THREE
Three
To say nothing really happened in Wessex would normally be to speak the truth. However, something pretty big had been brewing for the last twelve months, and it was due to hit town in exactly one week: the wedding of the century.
It might not be a celebrity or royal wedding, but did involve Wessex royalty—Bel’s cousin, Larkin. In most families, being the cousin of royalty would make you royalty too, but not in this case. Due to her failure to make something of herself, Bel was the embarrassing black sheep who her aunt and uncle didn’t talk about. So when Larkin had asked her to be a bridesmaid, it had not sat well with Aunt Lois which, of course, was the only silver lining in Bel accepting.
Lois was the only daughter of the district’s wealthiest grazier family, the Ramseys, pioneers in the region with ties back to the original settling families.
Bel’s family, the Buckleys, were from a more modest mixed-crop farming background; their land was primarily run by her grandparents and their two sons: her father, Robert, and her uncle, Stanley. That is, until her father had met her mother and decided to move to South Australia. Meanwhile, Uncle Stan had set his sights on the local heiress, Lois Ramsey, along with pretty much every other eligible bachelor in the state. When her wealthy father suddenly took ill and passed away, leaving the enormous estate to his only child, the competition grew fiercer.
Sadly for Bel’s family, when Stanley threw everything at his pursuit of his future bride, it was literally everything. Behind his parents’ backs, he ran up enormous debts, using the family property as collateral, and almost sent them into bankruptcy. Luckily, Stan’s gamble paid off and he won the hand of the fair Lois and they were promptly married. Stan managed to pay back his parents and save the family farm, but it was too late. His triumph had come at a cost to his elderly parents’ health, and they eventually sold the farm and moved into town for a quieter life. Of course, all that had been covered up. The only reason Bel knew about it was because when she’d been nursing Gran, who had suffered dementia, she’d started talking about it when she mistook Bel for Vera, Gran’s younger sister.
Gran had been Bel’s world, having taken her in after Bel’s parents had died in a car accident when she’d been ten years old. It had been a horrible time in her young life—losing her parents and being torn away from friends and everything she loved to move to another state, surrounded by people she didn’t know. Her grandparents had been a refuge from the harsh new world.
Her uncle and aunt had offered to pay for her to go away to the boarding school Larkin attended, but thankfully Gran had stepped in and decided she needed nurturing and a home more than an elite school. So instead she’d gone to Wessex Primary School, which was where she’d met Emma. The two had instantly bonded and been pretty near inseparable ever since.
Larkin had to be the most spoiled person she’d ever met, but despite having had everything she’d ever wanted handed to her on a silver platter, Bel had always thought her cousin must have been the loneliest kid in the world. Her parents had hounded her day and night about her appearance and grades and behaviour. It had been relentless, and Bel had often felt sorry for her. She’d never once seen her aunt cuddle Larkin, and, if it wasn’t for Gran, she doubted her cousin would have known what affection was.
Bel and Larkin were chalk and cheese, with nothing in common other than a surname and a handful of DNA, yet, for all their differences, they had grown up to be surprisingly close.
Larkin was tall and willowy, as graceful as a feline, with long, silky blonde hair and big blue eyes. She was always impeccably made-up and spent a fortune on creating her flawless beauty, looking like she’d stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine on any given day.
Bel, on the other hand, usually looked like she’d stepped out of a month-long hibernation, complete with bed hair. Long, plain and mud-brown, her locks had an annoying kink that meant they were neither curly nor straight, and she couldn’t quite remember the last time she’d been to a proper hairdresser. She usually trimmed her fringe herself whenever it got in her eyes, much to her cousin’s dismay. She’d missed out on her cousin’s baby blue eyes too, instead ending up with brown ones, and not even a pretty chocolate brown or coffee brown, but a weird, light orange-brown. She’d worn glasses since she was eight and hated them, but had never bothered trying contacts despite Larkin’s encouraging her to since high school. She wasn’t sure why she’d always resisted Larkin’s attempts to ‘fix’ her appearance. Maybe because she didn’t want to be compared to her beautiful cousin. There was no way she could ever compete. Bel preferred to stay out of the spotlight and do her own thing, and she’d been allowed to do that, until she was pushed into this whole bridesmaid debacle.
‘You can’t be serious,’ Bel had said when Larkin had rung her twelve months earlier to tell her she was going to be in the wedding party.
‘Of course I’m serious.’
‘But … why? You’ve got plenty of people you can ask.’ Beautiful, stylish, A-list friends .
‘You’re my cousin, Bel. Please? I love my friends to death, but none of them know me like you do. I need you there with me on the day.’
Her cousin’s words had caught her off guard and Bel had felt her resolve weaken. ‘What does your mother say about it?’
‘This is my wedding,’ Larkin said firmly.
So … Aunt Lois does not approve.
It was going to be the biggest wedding the district had seen in years. Aunt Lois would be out to impress the city guests after her daughter had managed to snag the most eligible bachelor of Sydney’s social set. There was a lot at stake here, and already Lois’s headstrong daughter had messed up all her well-laid plans by insisting the wedding be held at the estate.
A grand, somewhat imposing homestead with a rich cultural heritage, Glentoberon was nothing to sneeze at, but it had been beginning to show signs of its age after a few decades of mismanagement paired with a handful of natural disasters and the odd bad season. As a result, Larkin’s parents had spent a not-so-small fortune giving the entire place a facelift.
Now, suddenly, the wedding was here, and Bel had to work out how she was going to get through the whole ordeal. She could not wait for it to be over so life could go back to normal.
With a quick glance at the general store’s clock, Bel pulled out her book and decided she could fit in one more chapter before the afternoon school pick-up rush descended. What she needed in order to forget about all the upcoming stress was some Jax Lexington. Book three, set in Las Vegas, was always a favourite.
In the heart of Las Vegas, where the neon lights dance across the night sky and the air thrums with excitement, Jax strides, his piercing blue eyes gleaming beneath the glitz of the Strip.
With each confident step, Jax commands attention, his chiselled jawline cutting a striking figure against the backdrop of the bustling casinos and dazzling marquees.
Though the city pulses with energ y, Jax moves with a calm assurance, his every movement calculated and precise. He is a man of action, unafraid to take risks in pursuit of justice and honour.
As he navigates the casino layout, the unrelenting poker machine tunes trilling in the background, Jax’s mind—always one step ahead, his keen intellect and street-smart instincts honed by years of clandestine operations—remains on alert. A woman dressed in a red, slinky silk evening gown smiles seductively at him. Despite the dangers that lurk in the shadows, there is always room for a little excitement.
In a city where fortunes are won and lost on the roll of a dice, Jax remains a steadfast beacon of strength and resolve—a hero for whom no challenge is too great, and no danger too daunting.
As the lights of Las Vegas twinkle in the background, there’s no doubt that his next adventure is just beginning.
The tinkle of bells sounded and Bel inwardly groaned, reading faster to squeeze in the last paragraph before she had to serve whoever had the audacity to interrupt her and Jax. But when she finally looked up everything around her ceased to exist. It felt as though the air had been sucked out of the room. All she could do was stare at this magnificent specimen of manhood.
‘Jax,’ she breathed, gaping. She had to be hallucinating. She shook her head and blinked, but when she opened her eyes, he was still standing there. Staring at her … like she had grown a second head.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked, his deep voice running over her like aged whiskey. ‘Should I call an ambulance or something?’
The jarring sound of a needle being dragged across an old record album rudely interrupted her daydreaming as she realised he was staring at her mouth not with longing but a look of grave concern.
She lifted her hand to tentatively brush it across her lips. Oh God! Is that … drool?
Bel straightened abruptly, knocking her cup of coffee, which flew across the counter and splattered across the front of his crisp white shirt. ‘Oh God!’ She grabbed a fistful of tissues, raced around the counter and began to wipe furiously at the brown stain spreading across the expensive fabric that covered a firm, flat torso.
He grabbed her wrist to still her frantic rubbing. Her skin burned beneath his touch. ‘It’s fine. Thank you.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ She stared at him, utterly mortified and mesmerised. Jax Lexington was standing in front of her, in real life.
Then it hit her like a bolt of lightning. The list. She’d manifested him. Holy crap! It worked! ‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ she said, swallowing hard.
‘I, uh … Do I know you?’ he asked, looking up from his shirt, which he’d taken over trying to dab clean.
‘I’m Bel,’ she said, thrusting out her hand and making him flinch.
‘Tate,’ he said, reaching forward to give her hand a brief shake.
‘Tate?’
‘Yes. Look, I was just after some directions,’ he said hesitantly.
‘Oh. Okay,’ Bel said, belatedly noticing her hand had oil or something on it from when she’d been cleaning up around the bowsers earlier. She rubbed it as inconspicuously as she could on the thigh of her baggy jeans and gesticulated awkwardly towards the road with her other hand to distract him. ‘Where were you headed?’
‘Glentoberon. Apparently it’s a property around here somewhere? I think I missed the turn.’
Bel’s eyes widened. ‘You know the Buckleys?’
‘I’m here for a wedding.’
‘Larkin’s wedding?’ she asked, as her heart rate picked up.
‘Yes,’ he answered cautiously. ‘I’m Tristan’s best man.’
‘Get out of town !’ Bel said, pushing his chest, then immediately staring in horror as he stumbled slightly and knocked into a stand of sunglasses, sending a number clattering to the floor. He quickly righted the stand and cleared his throat.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Bel said, horrified. ‘No, please, don’t worry about that,’ she added as he moved to pick up the glasses on the floor.
‘Uh, so, directions to … ?’ he started uncertainly.
‘Oh. Yes. Of course. Head down the main street and then turn right at the intersection. Follow that road for about fifteen kilometres and you’ll see the big gates with Glentoberon written on them. You can’t miss it.’ The enormous new gates had been installed a few months earlier. The only thing it needed now was uniformed guards standing out the front.
‘Right. Okay. Thanks. Uh, is there anywhere around here I can grab a quick bite to eat?’
‘There’s a cafe across the road. If you’re quick, you might catch them before they close.’
‘It’s not even two o’clock,’ he said, glancing over his shoulder to search for the cafe.
‘They close up at two.’ Much to every out-of-towner’s disbelief, and something Bel hoped would be addressed at the next progress committee meeting in preparation for the tourist boom they were hoping the much-debated statue would usher in.
‘Right. Thanks.’ He nodded, turned and walked out of the store, leaving Bel to stare after him as she released a long, unsteady breath. Holy. Crap. She’d gone and conjured up her dream guy.
Grabbing the phone, she called Emma, tapping her fingers on the countertop as she waited for her to answer.
‘Hey.’
‘Are you in the car?’
‘Yes, I’m on my way in to pick up the kids from school.’
‘You need to get over to the store.’
‘Why? What’s wrong? Are you okay?’
‘Jax Lexington just appeared in town! I swear to God, he was just here.’
‘Who?’
‘The guy from the book.’
The line went quiet for a moment then Emma started speaking slowly. ‘Bel … have you been drinking?’
‘What? No! Oh, for goodness’ sake. I’m telling you, this guy walked into the store a minute ago and he is the spitting image of Jax Lexington. Get over here. Pronto.’
No more than five minutes later, Emma’s car pulled up outside.
‘He’s here ,’ Bel said, putting her fists to her mouth in an attempt to contain her excitement.
‘I still have no idea what you’re talking about. Who’s here?’
Bel whipped out the book from under the desk and slammed it on the counter. ‘Him. Look!’ she said, pointing past her friend to the cafe across the road, where the man in question sat sipping from a mug. ‘It’s Jax Lexington. He’s right here in Wessex!’
‘ That’s him?’ Emma asked, her dubious expression echoing in her equally doubtful tone.
‘Look,’ Bel said, holding the cover closer to Emma’s face and tapping the image urgently. ‘It’s him .’
‘It’s not him.’
‘Well, obviously it’s not him ,’ Bel said impatiently, ‘but it’s who he would be, if he were a real-life person.’
Emma stared at her silently for a few moments. ‘I am officially worried about you,’ she said with a shake of her head.
‘He has the same rugged good looks and chiselled jawline that makes women’s nether regions quiver,’ Bel said.
‘Nether regions?’ Emma repeated.
‘He’s easily six foot and has blue eyes,’ Bel continued, ignoring her friend’s cynicism.
‘And you’re saying that this fictional creature has magically appeared right here in Wessex?’
‘Kind of. I brought him here,’ Bel announced matter-of-factly.
‘Of course you did.’
‘I manifested him.’
‘Bel, I love you like a sister, and you know that I would literally die …’ Emma paused briefly. ‘Well, not die, but take a minor … somewhat painful … but ultimately superficial injury for you, right? But I’m beginning to think that you need to be committed for your own safety. You can’t “manifest” a person, fictional or otherwise.’
Bel rolled her eyes. ‘I’ve been practising this manifesting stuff—you know, putting out good vibes, law of attraction and all that,’ she said. ‘I made a soulmate list and wrote down everything I wanted in my perfect man.’ She stopped, and lifted her gaze back to the man across the road. ‘And there he is.’
‘Riiiiight.’
And this was exactly why she’d never told her best friend about the soulmate list. She knew Emma would make fun of it. ‘I don’t care if you don’t believe me.’
‘Okay, whatever,’ Emma said, throwing her hands up. ‘It doesn’t matter how he got here … I’m excited for you. Now, go over and talk to him.’
‘What? No!’
‘What do you mean? You just said he’s your dream guy.’
‘I can’t talk to him,’ Bel said.
‘But you manifested him, remember?’
‘Yes, but … I didn’t really think past that bit. I’m not sure what to do with him now that he’s here.’
‘Well, for starters, you could go talk to him,’ Emma said.
‘I can’t. I tried, and I made a complete fool of myself.’ She reluctantly gave a summary of the earlier encounter and felt the mortification return.
‘Oh, dear,’ Emma sympathised. ‘Okay, well that was … unfortunate ,’ she said, seeming to select her words carefully. ‘But you can’t give up. I mean, how often does a guy like that, or any guy , to be completely honest, turn up in Wessex? It may never happen again in our lifetime. Like Halley’s Comet or something.’
That was a fair point, but it didn’t change the fact that she was a walking disaster and he was … perfect.
‘Come to think of it, what is a guy like that doing in town?’
‘He’s here for the wedding. He’s Tristan’s best man.’
Emma’s eyes lit up and a smile replaced her frown. ‘That’s perfect. He’ll be here all week. That’s plenty of time.’
‘For what?’
‘For Operation Soulmate.’
‘Operation what?’
‘Look, you can believe in your manifesting thing, but I’m suggesting something a little more practical. You’ve got a guy stuck out here for a wedding—he’s literally a captive audience. All you need to do is catch his attention.’
‘Captive’ sounds a little desperate, but then again, who am I to get nitpicky over details?
‘You’re going to win that man over by the night of the wedding,’ Emma said firmly.
‘I am?’ Bel felt a tiny spark of hope reigniting at her friend’s confident words.
‘You are. You manifested him,’ Emma said, turning back to face Bel and clasping her upper arms decisively. ‘You can do this.’
‘I can .’
‘You will do this,’ Emma continued.
‘I will!’ Bel repeated, feeling like a State of Origin player about to head out after half-time.
‘Thatta girl.’ Emma grinned. ‘Now, go wipe off that streak of grease, or whatever the hell it is that you’ve had on your face since I got here, and let’s make a plan!’
‘What!’ Bel ran out the back and stared in horror at the smudge across her cheek. What hope did she seriously have with a guy like that? No wonder he’d fled.
She took off her glasses and scooped a handful of water from beneath the tap, letting the cool water soothe her flushed cheeks. When she looked back in the small mirror above the sink, she blinked at the blurry woman staring back. If she wanted a man like that, she was going to need to make some pretty big changes.