2. Locke #2
“Besides,” I said. “It’ll probably be a relief for Alistair to get Kenna away from London and the paparazzi for a weekend, so they can just relax.”
“And you?” Weston asked as we cut into the ceremony tent. People had finally started to take their seats. “Are you going to relax?”
I laughed. “You know I never relax.” I was always looking for the next property I could transform. “Speaking of, any good land in the area in need of development?”
“You’re thinking of putting one of your luxury resorts here?” Weston said, surprised.
“Well, yeah. Why not?” Braeburn meant a lot to us.
It had since that first summer at his Grandad’s camp.
I needed a new deal to improve the optics of Fraser Developments, and why shouldn’t that deal genuinely help out a small-town community I happened to love?
Plus, this part of the country was stunning, and it deserved more attention and appreciation than it typically got.
“I think it’s past time I contribute to the town in a way that helps it flourish. ”
“That’s a fantastic idea,” Weston said. “I’ll ask around, see what property’s available. Why don’t you book yourself off another weekend to come back and see them all?”
“A whole weekend?” I tapped him lightly on the chest, teasing. “Sounds like you just want Uncle Locke to come back and babysit Aisling so you and Lena can take a second honeymoon.”
Weston inclined his head, humming with interest. “Technically, we didn’t even take our first.”
“So now your real motive comes to light.” I patted his arm, then turned to take my seat next to Alistair and Kenna.
Click, click, click.
I glanced up as I tracked the camera flash—and froze. That hair. That mouth. That devil-may-care smirk behind the lens.
It was her. Toyota Terror was the photographer for this event.
No. Bloody. Way.
I’d seen it all when it came to relationships.
Weddings, divorces—including my own parents—and everything in between. But whenever I saw the way Lena and Weston looked at each other, with all that warmth and adoration, I found myself actually believing love worked out for some people.
Not me. I wasn’t interested in that. But for them…yeah, it was the real deal. So of course the ceremony was gorgeous. The only thing that ruined it was that woman!
Click, click, click.
I couldn’t keep my eyes off her the entire time Lena and Weston were reciting their vows, frustration bubbling in my blood. And now I had to watch her dart around the tent, getting in everyone’s faces with that camera. Thank God for cocktail hour. I needed a drink.
Many multiple drinks.
And a miniature sausage roll to wash it down. I nabbed one from a passing tray.
“Smile,” I heard just as I was in the middle of stuffing that sausage roll into my mouth.
Click, click, click.
“You again,” I grumbled under my breath as that infuriating woman stepped out of the crowd, camera held up to her face.
She was dressed differently than she’d been on the road—now wearing a tight floral dress that clung temptingly to her curves, her blonde hair pulled back in a clip, loose waves hanging over her shoulders.
“Me again,” she said, an eyebrow arching up her forehead. “Why didn’t you just say you were coming here? We could have carpooled.”
“I would have rather walked,” I snarled.
My gaze flicked up and down; I couldn’t help it.
Those damn curves were magnetic. I hadn’t been able to get a good look at her during the ceremony, with the way she was flitting all over, snapping photos.
But now I could make out the roundness of her hips, the dip of her waist, and the fine definition in her arms.
She was fit—click, click, click—not that that made one ounce of difference! Because she was still the world’s most irritating woman. I wrenched my eyes away, grinding the bits of sausage in my mouth to a pulp.
“Hey, Mr. Grump, over here.”
“What do you think you’re doing?” I snapped, unable to ignore her. Now I knew why Weston had been so amused earlier. He must have recognized her from my description. Well, har har. Everyone was laughing now.
“Catching a grump smiling in the wild pays big bucks,” she said, giving me a smug grin. “Missed it that time. Wanna try again?”
“I don’t want to be featured on your flaming camera roll!” I sipped my drink, relishing the burn of the alcohol as I tried not to shatter my glass.
“Relax, Mr. Sheep Whisperer.” I couldn’t stand the amusement that flickered across her face. “Lena asked me to get particular shots.”
“Hey, Isla!” someone called, and she looked over her shoulder briefly before glancing back at me.
“I’ll let Lena know being on camera is causing you much distress.” She turned and headed off into the crowd. For one tiny moment, I actually felt bad about disappointing Lena.
Then I heard that infernal click, click, click again.
Screw the photos! Weston could Photoshop my damn head onto them if he wanted. I wasn’t about to pose for that woman. I whirled around, grabbing another cocktail, going out of my way to ignore her, but every time I turned around, there she was, catching me in another unflattering moment!
Was this how Alistair felt being hounded by the paparazzi?
I wanted to scream, and I might have, had the dinner bell not sounded. Thank Christ. I surged across the tent to my table, desperately in need of a break. I took my assigned seat.
“Unca Locke!” Kenna called from across the table where Alistair had seated her. She immediately climbed to her feet, waving to get my attention with all the seriousness a three-and-a-half-year-old could muster.
“Hi, sweetheart,” I said.
“You sit with me?”
“Uncle Locke has to sit in his seat. See?” Alistair said, lifting up the card on her plate. “Everyone has a plate with their name.”
Kenna stared at her card, perplexed. She looked at her dad. “This is me?”