Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
CHAMPAGNE FOR EVERYONE
Harlow
Albert,
I know this will take you by surprise. For that, I’m truly sorry. But I cannot marry you.
Marriage and love should be forever. While I could walk down that aisle and marry you today, it would be wrong. We wouldn’t last.
I deserve someone I can build a life and grow old with. I’d rather be alone than to look into your eyes and make empty promises. We both deserve better.
So, on what would’ve been our wedding day, I’m going to be selfish and choose self-preservation.
Mine, and mine alone,
Harlow
“You did not say that,” Chrissie whispers over the phone. “You know he’s going to know that you know.”
It may be sad that my assistant is my best friend, but when you work with someone daily and talk to that person more than anyone else on earth, it just sort of happens organically. Chrissie is that person to me. She’s sweet and funny but will lay waste to anyone who crosses me.
And she’ll do anything for me. Proof in point, stage one of my plan is underway.
“What did you want me to say? I wasn’t going to give him the whole it’s not you, it’s me spiel. It’s not me, Chrissie. It’s totally him.”
I stand at the window of my suite and watch our family and so-called friends become increasingly fidgety. They’re shifting and talking amongst themselves while glancing up and down the aisle from Albert to the empty space where I should be entering right now.
Or, ten minutes ago.
Instead, I’m standing here in my favorite cutoff jean shorts and a tank. The wedding gown I picked out months ago is tossed on the floor in a crumpled mess.
I loved that dress. It was made especially for me. Janie paid extra for a rush job from her favorite designer in Milan.
It was just like the last six months of my life, rushed. I refuse to blame myself for being blinded by what was new and refreshing. I’ve already beat myself up over it, but not because of what I didn’t see.
No, I’d never beat myself up over that.
When I finally tore the blinders off, it took me a minute to recoup. The last thing I ever wanted was to be another Janie or Fiona. I might have a trust fund, but I’ve stayed true to who I am.
Shocked, angry, and frightened have been battling it out for the winning emotion for weeks.
But, in the end, I found myself. I had to dig deep to find her, but she’s here … the parts of me that I got from my mom—strong and independent. I’ve hung onto her memory like a lifeline and kept it tucked away for times like this.
I lost sight of who I was somewhere between the time Albert convinced me to sell my apartment in SoHo that I’ve had since college and that trip to the Maldives.
The Maldives … heaven on earth for most visitors, but it will always be hell for me.
Maybe I should rethink that. Not everyone is lucky enough to stumble upon that aha moment that changes their vision from what could only be described as utopia to a nightmarish hellscape.
Okay, so I don’t hate the Maldives. It was where I ripped off the rose-colored glasses and realized I had to save myself.
And I’m doing it up big. If Albert, Fiona, and Janie are hell-bent on the wedding playing out on the world stage, they’re damn well going to be front and center for the implosion.
I didn’t plan on having a front-row seat to the show, but there’s something satisfying about watching it go down before my eyes. I wonder if the chamber orchestra is playing the same song over and over again or if they’ve switched it up.
“I wish there was a way I could be in two places at once,” Chrissie says, pulling me back to more important matters. “I’m worried about you being there by yourself.”
“Don’t worry. I might as well be locked up in a tower. If I have to hide out, at least I chose well. This place is phenomenal. It’s like I’ve been transported back centuries in Europe. I’ll bring you here as soon as everything is taken care of.”
“Okay, Rapunzel, but I’m not sure if that’s dreamy or creepy as hell.”
“This will be the perfect place to pretend to lick my wounds. I don’t plan on leaving anytime soon. I just wish you could be here, too, but there’s no one else on earth I trust but you.”
Chrissie’s tone turns grave. “I’ll do whatever I can. You know I will.”
“I’m counting on you.”
“I’ll take care of things here, but you need to prepare for the battle you just incited. I’ll let you know when things are settled.”
“I know this is above and beyond. Thank you.”
“Hang on, Harlow.” Chrissie does what she does best and hands out orders to those around her.
I hear voices in the background and a scurry of movement before she returns.
“I’ve got to go. Whatever you do, don’t leave Winslet.
We’ve got a long haul ahead of us, but this will settle eventually. When it does, they’ll pay.”
“Be careful, Chrissie, and keep in touch,” I demand.
“You’re the one with the target on your back, and you’re telling me to be careful,” she mutters. “I’ll be watching TMZ for the news to hit.”
Albert turns to lean in and speak to the officiant. I might be stories high and looking down on them from a bird’s-eye view, but it’s easy to see that my fiancé is doing his best to keep his cool. And I can tell his best isn’t enough.
This is more satisfying than I thought it would be.
A small smile plays on my lips as I watch it play out and continue to talk to Chrissie. “It’s going to be epic. Beautiful, even.”
“That it will be. Still, be careful, and call me soon.”
“Will do.” I disconnect the call and slide my cell into my back pocket.
That’s when I see my English hero who had no idea what he signed up for when he booked the Madison-Humphries wedding.
The poor man thought The Manor at Winslet—in all her elegance and glory—would play host to the A-list event of the year.
I’m no pop star, but there are a few singers, actors, and even politicians in attendance.
Janie likes to keep her contact list varied.
No, I’m sure when Devon Donnelly woke up this morning, he thought he’d be zipping me around in a golf cart, not walking down the aisle to my fiancé to deliver a note like we’re in middle school.
And there he is, stalking through the winding gardens with an older woman in a floral dress and low heels practically skipping to catch up. I vaguely remember her from the front desk when I arrived two days ago.
I was so set on trying to convince Devon to do my dirty work, I didn’t appreciate his formal black suit, black shirt, and black silk tie. Not everyone can pull off black on black on black, but he can. Maybe he’s dressed to blend in, but it doesn’t matter. He stands out and looks good doing it.
Very good.
I’m going to think of it more like he was dressing for the death of my marriage before it had the chance to begin.
I’d say he’s as stately as his manor if it weren’t for the aviators—his varied choice of sunnies for the day—that he’s added to his ensemble before walking the grounds.
And the sight of him approaching Albert makes me feel better about what’s about to happen. The only person I could truly count on in life before today was Chrissie, but it looks like I can add Devon to that list. He might as well be my savior at the moment.
Maybe a loathing one, but a savior all the same.
I cringe and feel bad for Devon, but not enough to trade places with him.
I completely chickened out. There’s no way in hell I want to be anywhere near Albert, the mothers, or the guests. I’ll hide out in this suite for as long as I have to.
Devon will just have to get used to me being a staple in Winslet for the time being.
Devon
“Mr. Donnelly, I thought you were going to fetch the bride? The guests are getting restless. Everyone is waiting!”
Felicity has to double time it to keep up with me, but I don’t slow my stride. I’m on a mission to get this shit over with.
I’m sure Harlow is probably packing her bags at this point. The sooner this is over, the better.
I glance down at the woman who runs the front desk. Since the Madisons and Humphries booked the entire place for the weekend, Felicity is helping out behind the scenes.
“You think I don’t know they’re waiting?” I hiss. “Today is not going to go the way we thought. The bride got cold feet.”
Felicity lets out a yelp. “Cold feet? That can’t happen! The press is here! It’s a big, big magazine! This is horrible.”
That’s enough for me to stop and turn to her in the middle of the labyrinth that leads to the back lawn. “Quiet. I have to deliver the news. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this livid.”
The woman is anything but quiet. “That’s what you said yesterday when you fired Marsha and the new pool boy.”
As if this could get any worse.
She keeps talking. “And honestly, Mr. Donnelly, you said the same thing the day before when Mrs. Humphries complained that the flowers in her room weren’t fresh enough.”
I press my fingers to my temple. “Well, today I mean it. Go to the kitchen and tell the caterers that we need a distraction. In exactly five minutes, I want the waitstaff circulating with hors d'oeuvres and champagne. We’re moving up the entire schedule.”
Felicity wrings her hands but still doesn’t lower her voice. “Do you think that’s a good idea? Champagne is for celebrations. If the wedding is off, there’s nothing to celebrate.”
“Since I don’t have any wipe-my-tears-away cocktails ready to go, we have no choice but to stick with champagne.”
“True-true.” she mutters. “My heavens, this is bad.”
“Alert the kitchen manager. Maybe everyone will leave tonight instead of tomorrow so I can put this fucking weekend out of my head for good.”
She nods rapidly. “Yes. Okay, good idea. I’ll do that.”
Felicity, who I hired away from the local mortuary, hurries off and disappears into the maze toward the kitchen.
I drag a hand through my hair, not at all anxious to do this, yet still very fucking eager to get this shit over with.
The orchestra starts a new piece as I turn the corner to the aisle.
The sky is clear, the breeze is crisp off the lake, and the sun warms my skin.
What a waste of a perfect day to showcase my new venture in the top-rated celebrity magazine on earth.
Hell, after this, I’ll be lucky if we stay out of the tabloids.
There’s no good way to deliver this news.
The moment I enter the aisle, a few guests start to stand, until I motion for them to sit their arses back down.
Every curious gaze in the garden is on me, but the most inquisitive belongs to Albert Humphries, III.
The groom’s entire posture turns rigid as I make the long trek to him—the one where he expected to see his bride making her grand entrance.
Looks like I’ll be the only one to experience the beauty in white.
The hushed murmur through the garden becomes more anxious when Humphries stalks toward me. We meet at the first rows where the parents are seated.
Albert hisses in a low voice, “Where is my bride?”
“Mr. Humphries, there’s been a development. If you could step to the side, we can speak in private.”
“Where is Harlow?” This time, his hiss isn’t so low. He also skipped over the concerned husband-to-be emotion and shot straight to furious. He has no clue what happened to his fiancée. This bloke is showing his arse to the world.
Janie Madison jumps from her front-row seat in a panic. “Is there a problem?”
Albert turns to Janie. “Harlow isn’t walking down the aisle. So, yeah, Janie. There’s a fucking problem.”
Janie shifts in front of Albert, and her eyes widen. “Where is Harlow? Is she okay? Maybe I need to check on her.”
I look over her head to the infuriated groom. “I’m not going to ask again for you to step aside so we can do this without an audience.”
Albert moves Janie. It’s not a shove, but it’s not gentle either. “I demand to know where Harlow is.”
Fiona Humphries joins the fray with the groom’s father. “Everyone is watching. What is going on?”
I turn to his parents and open my mouth to speak, but I stop when Albert puts his hand to my chest and grips my suit jacket.
I shift my gaze from his hand and back to him. “That’s a bad idea.”
His mother rests a hand on his arm. “Albert.”
He doesn’t let go of me and gives my lapel a jerk. “Where the fuck is she?”
Now I know why Harlow Madison doesn’t want to live miserably ever after with this bloke.
I glance over his shoulder where photographers and videographers have been carefully positioned to document the love and beauty of the day.
Instead, they’re getting drama and angst.
If he insists we do it this way, I’ll deliver. It’s not my fault this guy is an arsehat.
“If you want to do this here, fine by me.” I grip his hand that’s wrinkling my custom suit. His eyes flare when I squeeze the bones in his hand until he finally lets go. I pull the folded stationery from my breast pocket and hand it to him. “From Ms. Madison.”
Albert stares at it a beat before tearing it from my fingers. His expression hardens with every word as his eyes shift side to side over the paper.
“Where is my daughter?” Janie demands.
Fiona clearly doesn’t give a shit about Harlow and instead turns to me. “What kind of operation are you running? Get Harlow out here now so we can get on with this. Everyone is watching!”
“Fuck,” Albert bites out and pushes the note to Janie. “I’ll go to her. Whatever this is, I’ll fix it.”
He starts to push around me, but I put a hand to his chest. “She doesn’t want to see you.”
He frowns up at me. “You can’t keep me from my bride. We’re getting married today.”
I tip my head to the note Janie is reading as her complexion pales. “It doesn’t look that way, mate.”
“Don’t mate me, asshole. Harlow is mine. You can’t stop me from seeing her.”
I lean in and lower my tone. “Here’s the thing, mate, I can, and I will. I take the security of my guests seriously. If Ms. Madison changes her mind and wants to see you, you’ll know. When I left her in her suite, she gave me specific instructions not to allow you in.”
“I’ll go to her.” Janie’s words come out in a rush as she turns to Albert. “Let me talk some sense into her.”
“What the fuck am I supposed to do?” Albert growls.
“Entertain your guests.” I dig in my pocket for the diamonds and turn to Fiona. “Harlow requested I return these to you.”
Fiona gasps.
Albert fumes. “This is a fucking nightmare.”
“I agree. But when in doubt, drink up.” I slap him on the shoulder and turn to walk back down the grand-as-fuck aisle created just for the happy couple. My smile swells when I announce, “Champagne for everyone.”