Cleo tilted her head, smirking. “You’re going to check it every hour, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely not.”
But as dusk settled and the garden lights began to glow gently through the window, I found my eyes drifting back to the drawer more than once.
Below, the courtyard buzzed with energy as the wedding party gathered together, talking of their dinner plans in town. Someone called out directions, someone else joked about whose driver they would use. Then came the sound of car doors closing and engines humming down the long gravel drive.
One by one, the taillights disappeared into the dusk until the estate fell quiet again, the cicadas taking over the soundtrack of the evening.
It should have been peaceful. Instead, I couldn’t stop thinking about the box.
My eyes flicked to the drawer, suddenly far too aware of what was tucked inside.
Just to be sure, I opened it.
It was still there, the soft navy velvet catching the lamplight.
I exhaled, closed the drawer again, and stepped out of my room. Everything was exactly where it should be.
I just hoped it would stay that way.
Chapter Five
I gathered all of my notes together, menus, seating charts, delivery schedules, and ran through my mental checklist one last time.
Everything for tomorrow was in place.
Well, mostly.
I’d learned the hard way never to call anything “done” until the bride had walked down the aisle and no one had fainted.
Still, I’d earned five minutes of peace.
I poured a small glass of the house white, the kind of crisp Margaret River Chardonnay that could almost make you forget your inbox existed, and sank into one of the plush couches in the formal lounge. The room was all soaring A-frame ceilings, polished timber beams, and a statement stone fireplace that dominated the far wall, the whole space styled to within an inch of its life. It was undeniably luxurious.
Outside the floor to ceiling windows, the vines stretched across the hills in neat, silvery rows.
I could almost relax.
Then came the sound of footsteps in the corridor. Slow, steady, definitely not a guest.
Noah appeared in the doorway, still in his work clothes, the faintest trace of dust on his shirt sleeves and a half-empty bottle of shiraz dangling from one hand. His expression flickered with surprise. Then again, he always looked a little surprised, as if human company was an optional extra he hadn’t ordered.
“Couldn’t resist checking things one more time?” he asked, leaning casually against the doorframe.
“Couldn’t resist making sure I hadn’t rearranged the place?” I said, lifting my glass.
His mouth twitched, the closest I’d seen to a smile all day.
We held each other’s gaze a beat too long before I turned back to the window, pretending to admire the view again.
He took a few steps into the room, moving with that unhurried, casual confidence that made me want to both admire and shake him. “Well, if you’re going to trespass in my lounge, the least I can do is offer you something better than that white,” he said, holding up the bottle. “Shiraz. Proper drink for a long day.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Nice of you.”
“Consider it a peace offering,” he said, pouring two glasses before I could argue. “Can’t have a war breaking out before the wedding.”
I took the glass, our fingers almost brushing as he passed it over.
