Margaret sat perfectly upright, her fingers tapping the polished wood in disapproval. “Five minutes, you say?” she asked, her tone smooth but sharp enough to slice through the room. “I trust it isn’t going to take any longer?”
Caroline lifted her hands in a small gesture of reassurance. “Mother, you know Lucas. He’ll be here.”
Margaret’s lips thinned into a disapproving line. “Yes. Well, I do hope he understands the importance of punctuality when it comes time for the wedding.”
I winced inwardly, picturing my flawless schedule already fraying at the edges.
With a subtle nod, I signalled to the servers to keep the wine and water flowing, anything to maintain the illusion of calm while I prepared to go soothe an increasingly impatient chef.
Then came the low, unmistakable growl of a sports car engine rumbling up the drive. James and Ethan exchanged a knowing look.
“That would be him,” Caroline said dryly.
Through the tall windows, a cherry-red Lamborghini came into view, glossy, gleaming, and wildly out of place among the historic elegance of the vineyard.
He slid it to a stop in a spray of gravel that would’ve given Noah heart palpitations if he’d been outside to see it.
Then Lucas strolled in like the room had been waiting for him, which, in reality it had.
Sunglasses still perched on his nose despite the very obvious lack of sun, leather jacket slung over one shoulder like a fashion ad come to life. His hair had that tousled “I woke up like this, but also used three styling products” vibe.
“Hello, everyone!” he called, voice booming with easy charm. “I see the fun’s already started without me. Sorry I’m late, I was delayed by a very unavoidable situation involving breakfast and a rooftop pool. And then a small, completely unintentional misunderstanding with one of James’s security guys out front.”
His eyes swept the room, landing first on Sophie. He leaned casually against a chair and shot her a playful wink. “Well, aren’t you all a delight. Glad to see the drive down here didn’t scare anyone off.”
Then his gaze shifted to me, still standing unobtrusively at the edge of the room, and his grin widened. “And who do we have here? Beautiful, in charge, and clearly running the show.”
Emma muttered under her breath, “Some people really have no filter…”
I didn’t miss a beat, keeping my tone calm and professional. “Hello, Mr Scott. I’m Holly. I’ll be making sure everything runs smoothly this week,” I said evenly, though I felt the flicker of irritation behind my polite smile.
Margaret exhaled through her nose, pinching the bridge as if warding off a headache. “I trust he plans to keep his volume to a minimum once lunch begins,” she said sweetly, though the edge in her voice could’ve frozen wine.
Lucas straightened immediately, slipping off his sunglasses and offering Margaret a respectful nod. “Of course, Mrs Harrington,” he said smoothly as he took his seat. “I wouldn’t dream of ruining lunch.”
Then, with a glance at the rest of the table, he added slyly, “But we are going to havesomefun this week, right?”
James just shook his head, grinning, while Ethan’s smirk said everything without a word.
I slipped back into the kitchen to cue the servers that lunch was finally ready. The moment I pushed through the swinging doors, a wave of heat and the rich aroma of the first course, searedscallops on a sweet corn purée with a drizzle of local truffle oil, wrapped around me.
I exhaled slowly.
One thing was already crystal clear: this was going to be a very long week.
Chapter Four
Lunch settled into that easy rhythm that the Margaret River wine region was famous for, the kind that coaxed even the most high-strung guests into lingering.
Margaret, having declared the meal “satisfactory,” had swept off to make a phone call, her raised voice already echoing faintly from somewhere near the main house.
Caroline and James lingered for a bit, gossiping with Emma before disappearing to finalise their outfits for the welcome party.
Richard had stayed behind and was now comfortably settled on the terrace, a glass of shiraz in hand, deep in conversation with Noah, who had turned up for dessert and was enthusiastically explaining the vineyard’s soil composition like it was a love language.
Elaine and Emma lingered at the table, very content with their coffee and lemon tart, chatting like they had nowhere else to be.
Meanwhile, Lucas had roped two junior waiters into joining him and Sophie in what he proudly called a “cork bocce tournament” out on the lawn.
