I laughed, shaking my head. “Oh god. What about Margaret?”
“Not up yet. She was still in her room on the phone until late last night,” Cleo said, lowering her voice with the precision ofsomeone relishing a juicy detail. “I overheard her talking about a last-minute delivery from Perth. Something ‘exclusive’ for the welcome party. Her maid sounded like she was about to cry.”
I groaned. “That poor woman.”
“Truly,” Cleo said. “She kept saying, ‘But ma’am, the schedule,’ and Margaret kept replying with, ‘Make it happen, darling, it’s essential.’ Essential was said with capital letters.”
I pressed my hand to my forehead. “I bet it’s something outrageous. Gold-plated menus or a cake flown in on its own private jet.”
Cleo snorted. “Honestly? Wouldn’t surprise me.”
“I’m terrified to find out what she calls ‘exclusive.’”
“I know, right?” Cleo said. “Oh, and Emma asked if she could bring her dog to breakfast tomorrow.”
“She has a dog here?”
“No. But apparently there’s a local breeder down here she’s ‘in talks with.’” Cleo made air quotes. “Her words.”
I shook my head. “Why do I feel like we’re one mimosa away from disaster?”
“Because we are,” Cleo said cheerfully, stealing my toast. “But you love it. Don’t pretend otherwise.”
Unfortunately, she knew me too well.
As much as I liked to complain, there was something intoxicating about the balance of beauty and stress, of pulling together perfection from pure mayhem.
The morning hummed around us as the estate started to wake: the clink of cutlery, the murmur of guests drifting in, the faint buzz of bees in the vines.
Margaret’s voice carried from the far end of the dining room, clipped and commanding even from a distance.
Caroline appeared a moment later, elegantly polished in a Zimmermann linen dress, the kind of expensive piece you recognised even if you’d only ever seen it in airport magazines.She paused to greet her parents, the sunlight catching on the thin band of her Cartiernecklace, before making her way over to where I stood.
“Everything looks beautiful, Holly,” she said cheerfully, scanning the terrace. “Exactly as I pictured it.”
“Thank you,” I said, relieved she seemed genuinely pleased. “The photographer will be here after breakfast for the setup shots, the hair and makeup trials after that, and I’ve scheduled the tasting at eleven.”
“Wonderful,” she said with a nod, already slipping back into that cool, efficient lawyer mode that made her both impressive and mildly terrifying.
Across the terrace, Sophie giggled too loudly at something Lucas said, while Elaine was chatting kindly with one of the waitstaff.
Everything was rolling exactly as it should.
I leaned back, sipping my coffee, feeling the rare, fleeting sense that the day might actually stay on track.
Cleo glanced up from her notes. “So, what’s next for you?”
“Quick check-in with the hair and makeup team to make sure they’re sorted, then I’ll make sure the security team are aware of the photographer’s arrival,” I said, gathering my notes.
“But first, I just need to grab my charger from my room.”
Chapter Seven
My heels clicked lightly against the polished floor as I walked through the estate, and for a moment it felt like the whole place was holding its breath.
Because tonight wasn’t just a welcome party. It wasthewelcome party. The kind of party only billionaires and people with private jets considered “small.”
We were talking custom lighting installations, a hundred-thousand-dollar floral budget, security teams doing discreet laps of the grounds, and a guest list that read like a who’s who of international money, art, culture and influence.
