Falling for the Bridesmaid

by Sophie Pembroke

  Finding out she was wrong had almost broken her.

  ‘He was called Nick. He was one of the paper’s senior reporters and he kind of took me under his wing. At first I thought it might be because of who my parents were—even then, I was used to people trying to get close to me just so they could get closer to them. But Nick didn’t seem interested in them. Only me.’ He’d made her feel so special—as if her family were the least interesting thing about her. No one had ever managed that before.

  Of course, it was all a lie, which might have made it easier.

  ‘What happened?’ Tom’s expression was already grim, knowing how the story ended. Violet didn’t blame him. It wasn’t pretty.

  ‘We dated for a bit. He took me places I’d never even thought of going before. I thought...’ So, so naïve. ‘I thought it was something real. That he loved me as much as I believed I loved him.’

  ‘But he didn’t?’ There was no pity in Tom’s eyes, which she appreciated. The pity was almost worse than the laughter.

  ‘He filmed us in bed together without my knowledge, then put it out on the internet. I believe he also sold some of the photos to the highest bidder first.’

  ‘Bastard.’ Violet had never heard quite so much vehemence put into two syllables before.

  ‘The worst thing was...it took me a while to realise what he’d done. I thought it was a fake, or that someone had filmed us without our knowledge...’ She swallowed, not wanting to relive the next part. But she’d promised him the truth. ‘I went to see him, talking about lawyers and what we could do to get it taken down...and he laughed at me. As did the woman who was in his bed at the time.’

  Tom winced at that. ‘Jesus. That’s...what a piece of work. No wonder you’ve been hiding out at Huntingdon Hall for the last eight years.’

  Violet shrugged. ‘It’s safe there. I don’t have to deal with the press, or the public, or what everyone thinks they know about me, most of the time.’

  ‘So...that’s when you stopped trusting people?’

  ‘Do you blame me?’ Violet asked.

  Tom shook his head. ‘No. But one thing I don’t understand. Why didn’t you let people know the truth? Put out a statement, or sue the scumbag?’

  Rose had wanted her to, Violet remembered. Had wanted her to fight back, to fight as dirty as Nick had. She’d wanted to use every connection their parents had to ruin Nick’s life the way he’d wrecked hers.

  But Violet had said no.

  ‘I didn’t want to be that person,’ she said, wondering if Tom would understand. Rose had, eventually, but it had taken years. ‘I didn’t want to drag things out in the papers and on the news. I didn’t want to make things all about me. I just wanted it to go away. For people to forget.’

  ‘Except they never did,’ Tom said.

  Violet stared down at her plate. ‘No. They didn’t. And it’s too late now to change anyone’s ideas about me.’

  ‘Maybe not.’ Tom leant back in his chair, studying her so intently that it made Violet’s skin itch.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Tom shrugged. ‘I just wondered if maybe your dad’s determination to have me write this book, now, might have something to do with telling the truth about your story, too. Letting the world know what really happened at last.’

  Violet shook her head. It wasn’t enough. ‘Why would they believe it? It’s too late now, anyway. It’s much harder to change entrenched beliefs than just telling the truth.’

  Tom’s smile was slow and full of promise. ‘Then you clearly haven’t read much of my writing. Just wait and see what I can do.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  ‘SO, WHERE DO you want to start today?’ Rick Cross lounged back in his chair in the little sitting room off his studio, looking utterly relaxed. A complete contrast to how his daughter had looked when Tom had asked her a few innocent questions over lunch at the start of the week.

  Focus, Tom. He had the Rick Cross here ready to interview, and he did not have time to be distracted by thoughts of Violet.

  ‘Well, we’ve covered the basic history of the band—although there are lots of areas I want to dig deeper into later, when we have more time. But since I know you need to head out again in an hour...maybe we should use the time to talk about where The Screaming Lemons are today, and where they’re headed next?’

  ‘And the family. Don’t forget that,’ Rick said. ‘I want the story of my family to be told, as much as the band. And it’s exciting times around here at the moment.’

  ‘Of course.’ Including, presumably, Violet’s story. How did she feel about that? he wondered. On the one hand, it would mean everyone knowing the truth—and hadn’t he promised her he’d change the minds of the Great British—and American—public with his words? But even if the new press attention was more positive than it had ever been before, it would still put her front and centre again. And leave people talking about her sex life more than ever.

  From what he’d learned of Violet, that wasn’t going to go down well.

  ‘But let’s start with the band,’ Tom said. He wanted to talk to Violet some more himself before he started discussing her with her father.

  Rick gave him a knowing look. ‘Okay. What do you want to know?’

  Tom already had every detail of the upcoming tour and album launch, what singles they were planning to release when, who’d written most of which song, and who’d done the cover art—and nothing that he couldn’t have got from an informative press release.

  He needed to go deeper.

  ‘What issues did you run into writing and recording this album that you maybe haven’t had to worry about before?’ he asked.

  Rick smirked. ‘You mean broken hips and playing the guitar with a walking frame now we’re all so old?’

  ‘Not necessarily.’ Tom gave him an apologetic smile. ‘But your last album was five years ago now, and life has to have changed for you all. Two of your daughters have got married, your first grandchild is on the way... Jez got divorced a couple of years ago, right?’ Rick nodded. ‘And the world—the music scene particularly—has changed too. How did that affect things?’

  Leaning back in his chair, Rick brought one ankle up to rest on his opposite knee, obviously belying the need for hip replacements. He was only sixty, if that, Tom thought. There was a lot more music to come from the Lemons yet.

  ‘I think...the music scene changes by the minute. You can’t write songs to that. I let the marketing people worry about it, and we just get on with writing the best tunes we can. As for the family stuff... Every year we become more settled, happier in the place we’re in. We’re fortunate. We’re all healthy, living the lives we want to live.’ An uncomfortable look crossed his face and Tom knew he couldn’t not ask any more.

  ‘Except Violet,’ he said softly.

  ‘Except my Violet,’ Rick confirmed.

  Tom put down his notepad on the low table between them, dropping his pen on top of it. His phone was still recording, of course, but he knew he wouldn’t use whatever Rick said next. Not officially, anyway.

  ‘Is that one of the reasons you asked me here?’

  Rick raised an eyebrow. ‘You think you can make Violet happy? Get her to follow her dreams at last?’

  ‘Not that.’ Tom shook his head, hoping he wasn’t actually blushing in front of a rock legend. As if he’d be so presumptuous as to think he could fix Violet’s life. ‘I meant...the world never got to hear the true story. Their image of Violet, their beliefs about her—that’s a large part of what keeps her hiding away here. It did cross my mind that you might want this book to change that. To let people see the real Violet.’

  Rick studied him for a long moment before answering, and Tom fought his impulse to look away. He had a feeling that this moment in time, this answer, would set the tone for every interview that followed. That Rick was judging him and his abilities right now, making a decision about how much to tell him—for this question and every one that came after.

>   And Tom really, really wanted to be found worthy.

  ‘I think, in the end, that Violet will be the one to show the world what she’s really made of. She’ll be the one to stand up and say, You were wrong about me.’ Rick flashed a quick smile. ‘But anything you can do to help that along would be appreciated.’

  * * *

  Violet glared at the piece of paper in front of her as the phone in her hand clicked over to voicemail again.

  ‘You’ve reached Jake Collins, music agent. You know what to do at the beep.’

  She hung up. If Olivia’s manager hadn’t responded to any of the other messages she’d left him in the days since their last phone call, not to mention the emails, then why would this message be any different?

  Maybe she should threaten him, like Tom had. Except she was very afraid that Mr Collins would just laugh at her and go right back to ignoring her. Not ideal.

  Placing her phone back on the desk, she read through Olivia’s contract to appear in the concert again. That, at least, was signed. But since she’d somehow got a clause included that meant it was only valid with the accompanying agreed and signed rider, it wasn’t worth the paper it was printed on. The rider was not only unsigned, but nowhere near agreed.

  Violet had emailed over a revised version after their last conversation, deleting the request for ridiculously overpriced vodka amongst other things, and leaving in the more reasonable stuff. Since then, she’d heard nothing from Olivia’s camp.

  A knock on the door roused her from her thoughts and she looked up to see Tom loitering in the doorway. She scowled at him by reflex.

  ‘What did I do to put such a look on your face today?’ he asked good-naturedly, dropping to sit in what Violet had somehow come to think of as his chair. ‘Since you haven’t actually seen me since breakfast, when I think I was mostly inoffensive.’

  ‘Jake Collins isn’t answering my calls. Or my emails.’

  ‘Olivia’s manager?’ Tom shook his head. ‘He likes his games, that one.’

  ‘I’d rather figured that out for myself, actually,’ Violet snapped. ‘And this particular game is down to you, I think.’

  ‘You think he’s ignoring you because of what I said to him the other day?’ Tom shrugged. ‘He still deserved it.’

  Which was true, but not particularly helpful. ‘I think he’s stringing me along, making me fret until the very last moment when he’ll show up with both the signed rider and my big name act for the concert.’

  ‘Then why are you worrying?’ Tom asked. ‘Just ignore his little mind games and get on with everything else.’

  He made it sound so easy. ‘Because there’s always the possibility that he’s playing a different game. Olivia’s contract is pretty much meaningless without the signed rider and if they pull out at the last minute, once all the concert publicity is done and the programmes printed...’

  Tom winced at the implication. ‘So what are you going to do?’

  And wasn’t that the three thousand dollar bottle of vodka question? What did she do? Keep phoning and emailing like a desperate person? The ballsy thing to do would be to cancel Olivia altogether, unless the rider was signed by the end of the day—Violet was sure that was what Rose would do. But Violet didn’t have Rose’s connections to help her find a suitably starry replacement at the last moment.

  Which only left door number three.

  ‘I’m going to go and find Jake Collins and his teenage pop idol and get a signature on this bloody rider, that’s what I’m going to do.’ Violet wished she felt as confident as she sounded. Turning her laptop so Tom could see, she elaborated. ‘Olivia’s in the middle of a UK arena tour at the moment. Today’s Friday, so she’s in...’ she ran a finger down the list of tour dates on the screen ‘...Brighton. So that’s where I’m going.’

  Tom blinked at her, then a slow smile spread across his face. ‘Road trip. Cool. When do we leave?’

  ‘We?’ That wasn’t the plan at all. ‘No we. Just me. I need to do this myself.’

  ‘Hey, I’m not planning on interfering,’ Tom said, holding his hands up in a surrender pose. ‘I just want to see you take Jake Collins down yourself this time. Off the record, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ Violet echoed with disbelief. As much as, oddly, she found she wouldn’t mind Tom’s company on the trip, she wasn’t sure this was an episode she wanted finding its way into his book.

  ‘Besides, I know the PR staff at the venue. I can probably get us press credentials to get us into the gig in the first place.’

  Okay, now that would be useful. She hadn’t even thought beyond getting to Brighton to how she’d actually get past security to see the star and her manager.

  Decision made, Violet closed the lid of her laptop. ‘Better grab your stuff then. If I want to get there before the gig, I need to leave in...’ she checked her watch ‘...twenty minutes.’

  Tom grinned and jumped to his feet. ‘I’ll be ready in fifteen.’

  Which was all very well for him. Violet wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready for a road trip with Tom Buckley.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  TOM WAS ALREADY leaning against the car when Violet emerged from Huntingdon Hall eighteen minutes later, overnight bag in hand. He hadn’t wanted to risk her disappearing without him.

  Inviting himself along on her little road trip had been a spur of the moment decision, but he’d decided while packing that it was a good one. From a purely professional standpoint, watching Violet take on Jake Collins could be pure gold for the book—not to mention the fact that a couple of hours trapped in a car together would give him plenty of time to interview her on the way to Brighton. For once, she wouldn’t be able to escape his questions.

  He was less comfortable with his other reasons for wanting to accompany her. Because he had to admit the truth—to himself, if not to Violet—that when he’d made the decision to join her he hadn’t been thinking professionally at all. He’d been thinking about the look on her face when Jake Collins had spoken to her as if she were nothing. He’d been thinking about her plucking up the courage to face him and demand a signature.

  He’d been thinking that he didn’t want her to have to do it alone. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to know why it mattered so much to him that he would be there to protect her.

  Shaking his head to clear his rebellious thoughts, Tom grinned at Violet as she drew close. ‘Ready?’

  ‘As I’ll ever be.’ She gave him a less certain smile. ‘You know, you really don’t have to come. I’ll be fine.’

  Tom shrugged. ‘I know. But I’ve been in the country for over a week now, and still haven’t seen anything but the airport and Huntingdon Hall. I’m ready for a road trip.’

  Violet opened the trunk and they both stashed their bags. ‘You’ve been to Britain before, though, right?’ she asked as she slid into the driver’s seat.

  ‘Loads of times,’ Tom admitted. ‘But I’ve never seen any of it with you.’

  She opened her mouth as if about to answer, then closed it again, frowning at the steering wheel. ‘We should get going, then.’

  Tom settled back into the passenger seat as Violet started the engine, turned on the radio and pulled out onto the long driveway. At least he wasn’t the only one a little unsettled by their connection.

  They travelled mostly in silence, content to listen to the radio, until they reached the motorway—and stationary traffic. Tom’s only attempts at conversation—gentle precursors to the questions he actually wanted to ask—had been rebuffed by a sharp, ‘I’m trying to concentrate on the road right now,’ from Violet. Not that he believed her. He knew a stalling tactic when he heard one.

  But as the motionless cars spread out ahead of them as they crested the slip road, he straightened up in his seat and prepared to try again.

  ‘Looks like we might have to catch Olivia after her performance,’ he said, as casually as he could.

  Violet swore in response, and he hid a grin. Where had a nice girl lik
e her learnt words like that?

  ‘That was off the record, by the way,’ she added.

  ‘Of course,’ Tom said, as seriously as he could manage.

  ‘Dammit.’ Violet thumped a hand against the steering wheel. ‘Can you check the traffic reports? See how bad this is likely to be?’

  Tom nodded and reached for his phone but, before he could find it, a shrill ringing filled the car.

  ‘That’s mine.’ Violet nodded towards where her phone sat in a little space below the dashboard. Cars up ahead jerked forward, just enough for her to try and edge the car onto the main motorway. ‘Is it Mr Collins?’

  Tom fished out the phone and looked. ‘It’s your mother.’

  ‘Of course.’ Violet sighed. ‘I’ll call her back when we get there.’

  ‘Or I could just...’ Tom swiped the screen to answer, and gave Violet an innocent smile in response to her glare. ‘Hello, Sherry. Violet’s just driving at the moment. Can I help?’

  ‘Tom, great—yes, please. Can you tell her that I just had Frances Littlewood on the phone, asking who Violet is bringing as her plus one for Henry’s wedding next weekend? She says one of Henry’s ushers is single if she’s stuck...’

  Sherry sounded harried, which was very unlike her. But then, Henry Littlewood’s wedding was the theatre dynasty event of the summer. In fact, he had a feeling that Rick and Sherry were godparents to Henry himself. The Littlewoods had the same sort of money, prestige and power in the acting world as Rick and Sherry had in the music one. It was bound to be quite the event. Quite the public event. Just the sort of thing Violet usually avoided, as far as Tom could tell.

  He covered the phone with his hand. ‘She wants to know who you’re taking to Henry Littlewood’s wedding next weekend. Otherwise, Frances Littlewood is setting you up with an usher.’

  Violet swore again and Tom grinned, glad Sherry couldn’t hear.