Slow Dance with the Best Man

by Sophie Pembroke

  ‘And I’ll be fine.’ She smiled up at him, certainty running through her veins. ‘I wouldn’t risk it for anyone else. But for you...I’ll stand in any spotlight you want, as long as you’re at my side.’

  Because this was for ever. She’d known it from the moment they’d first spent the night together, even if she hadn’t let herself admit it until later. And, even if it wasn’t, it would still be worth it.

  Because this wasn’t Hollywood. This was real love.

  And Eloise was going to get her happy ever after, after all.

  * * *

  Noah grabbed Eloise close and kissed her again, trying to put all his love, his relief and his truth into that one kiss. This was right. This was the way things were meant to be, the story he was meant to be a part of.

  And thank heavens Eloise was willing to let him.

  Eventually, he broke the kiss, keeping Eloise tight in his arms. Around him, the guests had broken into applause, with the odd whoop and cheer, and for once Noah thought he might be the one to blush. But when he looked down at Eloise, her cheeks were their usual pale, creamy white above her perfect smile.

  ‘We should probably take a bow,’ she said, amusement in her voice. ‘I mean, that was quite a show we just put on there.’

  He was pretty sure she was joking, but he pulled away to stand at her side all the same, taking her hand in his and swinging them up as he led them in a bow. Laughter went up around the room, and when he stood straight again he could see Melissa glaring at them. He blew her a kiss. That should annoy her.

  ‘So, Noah, am I right in thinking you might like to amend your statement from last night?’ Sara asked, her phone recording as before, and her photographer already taking shots of him and Eloise.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I most certainly would.’

  Then, turning to stare into Eloise’s loving eyes, he said the truest line of his career.

  ‘This isn’t a fling. It’s for ever.’

  Eloise smiled. ‘And for ever starts now.’

  EPILOGUE

  ‘NOAH! NOAH!’

  The reporter yelled across the press area, and Noah pasted on a smile as he turned to answer her questions. The smile became more genuine when he realised it was Sara, the reporter who’d broken the story about him and Eloise.

  ‘Are you pleased with the reception Eight Days After has had at the festival?’

  Was he pleased? No, he was ecstatic. The film had made its debut at the fringe film festival that afternoon, and already it was the only thing anyone there was talking about.

  Of course, if it hadn’t been so popular, maybe he’d have been able to escape the interviewers a little earlier and get back to Eloise...

  Eloise. Just the thought of her made him smile. Thankfully, Stefan had seen how important she was to him, and realised that having Eloise at his side meant that Noah would be calm, centred and everything he needed to be to give his all to the film.

  ‘I’m thrilled,’ he said honestly. ‘I think it’s an important film, a fantastic script, and it has a real message of hope for viewers. I’m glad that those people who’ve seen it seem to agree.’

  ‘And that’s not the only thing they agree on,’ Sara said, looking down at her notepad. ‘Consensus across the board is that it’s your best performance to date—and that you’re going to sweep the board with this one come award season.’

  ‘I can’t speak for that,’ Noah said modestly, while hoping against hope that she was right. ‘I’m just glad I managed to pull it off.’

  ‘And why is that, do you think?’ Sara’s lips twitched up into a knowing smile. ‘Could it be that true love might have inspired you to greatness?’

  Noah laughed. ‘Inspired me to greatness? I don’t know about that. But I do know that I’m late to meet my girlfriend. Today’s a big day for her too, you see. So, if you’ll excuse me...’

  He was already halfway across the room before Sara responded. After all, Eloise was waiting for him. Eighteen months ago he’d sworn that he’d never let her down again. And he intended to keep that promise for the rest of his life.

  * * *

  Eloise checked the set-up one last time, then glanced at her watch. Where was Noah? He’d promised he’d be there on time.

  ‘I’m sorry!’ She heard his voice before she saw him, pushing his way past circus performers and a waitress carrying a tray of specially designed festival cocktails. ‘I’m here!’

  ‘Just as well,’ Eloise said with a smile, as she stepped into Noah’s arms for a brief kiss. ‘From what I hear, you’re the star of the festival.’

  ‘Not me, the film.’ Noah stepped back and looked around the outside space she’d commandeered for the opening night party. ‘And that’s only until they see this place. Wow! This is quite the show you’re putting on, honey.’

  Eloise shrugged. ‘The festival committee said they wanted a spectacle, so that’s what I’m giving them.’ A garden party complete with entertainment, music, the best canapés on the West Coast, magical lighting and some of the special touches that Eloise’s company—Spectacle Events—had become famous for, over the last year and a half.

  And what a year and a half it had been. While Noah had thrown himself into his role in Eight Days After, she’d focused on pursuing the dreams she’d let fall by the wayside for so long. It was as if having found her way into the spotlight, and with Noah at her side, she suddenly knew she could achieve anything.

  The best part, she’d found, was the evenings they spent together at Noah’s LA home—her home now too—talking through their day, preparing a meal and eating it together, or just kissing until they fell into bed.

  Which wasn’t to say there hadn’t been difficult moments too—times when one of them was working too many hours, or when Noah retreated back into himself after an emotional day’s filming. But the difference, Eloise had realised, was that now she had the confidence to call him out...and he had the faith and trust in her to let her.

  Tonight was the culmination of eighteen months of love, laughter and hard work—for both of them. Spectacle Events had started small, with just Eloise and her clipboard organising baby showers and birthday parties, but it had grown as word got around. She wasn’t naive enough any more to believe that some of that word of mouth didn’t have something to do with her being Noah Cross’s girlfriend—but she also knew she wouldn’t have landed the jobs she had, or been able to expand into real offices with an actual staff, if she wasn’t good at what she did.

  She was proud of herself—and even prouder of Noah. She’d watched the film the night before, with Stefan the director and the rest of the cast, rapt as Noah nailed every emotion, every moment of pain or guilt his character felt. She’d squeezed his hand tight at the most emotional parts, and known that he’d be offered any part he wanted after this performance.

  ‘I couldn’t have done it without you,’ he’d murmured as the credits rolled.

  And now, tonight, it was her turn to shine. To show Hollywood what she was capable of.

  And she was nervous as anything.

  ‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ she said, reaching out to take Noah’s hand again.

  ‘I wouldn’t be anywhere else.’ Noah tugged her close, back into his arms. ‘Especially as I have something I need to ask you. Before the world and his wife descend on this shindig of yours.’

  ‘Oh? What’s that?’ Eloise asked, glancing away towards the entrance. Was that the first group of reporters and guests arriving?

  When she looked back, Noah was down on one knee, and her eyes widened.

  ‘Eloise Miller...’ Noah started.

  ‘Is he proposing?’ The shout came from the entrance, where one of the waiters was trying to hold back a couple of reporters.

  ‘He was trying to!’ Noah yelled back. ‘Think yo
u could give us a minute here?’

  Eloise shook her head. ‘You know they won’t. A photo of you down on one knee might be more valuable than the one of us falling out of a cupboard.’

  ‘The world is always watching, huh?’

  ‘Seems like it.’

  Noah reached into his pocket and pulled out the most beautiful ring Eloise had ever seen—a large emerald-cut diamond on a platinum band. ‘How about you and I really give them something to talk about?’

  He pushed the ring onto her finger and Eloise felt a moment of perfect calm settle over her, even in the middle of organising the biggest event of her career, and with the world’s media watching.

  This. This was exactly where she was meant to be and who she was born to be—and to be with.

  She tugged Noah to his feet and wrapped a hand round the back of his head as she pulled him down to kiss her.

  ‘Honey,’ she said as they broke the kiss, both breathing heavily. ‘They’re going to be talking about Noah and Eloise Cross for centuries.’

  Noah grinned at her use of his name. ‘Oh, yeah? And why’s that?’

  ‘Because true love is the best story in the world,’ Eloise said, and kissed him again.

  * * * * *

  If you loved this book, watch out for

  Laurel and Dan’s story, coming soon—the second brilliant book in Sophie Pembroke’s

  WEDDING OF THE YEAR duet!

  If you want to treat yourself to another

  wedding-themed romance, then try

  THE PRINCE’S CONVENIENT PROPOSAL

  by Barbara Hannay

  Keep reading for an excerpt from

  THE PRINCE’S CONVENIENT PROPOSAL

  by Barbara Hannay

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  The Prince's Convenient Proposal

  by Barbara Hannay

  CHAPTER ONE

  WEDNESDAY MORNINGS WERE always quiet in the gallery, so any newcomer was bound to catch Charlie’s eye as she sat patiently at the reception desk. This morning, her attention was certainly caught by the tall, dark-haired fellow who came striding through the arched doorway as if he owned the place. He was gobsmackingly handsome, but it was his commanding manner that made Charlie almost forget to offer him her customary, sunny and welcoming smile.

  A serious mistake. The cut of this fellow’s charcoal-grey suit suggested that he actually had the means to purchase one of the gallery’s paintings.

  And, boy, Charlie needed to sell a painting. Fast. Her father, Michael Morisset, was the artist most represented on these gallery walls and his finances were in dire straits. Again. Always.

  Sadly, her charming and talented, but vague and impractical parent was hopeless with money. His finances had always been precarious, but until recently he and Charlie—actually, it had mostly been Charlie who’d struggled with this—had managed to make ends meet. Just. But now, her father had remarried and his new wife had produced a brand-new baby daughter, and his situation was even more desperate.

  Charlie was thinking of Isla, her new, too fragile and tiny half-sister, as she flashed the newcomer a bright smile and lifted a catalogue brochure from the pile on the counter.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said warmly.

  ‘Morning.’ His response was cool, without any hint of an answering smile. His icy grey eyes narrowed as he stopped and stood very still, staring at Charlie.

  She squeezed her facial muscles, forcing an even brighter smile as she held out a brochure. ‘First time at the gallery, sir?’

  Momentary surprise flashed in his eyes, but then he said, ‘Of course.’

  Charlie thought she caught the hint of an accent, and his gaze grew even chillier, which spoiled the handsome perfection of his cheekbones and jawline and thick, glossy dark hair.

  ‘How are you, Olivia?’ he asked.

  Huh?

  Charlie almost laughed. He looked so serious, but he was seriously deluded. ‘I’m sorry. My name’s not Olivia.’

  The newcomer shook his head. ‘Nice try.’ He smiled this time, but the smile held no warmth. ‘Don’t play games. I’ve come a long way to find you, as you very well know.’

  Now it was Charlie’s turn to stare, while her mind raced. Was this fellow a loony? Should she call Security?

  She glanced quickly around the gallery. A pair of elderly ladies were huddled at the far end of the large space, which had once been a warehouse. Their heads were together as they studied a Daphne Holden, a delicate water colour of a rose garden. The only other visitor, so far this morning, was the fellow in the chair by the window. He seemed to be asleep, most probably a homeless guy enjoying the air-conditioning.

  At least no one was paying any attention to this weird conversation.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Charlie said again. ‘You’re mistaken. My name is not Olivia. It’s Charlie.’

  His disbelief was instantly evident. In his eyes, in the curl of his lip.

  ‘Charlotte, to be totally accurate,’ she amended. ‘Charlotte Morisset.’ Again, she held out the catalogue. ‘Would you like to see the gallery? We have some very fine—’

  ‘No, I’m not interested in your paintings.’ The man was clearly losing his patience. ‘I haven’t come to see the artwork. I don’t know why you’re doing this, Olivia, but whatever your reasons, the very least you owe me is an explanation.’

  Charlie refused to apologise a second time. ‘I told you, I’m not—’ She stopped in mid-sentence. There was little to be gained by repeating her claim. She was tempted to reach for her handbag, to show this arrogant so and so her driver’s licence and to prove she wasn’t this Olivia chick. But she had no idea if she could trust this man. For all she knew, this could be some kind of trap. He could be trying to distract her while thieves crept in to steal the paintings.

  Or perhaps she’d been watching too much television?

  She was rather relieved when a middle-aged couple came into the gallery, all smiles. She always greeted gallery visitors warmly, and Grim Face had no choice but to wait his turn as she bestowed this couple with an extra-sunny smile and handed them each a catalogue.

  ‘We’re particularly interested in Michael Morisset,’ the man said.

  Wonderful! ‘We have an excellent collection of his paintings.’ Charlie tried not to sound too pleased and eager. ‘The Morrisets are mostly on this nearest wall.’
She waved towards the collection of her father’s bold, dramatic oils depicting so many facets of Sydney’s inner-city landscape. ‘You’ll find them all listed in the catalogue.’

  ‘And they’re all for sale?’ asked the woman.

  ‘Except for the few samples of his earliest work from the nineteen-eighties. It’s all explained in the catalogue, but if you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to ask me. That’s why I’m here.’

  ‘Wonderful. Thank you.’

  The couple continued to smile broadly and they looked rather excited as they moved away. Behind her back, Charlie crossed her fingers. Her father needed a big sale so badly.

  Unfortunately Grim Face was still hanging around, and now he leaned towards her. ‘You do an excellent Australian accent, but you can’t keep it up. I’ve found you now, Olivia, and I won’t be leaving until we have this sorted.’

  ‘There’s nothing to sort.’ Charlie felt a stirring of panic. ‘You’ve made a mistake and that’s all there is to it. I don’t even know anyone called Olivia.’ She sent a frantic glance to the couple studying her father’s paintings.

  After she’d given them enough time to have a good look, she would approach them with her gentle sales pitch. Today she had to be extra careful to hit the right note—she mustn’t be too cautious, or too pushy—and she really needed this guy out of her hair.

  She cut her gaze from his, as if their conversation was ended, and made a show of tidying the brochures before turning to her computer screen.

  ‘When do you get time off for lunch?’ he asked.

  Charlie stiffened. He was really annoying her. And worrying her. Was he some kind of stalker? And anyway, she didn’t take ‘time off for lunch’. She ate a sandwich and made a cup of tea in the tiny office off this reception area, but she wasn’t about to share that information with this jerk.

  ‘I’m afraid I’m here all day,’ she replied with an imperiousness that almost matched his.

  ‘Then I’ll see you at six when the gallery closes.’