Chapter Eleven
Sunlight filtered through the trellised vines overhead, dappling the long table in shifting beams that danced across polished silverware, and half-eaten platters of grilled scallops.
Servers moved around the table like a well-choreographed dance, a far cry from the slightly nervous bunch I’d inherited at the start of the week. Crisp white shirts, polished shoes, hair neatly pinned. Everything exactly as it should be for another flawless vineyard lunch.
One refilling glasses with chilled Sauvignon; another gliding in to clear plates with the kind of silent grace that only comes from years of service and mild terror of disappointing me.
From where I stood, the whole lunch service looked serene, almost idyllic, a perfectly timed waltz in the afternoon sun.
Which, in fairness, it was.
Because I’d choreographed it myself. Every pour, every plate, every polite pause in conversation covered by the clink of cutlery or pop of a cork.
It should have been a proud moment.
Except that I was currently trying to work out which of these beautiful, well-groomed guests had stolen a priceless piece of jewellery before breakfast.
I moved between them discreetly, projecting serenity with a calm, competent smile.
My professional mask was flawless. My thoughts, however, were sprinting laps around the estate.
Across the table, Lucas was absolutely in his element. Charming, golden, and far too pleased with himself.
His white shirt was open at the collar, sleeves rolled up fashionably just so, a large Rolex watch on display like he’d been personally hired to model it at the lunch.
He caught my eye, lifted his glass, and in that booming voice designed specifically to draw attention, announced, “Ah, the most beautiful woman in the southern hemisphere! Holly, tell me, do you ever relax enough to have fun with the guests?”
I stopped beside him, tablet held in front of me like a tiny, rectangular shield. “If I relaxed, Lucas, this entire lunch would be held in yoga leggings and served off paper plates.”
A ripple of laughter passed down the table. Lucas, of course, only brightened.
“Still sounds like a good time to me,” he said.
I tilted my head at him. “Only if you’re in charge of clean-up duty.”
That got a bigger round of laughter, a few guests even wiping their eyes. Lucas put a hand to his chest as if I’d gravely wounded him, but the grin never left his face. Even Noah, two seats down, hid a small smirk behind his glass.
Lucas leaned back, eyes glinting with mischief. “You hurt me, Sinclair. I was up at sunrise, working on my fitness and thinking of ways to make your job easier.”
The word sunrise snagged in my mind like a loose thread. Sunrise, the same time Cleo said he’d been wandering around charming half the staff… and the same time someone had been skulking near the guest wing.
“Oh?” I kept my tone easy, casual. “Are you always up so early?”
He took a slow sip of his coffee, his expression impossible to read under all that lazy confidence. “Only when I’ve got things on my mind.”
His tone carried that familiar hint, half flirtation, half performance, the signature Lucas blend designed to make people lean in.
I didn’t.
Instead, I studied him for a heartbeat longer. Sunrise. Things on his mind. A man who never did anything before ten unless it benefitted him directly.
“Must’ve been something important,” I said lightly.
He flashed a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “You have no idea.”
I smiled tightly and moved on, mentally bookmarking Lucas up early, possible suspect.
Noah caught my eye across the table, one corner of his mouth lifting slightly, a questioning look.
It wasn’t a smirk exactly, but something that said he found the whole exchange with Lucas quite informative.
I gave him the smallest nod in return, the kind you’d miss if you weren’t looking for it.
I turned to check on Caroline and James. They sat together, sharing a private conversation that looked easy.
“Everything running smoothly?” I asked gently, stepping close to them. “Lunch okay?”
Caroline glanced up, smiling. “Gorgeous,” she said, her voice distracted. “I think the rosé was the official hit of the wine tasting this morning.”
James chuckled, reaching for her hand. “Or maybe Holly’s planning was.”
I smiled back, all calm efficiency. “I’ll take credit for the timing, but not the wine, that’s all Noah.”
Caroline’s eyes flicked towards him briefly, the faintest hint of gratitude there before she turned back to me. “We are very happy with the day so far,” she said cheerfully. “And tonight, the welcome party, it’s still the same plan?”
“Yes,” I said, checking my tablet out of habit. “Cocktails on the terrace at six. Lighting, drones, candles are all here, and after dinner the private concert. The band has everything it needs and is already setting up. Exactly what we discussed.”
“Great,” she said again, almost to herself. But there was a gleam behind her eyes, a thought she didn’t voice.
“I should let you know,” I said, checking my tablet, “the swan handler will arrive around five. He wants the birds to ‘emotionally settle in’ before guests arrive.”
Caroline nodded, unbothered. “Good. Last time they were a touch feisty.”
Of course they were.
“Everything else is all on track,” I said, tapping something into my tablet. “And just a heads up, a few of the VIP guests have started messaging ahead of their arrivals.”
Caroline didn’t look alarmed. She never did. She had the serene expression of someone raised around private jets and people who travelled with staff dedicated to curating their wardrobe on arrival.
I continued, “The influencer couple will be the first to arrive. They’re requesting ‘ambient natural lighting for the content they’ll be capturing’.”
Caroline nodded gracefully. “Of course. Jacqui and Leon are lovely, actually. A bit theatrical, but very kind.”
Theatrical was one word for people who were rumoured to have once brought their own lighting technician to a dinner event, but I didn’t say that.
“They also wanted to confirm if the terrace will be… ‘aesthetically neutral’?”
“That means beige,” she explained. “Everything has to be beige.”
Right. Of course.
“And the actress will be arriving after six,” I said. “She asked if her seat could be somewhere with good airflow.”
Caroline gave a small polite shrug. “Candice gets warm easily. It’s not a diva thing. She just… wears a lot of layers.”
“Good to know,” I said. “I’ll place her on the outer edge of the terrace.”
“And James’s old partner, Sam?” she asked.
“He’s coming too,” I said. “His assistant asked if there would be a spot where he can take calls privately.”
Caroline didn’t even blink. “He’s investing in another company. He’s always investing in start-ups. Just give him a corner.”
I made a note. Corner for casually handing out millions of dollars.
Caroline exhaled through her nose, elegant and resigned. “He may attempt to turn the dinner into a business pitch. Let him. Mother finds it endearing.”
I smiled. “Not sure the rest of the table will.”
“That,” she said, smoothing her skirt down, “is why you’re here.”
And for a moment, standing there with my tablet and her effortless poise, it felt like we were co-captains on a very shiny, very unpredictable ship.
James leaned back in his chair, listening contently. “You’ve outdone yourself, Holly. I think Margaret’s even smiling.”
That, apparently, was the highest of praise. I turned towards Margaret, who was indeed smiling, at least with her mouth.
James stood up to say something to Elaine, and I was halfway down the table when I caught Ethan’s voice behind me.
He had begun a conversation with Caroline, leaning towards her so he could be heard over the chatter. He appeared composed, but there was something taut about it.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked gently.
Caroline smiled, a little too quickly. “Of course. Just nerves. It’s all so… much.”
Her hand fluttered to her wine glass but didn’t lift it. She stared at the sunlight glinting off the rim, as if searching for calm there. “My mother is in full form,” she added after a moment, her tone light but her jaw tightening. “She means well, but she’s… a lot.”
Ethan nodded, the picture of calm reassurance. “James said the same thing this morning,” he said gently. “You’ve both taken on more than most people could.”
She nodded, “You know what she’s like. She’s already changed the seating chart twice today.”
He smiled faintly. “Maybe she and Holly should compare notes.”
That earned a genuine laugh from her this time, quick and bright, then gone. She reached for her napkin, smoothing it flat. “I just want it to go well. For everyone.”
His gaze lingered on her for a heartbeat too long. His voice lowered.
“It will.”
Caroline's smile held, but she seemed relieved when I stepped up beside the table.
I moved closer, pretending to check a place card. “Everything tasting okay?”
A polite expression slid easily into place on Ethan’s face. “Everything’s excellent, as always.”
“Good,” I said. “Because I’ve been told there’ll be mutiny if the scallops aren’t perfect.”
Caroline beamed at me. “They’re great, Holly. Truly.”
Ethan nodded in agreement, but his hand hovered near his glass for a second longer than necessary. When he did lift it, his grip wasn’t quite steady. Just a flicker. Enough for my planner’s brain to file it under something’s off.
Then he seemed to catch himself, straightening. “You’ve really outdone yourself,” he said smoothly. “I don’t know how you manage all this without losing your mind.”
“Oh, I lose it regularly,” I said. “I’m just selective about my audience.”
He smiled faintly. “That sounds like an art form.”
Noah, sitting further down, was watching too, not obviously, but the way a man does when he’s clocking details. He caught my eye briefly, and I could see the same thought forming: Ethan Prescott was nervous.
About what, though?
Lucas’s voice cut through before I could think more. “Careful, Prescott, that almost sounded emotional. You feeling sentimental or something?”
A few laughs rippled around the table. Ethan’s jaw tightened for a fraction of a second before he smiled, that smooth, easy expression snapping back into place.
“Maybe I’m just impressed,” he said evenly, raising his glass. “Cheers! To everyone making this possible.”
As everyone toasted, I moved away, Noah’s eyes caught mine again. This time, there was no smirk.
Further down the table, Sophie was sitting with the kind of far away, floaty smile people get after a generous wine tasting. Her flowing flowery sleeve had slipped off one shoulder, and she seemed blissfully at ease.
Except… her gaze was fixed a little too intently on Lucas, who was deep in animated conversation with Emma halfway down the table.
I wandered over. “Everything all right over here?”
She blinked up at me, eyes a little shiny from the afternoon sun and Sauvignon Blanc. “Oh! Yes. Completely.” She paused, then added with a dreamy sigh, “Just… appreciating the view.”
She made a vague gesture towards the table, the vines, the sky, a wide, sweeping motion that conveniently encompassed absolutely everything except the man she’d very much been staring at.
“Beautiful,” she added, as if that cleared anything up.
“The scenery is lovely,” I said lightly.
“It really is,” she agreed, far too quickly, her eyes flicking once more towards Lucas before she caught herself. “Very… inspiring.”
Her cheeks flushed pink. Definitely not from the wine.
She picked up her fork, poked at her scallop, missed, and then tried again. “These are fiddlier than I remember.”
“Long day?” I asked gently.
“A fun day,” she corrected, smiling. “The tasting was lovely. I may have… overestimated my tolerance for the last one.” She held up two fingers to illustrate “last one” even though she’d had far more than two.
“Anyway,” she said, clearing her throat like she was resetting herself. “Everything is so peaceful here. I think I’m just a bit swept up.”
“That’s allowed,” I said, smiling. “It’s that kind of place.”
She nodded, adjusting her scarf again, this time with more determination than skill. “Exactly. Swept up. That’s me.”
And honestly? That felt true. She wasn’t dramatic or overly flustered, just pleasantly tipsy, a little sparkly around the edges, and enjoying the moment more than she’d meant to.
At the head of the table, Emma was directing conversation like a symphony conductor. She had the polished ease of someone used to microphones and panel discussions, her posture relaxed, her smile already pitched for cameras that weren’t even here yet.
Her composure was natural, but her eyes were always calculating, weighing tone and optics even over lunch. It was impressive, in a slightly terrifying way.
“I’ve just confirmed some special media arrivals for tomorrow,” she announced smoothly, topping up her water glass with the kind of effortless poise you only acquire after years of PR training.
“We’ll do the room tours early so the photographers can capture everything before the rehearsal dinner.
Caroline wants the feature to feel ‘intimate yet aspirational’. ”
“Room tours?” I repeated before I could stop myself.
Since when was Emma in charge of the press?
Emma nodded brightly. “Just a quick sweep for an article I’m planning. I sent them the floor plan last night, so they know which rooms to focus on.”
My pulse ticked upward.
Floor plans? Last night?
I forced a pleasant face even as my stomach twisted. “Of course,” I said, keeping my tone breezy, light, professional. “Sounds efficient.”
Efficient. And disastrous.
Because those same plans included the layout of the entire guest wing, doors, corridors, private access points. Including the exact location of my room.
And Emma had sent that information out last night.
To people I couldn’t account for.
I put on a smile and nodded along like this was just another detail in a normal day.
But inside, something uneasy unfurled.
Conversation swelled again, Elaine complimented the salmon, someone else compared wine notes like connoisseurs.
The breeze picked up, carrying the faint scent of rosemary and sea salt from the nearby coast. On the surface, everything seemed normal again. Sunlight, wine, polite conversation. A table full of people who had stepped straight out of a luxury lifestyle magazine.
Emma raised her glass for a toast, “To love, luck, and beautiful beginnings.”
I forced a sip of water and kept my smile in place.
Because under the laughter and the clinking glasses, one thing had become painfully clear.
Someone at this picture-perfect table was lying.
Emma with her secret floor plans. Lucas with his sunrise wanderings. Sophie with her dreamy, distracted staring. Even Caroline, who kept fidgeting with her napkin like she had something she wasn’t saying.
I set my glass down, pulse thudding, and took a slow breath.
Brilliant.
I was starting to look at every single one of them like they might be the culprit.