering as the band came off stage was still as loud as Tom had heard in any stadium.

  ‘Let’s just say this whole experience will be a lot less fun. For all of us.’

  Suddenly, the familiar craggy face of Rick Cross appeared at the top of the stage steps, mouth open and laughing at something his band mate was saying behind him.

  ‘Showtime,’ Tom whispered, and Violet flashed him a quick grin—the first honest smile he’d seen from her.

  Tom took a breath. Time to meet the parents.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  VIOLET HID A grin at the slightly shell-shocked look on Tom’s face as Dad and the boys traipsed down the temporary stairs at the side of the stage set, all laughing, chatting and still clearly caught up in their own world—a world that consisted of music, noise and melodies.

  She knew the kind of impact they could have, just off stage. When she was younger, just old enough to be allowed to stay up to watch the occasional gig from th
e wings, she and Rose had found it hard to understand this part—when Dad wasn’t Dad, just for a moment. He was all Rick Cross, rock star, right now. And that was a sight to behold.

  The adrenaline would wear off soon enough, Violet knew. He’d come down, hug his wife, ask for a drink, and before too long he’d be heading to bed to sleep it off. Well, maybe after a little more time with his closest friends—drinking and talking and probably singing.

  Right now, in this moment, he was exactly who Tom Buckley had come here to interview. She hadn’t lied when she said that this was the best time for Tom to make a good impression with her father. But it was also the best time to remind Tom that this wasn’t just anybody he’d come here to write about.

  The press could publish all the stories they liked about her and her sisters—and heaven knew they would. But they couldn’t touch her parents. Rick and Sherry were rock royalty, beyond reproach. There were no affairs, no addictions, no mistakes made—nothing to latch on to and use to make their lives hell. It might have been different back in the day, but not any more.

  Now they were national treasures, and Violet was unbearably proud of them for it.

  ‘Mr Cross.’ Stepping forward, Tom stuck out his hand, smiling warmly. Violet had to give him credit—if he hadn’t been slumped over in her passenger seat for the last forty-five minutes, she’d never have known he was utterly exhausted. He looked professional, ready to do a great job.

  She just hoped that Dad’s idea of a good job and Tom’s meshed.

  ‘Mr Buckley, I presume!’ Rick’s famous smile spread across his face. ‘Great to have you here.’ He shook Tom’s hand with what looked like painful enthusiasm. ‘Boys, this is the guy I’ve invited over to write our musical life story.’

  ‘And your family’s,’ Tom put in. Violet rolled her eyes. As if any of them would forget that he was here to expose all their private lives as well as their public personas.

  ‘Oh, he’s here for the dirt, Rick.’ Jez—Uncle Jez to the girls—the band’s lead guitarist and Rick’s best man, elbowed his friend in the ribs. ‘Time to hide those skeletons in better closets!’

  Rick laughed, his head tipped back in pure amusement and joy. Violet bit the inside of her cheek and just prayed there wasn’t anything hidden there that she didn’t know about. She couldn’t imagine how there could be, given how closely she’d been involved in her parents’ lives and work since she’d moved back home eight years ago.

  But you could never be too careful when it came to the press. And if Dad had any secrets, Uncle Jez would be the one to know them.

  ‘Trust me, I’m just here to write the best, most honest story I can for your legion of fans. They’re only interested in the truth.’ Unlike Tom, presumably.

  ‘And that’s just what you’ll get.’ Rick clapped a hand on Tom’s back, and Violet knew the reporter had passed some test that no one but her father would ever understand. ‘The complete unvarnished truth, ready to be written down for posterity.’

  Relief warred with apprehension inside her, and Violet clenched her fists so tightly her nails bit into the palms of her hands. On the one hand, the fact that her dad liked Tom would make the interviews go more smoothly, reducing the chances of a story about a recalcitrant, difficult star. On the other, it opened up the opportunity that Rick would get too close to Tom. As much as he talked about the unvarnished truth, surely her father realised there were some parts of their family lives, and history, that none of them wanted shared with the world. For the umpteenth time in some cases.

  Well, there was nothing for it now but to see how things went. And try and keep tabs on both Tom and Rick, so she could try and head off any prospective trouble before it turned up in the papers this time.

  ‘Darlings, you were brilliant as always.’ Sherry floated up to them, kissing each of the band members on the cheek before planting a rather more thorough kiss on her husband. Tom, Violet noticed, was politely staring at the floor. Everyone else was too used to it to even bother.

  ‘Mum, this is Tom Buckley,’ Violet said once the public display of affection was over. Might as well get all the introductions over in one go. ‘He’s the writer Dad—’

  ‘The writer who’s going to tell our little story! Of course.’ Sherry held out a hand, although whether she intended it to be kissed or shaken Violet wasn’t sure.

  Tom went for the handshake. Not fully charmed yet, then. Mum might have her work cut out with this one. Obviously he wasn’t taken in by her disingenuous description of his subject matter. Nobody in the world would describe the history of The Screaming Lemons and the Huntingdon-Cross family a ‘little story’. Least of all anyone who had lived it.

  ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Huntingdon-Cross,’ Tom said, releasing her hand.

  ‘Oh, call me Sherry, please.’ Mum flashed that legendary wide smile, the one that had been seen in magazines and on billboards for decades now. ‘Anyone who stays here at Huntingdon Hall rather automatically becomes part of the family, I’m afraid. You might as well get used to it!’

  Tom Buckley, part of the family? Not on Violet’s watch.

  But that was the problem with her parents. It wasn’t that they were overly trusting or naïve, particularly. They knew the dangers of fame as well as anyone, and took care to live their lives circumspectly. But once they’d taken someone in and claimed them as a friend...it took a lot to shake their faith in them. And that could be dangerous.

  ‘Where’s Daisy?’ Violet asked. She needed backup here and, with Rose and Will already gone on their honeymoon, Daisy-Waisy was going to have to be it.

  ‘Oh, she and Seb have already turned in, I think,’ Sherry said with a dismissive wave of her hand. ‘Daisy was exhausted, poor thing—pregnancy is extraordinarily tiring, you know,’ she added as an aside to Tom, who nodded, despite the puzzled crease between his eyebrows. ‘And I think Seb wants to get off back to Hawkesley first thing.’

  Curses. With Tom about to collapse from sleep deprivation, the chances weren’t good that he’d be up in time to meet Daisy before she left. Which meant Violet was on her own trying to keep this whole project from blowing up in their faces. Lovely.

  ‘And Rose has already left?’ Tom asked politely. ‘I met her in New York last month, and I know she’d planned to be here right through until the concert...’ He left the sentence open. Not actually a question, so not really prying, but enough that politeness insisted that someone fill the gap. Tricky.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Sherry said, beaming. ‘She and Will left on their honeymoon a couple of hours ago.’

  Tom’s eyebrows inched up towards his hairline, and Violet winced. ‘Honeymoon?’ he asked. ‘I didn’t realise that she was planning a wedding.’

  Or that she was even dating anyone, just like the rest of them. In fact, Violet was willing to bet that what Tom really meant was: Two daughters married in a suspiciously short space of time, and one of them pregnant...there has to be a story here. Especially if he’d seen the photos of Will and Rose in the papers.

  Time to put a stop to that.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she said, smiling cheerily. ‘Will has practically been a part of the family for years now. We’re delighted that they’ve made it official.’ All true—Will was part of the family—certainly more than Tom Buckley ever would be. And why did he need to know that up until the last month or so, Will had only been there as Violet’s best friend? And if he never realised that Will and Rose hadn’t met until Daisy’s wedding...well, that would be great. She just hoped that Tom Buckley didn’t keep up with the UK celebrity gossip too closely.

  Rick slung an arm around Tom’s shoulders as the rest of the band wandered off in search of a drink or a bed. He had to reach up quite a bit to do it, Violet realised.

  ‘That’s the only downside of having daughters, you know,’ Rick said, grinning at Violet. ‘Having to give them away to unworthy men.’

  ‘Oh, hush,’ Sherry said. ‘You know you adore Will. And Seb is going to be a wonderful so
n-in-law.’

  ‘True. I have lucked out.’ Rick turned his wicked grin onto Violet, and she felt her stomach clench at what he might come out with next. The inability to keep his inappropriate comments to himself was definitely a downside to the post-performance adrenaline. ‘Makes me worry who Violet might decide to bring home. I can’t possibly get that lucky three times in a row.’

  Heat flooded Violet’s cheeks. She’d spent more time blushing in front of Tom Buckley than actually talking to him at this point, she was sure.

  ‘Not something you need to be worrying about, Dad.’ Or be talking about in front of reporters.

  Rick’s face turned a little sad. ‘No, I suppose not.’

  ‘Anyway, Rose will be back soon enough, and you’ll be able to catch up with her then,’ Violet said with forced jollity. Tom gave her a look that left her in no doubt he knew exactly what she was doing—steering the conversation away from anything interesting. Violet made a mental note to warn Rose that it might look better if her whirlwind romance with Will hadn’t been quite so...whirlwind-like. Rose would understand. Once she got home, everything would be so much easier.

  ‘Actually, darling,’ Sherry said, her smile just a little too wide, ‘I spoke to Will as they were leaving. I understand they’re going to be away for four weeks.’

  Four weeks. Suddenly, with Tom Buckley standing there, it seemed longer than ever. Just when she really needed her twin at home with her. What had Will been thinking? Not about his best friend, stuck at home with the man who wanted to ferret out all her secrets. No, he’d been thinking about getting her twin sister naked for longer.

  Damn men and their inability to think about more than one thing at once.

  ‘That’s right,’ she said, forcing a smile. ‘Although I couldn’t get him to say where they were going.’