Chapter Two
“Do you think if I pretend to be a grapevine I can live here rent-free?” Cleo asked with a mischievous grin, sliding up beside me on the terrace.
I smirked, tilting my head. “You’d need to be quieter.”
“Ha-ha,” Cleo pouted, leaning on the railing and sighing dramatically. “Honestly, I can’t stop thinking about that dinner last night. That wattle seed barramundi? I’d marry it. You can plan the wedding.”
I laughed cheerfully. “It was good. And the Chardonnay they paired it with? Amazing.”
For a moment, we both stood silently, soaking up the stillness like it was a rare luxury.
The morning sun was beginning to climb higher, washing the vineyard in a pale golden haze.
The rows of vines glowed with a mix of green and amber, each leaf seeming to shimmer as the light touched it.
A thin mist still clung to the lower hills, curling through the eucalypt trees before slowly giving way to the day.
This was day one of wedding week, the lead-up to the main event. A full week of both families staying on the estate, overseeing every detail and spending time together, all building towards the wedding at the end, which always sounds far more peaceful than it ever is.
Usually, at this point, my mind would be running through every detail, checking and double-checking that nothing had been missed.
But my thoughts drifted to Noah. He seemed like the grumpiest, most impossible man I’d ever come across. Honestly, I’d half expected him to bolt the gates and refuse to let anyone into his precious estate.
It was almost amusing that someone who looked like he’d rather wrestle a bull than make small talk over coffee could be responsible for a place this beautiful.
The crunch of gravel on the drive shattered the peaceful morning. My attention snapped to the long, winding path that led to the estate house.
Cleo put one hand to her earpiece and then straightened beside me, eyes sharp with anticipation. “Bride and Groom incoming.”
Down the driveway rolled a procession of sleek black SUVs, polished to a mirror shine and driven by security who obviously took their job very seriously.
The second vehicle stopped precisely in front of the grand entrance, and a bodyguard stepped out, scanning the grounds with the alertness of someone protecting a dignitary.
He opened the back door, and Caroline Harrington stepped out in her Louboutin’s with all the grace of someone very used to being the centre of attention.
She wore an elegant cream trench coat that was distinctly designer, the kind of fabric that didn’t dare wrinkle and probably cost more than my car.
A thin belt cinched at her waist, showcasing a sophisticated posture she’d obviously mastered long before Pilates became fashionable.
Her platinum blonde hair was swept into a smooth, no-nonsense updo, not a strand daring to rebel.
A pair of oversized tortoiseshell sunglasses, Chanel, if I wasn’t mistaken, rested atop her head like a small crown. And the handbag on her arm? A soft, buttery-leather Hermès that probably should have its very own security detail.
She didn’t say a word at first, just stood there with an unreadable expression that made it impossible to tell whether she was impressed… or mentally planning an expensive renovation.
James Quinn, her fiancé, emerged next. Casual but undeniably striking, he wore dark jeans and a silky grey cashmere sweater, the kind of understated luxury that said yes, I’m wealthy, but I’m trying very hard for you not to notice.
Somehow, the simplicity made him look more approachable, especially compared to the convoy of high-end cars he’d just stepped out of.
His easy smile and calm demeanour stood in complete contrast to the stiff formality swirling around him.
There was something grounding about him, something that didn’t quite match the image of the wunderkind who’d built SnapLink, the app that half the world used to share files, photos, calendars, you name it.
He had casually revolutionised digital connectivity before turning thirty, and yet here he was, looking more like someone’s laid-back childhood friend than a global tech figure.
As if drawn by the noise, Noah Langston appeared from a side path, wiping his hands on a rag.
“Noah!” James called, his face lighting up with genuine warmth as he spotted his old friend.
“Thought that was your overkill convoy,” Noah replied with a crooked grin, striding forward. The two men embraced briefly, a solid, brotherly hug followed by a hearty back-slap.
“Still bringing the entire Secret Service with you, I see,” Noah teased.
James’s grin widened, shaking his head. “They worry more than I do. Perks of being a hostage risk.”
Caroline stepped forward, her heels clicking on the gravel. “You must be Mr. Langston,” she said, extending a pristine manicured hand.
“It’s Noah,” he corrected, nodding with a half-smile. “Glad to have you both here.”
James looked around, hands on his hips, taking in the picturesque vineyards and the stately estate. “Still can’t believe this is your place now. It looks even better than the photos.”
“It’s the vines,” Noah said simply, a hint of pride in his voice. “They like an audience.”
Caroline’s mouth curved knowingly. “Let’s hope they perform well for the wedding photos.”
I stepped forward then, crossing the gravel towards the group. Caroline was the first to notice me, her expression warming as she leaned in to greet me with two perfectly executed air kisses, one on each side.
“Holly. It’s so good to see you again.”
“Likewise,” I replied kindly, returning the gesture. “Welcome to Langston Estate. Your rooms are ready, and I’ve sent over the itinerary, printed and digital, of course.”
James turned towards me, an easy grin spreading across his face. “You must be the infamous Holly. I’ve heard you’re the best in the business, the one people call when they want the kind of wedding everyone talks about for years to come.”
I lifted my chin slightly, a confident smile tugging at my lips. “Guilty as charged. If someone wants perfection, down to the last petal and place card, I usually get the call.”
I glanced over at Cleo and added, “But I couldn’t do it without my Cleo.”
At that moment, the purr of a vintage Rolls-Royce floated up the drive, the unmistakable sound slicing through the quiet morning.
Cleo leaned closer to me, listening again to her earpiece, her voice low and full of mischief. “The Queen approaches.”
The car’s polished chrome caught the morning sunlight, sparkling as it rolled to a stop near the group.
A chauffeur opened the door with practised precision, and Margaret Harrington stepped out. Regal in a pastel blue suit cut to command attention, her hair set into a no-nonsense style, she wore pearl earrings that blinked like tiny stars.
Everything about her suggested a woman who’d spent a lifetime mastering control, of herself, her family, and probably everyone within a ten-metre radius.
Her sharp gaze swept across the estate, taking everything in, from the gravel path to the vineyards beyond, as though she were mentally grading it all.
Behind her, Richard Harrington climbed out of the car a little more slowly, adjusting his pocket square with the ease of a man used to wearing suits on the daily.
His glance at the vineyard was brief, almost dismissive, though I could tell his mind was already tallying its worth down to the last vine.
“Hello Mother, Father,” Caroline said, standing a little taller. “I see you’ve brought Grandmother’s Rolls out for the occasion?”
Margaret leaned in, greeting her with two air kisses so precise they could’ve been choreographed. “Darling, you look tired. Have you been sleeping? Your under-eye area—”
Caroline gave a tight smile, smoothing the front of her coat. “I’m fine, Mother. It’s just the travel.”
“Hello, Margaret,” James greeted, stepping forward.
She regarded him coolly. “James. This place is so… rustic, isn’t it?”
Richard extended a hand towards James. “Son. This the vineyard?”
James nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Richard nodded thoughtfully. “Solid acreage. Looks profitable.”
James smiled. “I believe it is.”
As the chauffeur began unloading their luggage, the low hum of another engine drifted up the lane behind us.
I turned as a white modest rental car appeared, its tyres crunching apologetically over the gravel behind the line of glossy black SUVs and the vintage Rolls.
Elaine Quinn climbed out, moving with a normality that instantly relaxed the scene. Dressed in a pale cardigan and flowery blue blouse, she seemed more at home in a kitchen smelling of lemon slices and fresh tea than amid a high-society showdown.
There was nothing flashy about her, and that was exactly what made her impossible to overlook.
Elaine’s face lit up the moment she spotted James. Without hesitation, she hurried forward, her arms already opening.
“My darling, I’m so excited for you!” she said, wrapping him in a full, sincere hug that made him grin like a teenager again.
“Thanks, Mum,” he murmured against her shoulder, holding on a moment longer than I think anyone expected.
When she finally pulled back, she turned to Caroline, her face still glowing. “And you, sweetheart, you look radiant.”
I noticed the change immediately. The stiff lines around Caroline’s mouth melted, and her posture eased just a little.
“Thank you, Elaine,” she said gently. For a rare second, she seemed almost like a daughter, not a CEO-in-training.
Elaine reached out and gave her a quick but genuine hug, gentle, restrained, but full of affection.
Behind them, the Harringtons watched. Margaret’s expression was polite, but her eyes told a different story, cool, assessing. She took in everything: the cardigan, the flat shoes, the modest rental car parked behind the gleaming Rolls.
Richard stepped forward and extended a hand. “James’s mother I believe?”
Elaine took it with a steady grip, firm and unpretentious. “Yes, please call me Elaine. It’s lovely to finally meet you both.”
Margaret stepped in next, her expression perfectly composed. “Elaine, welcome. It’s been quite the lead-up, hasn’t it?”
Elaine returned the smile, kind-hearted and gracious. “Yes, but all worth it. I’m just so happy for James and Caroline.”
Margaret gave a small nod, her attention flicking to the rental car before sliding back to Elaine. “You must be relieved to have made the trip from Melbourne on your own. I know travel can be such a hassle these days.”
Elaine held her gaze for half a beat too long. “I’ve had a few years to get used to it now.”
A flicker of recognition crossed Margaret’s face. “Of course.”
Elaine smiled lightly, smoothing invisible dust from her sleeve. “Though to be fair, Alan never enjoyed airports even when he was alive.”
There was a waver, just the smallest twitch, in Margaret’s eyes, but she said nothing more.
Sensing the mood, James touched Elaine’s arm. “Mum, why don’t I show you to your room?”
“Oh, no rush,” she said brightly. “I’d love to take in the view a little longer. It really is stunning here.”
She turned, taking in the sweep of the vineyards with genuine admiration. “It’s hard to believe places like this still exist.”
That was when she noticed Noah, standing slightly behind the group.
“You must be Mr. Langston. My son’s spoken so highly of you,” she said gently.
He gave a small nod, dusting his hands on his jeans before offering a hand. “Just Noah, ma’am. Welcome.”
“Thank you, Noah,” Elaine said easily. “It’s a beautiful place you’ve got here. It feels... peaceful.”
Noah looked over briefly to the vines, then back to her. “Some days, it is.”
I shifted my weight and caught Cleo’s eye. “Cleo, why don’t you double-check the flower arrangements in the hall? Make sure everything matches my notes.”
“On it,” Cleo said with a grin, tugging her clipboard tighter before heading off.
I turned towards Noah, who had leaned against the porch railing, arms crossed, watching the staff gather the luggage.
“Ready for the wedding whirlwind?” I asked, stepping up beside him.
He shrugged, his tone low and dry. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Something about the way he said it made me think he wasn’t only talking about the wedding.
It sounded like someone bracing for a storm.
As the guests began drifting inside, a slow parade of designer bags, polite smiles, and subtle one-upmanship, I stepped aside to let them pass, my tablet in hand, scanning every detail without being obvious. Composed. In control. Ready.
By the time the last suitcase disappeared inside, the morning sun had climbed higher, drenching Langston Estate in a glow that appeared to have been filtered for dramatic effect.
The air hummed with tension, old money, new nerves, and expensive shoes on centuries-old stone.
And as I glanced at Noah, still standing beside me, eyes fixed on the retreating guests, I couldn’t help thinking he was right.
This really did feel like the calm before the inevitable storm.