Chapter Twenty-One #2
“And to the Harrington family,” he went on, “for welcoming me in so warmly.”
It was a nice line. Polished. But I saw his thumb trace a circle against the base of his glass, a small, restless motion.
Margaret inclined her head graciously. “We’re delighted to have you,” she said, in the same tone she might use for a corporate merger.
James smiled, though his voice caught subtly on the next words. “Caroline and I met at a charity gala, one of those events where you spend more time avoiding the canapés than eating them. I didn’t know then that I was meeting the person who’d change my life.”
A soft murmur from the table, the sound of practiced admiration. Caroline stared down, her eyes glinting.
“She’s brilliant,” James continued. “Driven. She sees things the rest of us miss. And I’ve learned that being with someone like that, well, it’s humbling.”
A ripple of approval moved through the room.
James caught himself and glanced down at his notes. “Anyway,” he said, voice lighter now, “here’s to my future wife, who has somehow managed to plan a wedding, run a company, and still make it look like she enjoys my company.”
A swell of laughter went around the table, generous and grateful to be told where to land.
James beamed. “To Caroline,” he said jauntily. “And to everyone who made this possible.”
He sat down, and for a moment there was applause, clinking, and general cheer.
Ethan paused for just a fraction too long before rising to his feet. Around him, guests smiled expectantly, but something in his expression made my stomach tighten.
He started well. “If you’d told me ten years ago that James Quinn would voluntarily wear a suit that didn’t have a hoodie attached, I’d have laughed you out of the room,” he said, earning a ripple of laughter around the table. “But here we are, proof that miracles exist.”
Caroline chuckled properly this time.
Ethan continued, voice easy, steady. “I’ve known James since long before anyone called him ‘visionary’ or ‘founder’ or, my personal favourite, ‘the future of Australian tech.’ Back then, he was just the guy who somehow convinced our high school IT teacher to let him build a drone instead of doing the actual assignment. ”
Ethan’s hand rested casually on the back of James’s chair as he spoke. “He’s the smartest, most stubborn person I know. He works hard, he listens badly, and he’ll fight tooth and nail for what he believes in.”
He hesitated, just long enough for it to feel deliberate. Then his gaze found Caroline. “And when he loves someone,” Ethan said, voice softer now, unbearably honest, “he loves them… completely. Even when he has no right to.”
The line hit the room like a dropped glass.
Caroline’s smile faltered, her fingers tightening around the stem of her champagne flute.
James blinked once. Slow, stunned.
Margaret’s spine snapped rigid.
The room held its breath.
Ethan felt it. Of course he did. He blinked, cleared his throat, lightened his tone with almost theatrical ease.
“So, here’s to the happy couple. To balance, to patience, and to knowing when to unplug your laptop.”
Laughter returned, a little too fast, like everyone was grateful to have something else to focus on.
“To Caroline and James,” he finished, raising his glass. “May your Wi-Fi always be strong.”
Applause followed, loud, cheerful, and slightly overcompensating for the discomfort.
Ethan sat down, his expression the picture of calm.
Only the hand resting against his thigh gave him away. It was trembling.
Poor Caroline seemed completely lost. For a second she hesitated, caught between the two men, before turning her back on Ethan and focusing all her attention on James.
“I loved your speech,” she said under her breath.
“Yeah,” James said, his eyes fixed on his wine. “Thanks.”
Lady Beaumont watched them in silence.
Sophie rolled her eyes in Lucas’s direction and mouthed awkward. Lucas grinned, delighted by her attention.
Ethan looked at Caroline again. She didn’t meet his eye.
Then Lady Beaumont flicked her wrist, barely a movement, more of a royal suggestion, and the quartet leapt straight into something jaunty. Far too jaunty. The musical equivalent of someone shouting, “Nothing to see here!” while sweeping broken glass under a rug.
Guests dutifully pretended to relax, all of them talking at once in that panicked way people do when they’re trying to escape a moment rather than deal with it. Someone spoke very loudly about the weather. Someone else asked about the salmon entrée like it held the secrets of the universe.
And me? I stood there by the terrace doors, trying very hard not to visibly unravel.
Because this, this, was the exact kind of social earthquake that no wedding planner wants.
Tension you can feel in your molars.
The bride and groom not looking at each other.
The best man practically confessing his heart in front of the crème Brulé.
Not ideal.
You can prepare for weather changes. You can carry extra safety pins and stain remover and a backup steamer and a backup-backup steamer. But you cannot pack an emergency kit for “unrequited love detonates in the middle of the toast.”
I felt the awkwardness crawl up my spine, curl around my neck, and whisper, good luck with the rest of the evening, sweetheart.
I straightened my tablet like it was armour and told myself it was going to be fine.
Everything was fine.
Totally fine.