Caroline was absolutely delighted. Her eyes were bright, practically sparkling as she watched him work. Every dramatic gesture, every artistic sigh, she absorbed it like oxygen.
“This is incredible,” she whispered to James, though her gaze never left Luca. “He’s a genius.”
James leaned in, murmuring something that made her chuckle.
It should have been sweet. A happy couple watching their world come together. But instead, a knot tightened in my stomach.
I forced myself to focus on my planner, pretending to make notes while my thoughts flickered back over the past hour.
Cleo and I had spoken to a few of the estate staff, as casually as possible. A chat with housekeeping, no one had gone near the guest wing that morning.
A word with catering, they’d been setting up since dawn.
Even the gardener, who’d been pruning roses by the fountain, hadn’t seen a soul.
Every lead came up empty.
By the time we’d circled back to the terrace, Cleo’s composure was hanging by a thread.
“We’re officially cursed,” she whispered as we passed a group of guests admiring the view. “I’m telling you, this place has weird energy.”
“It’s not cursed,” I hissed back. “The brooch is… temporarily misplaced.”
“Temporarily misplaced?” she said, eyes wide. “Like your sanity you mean?”
Now, watching Caroline beam under the photographer’s direction, I felt the weight of the secret pressing down harder. She was so blissfully unaware, talking about table layouts and lighting and “that perfect vineyard backdrop.”
I forced my shoulders back. “All right,” I said under my breath to Cleo as Caroline and James turned towards the vines with the photographer. “Time to tell him.”
Her face drained of colour. “Tellhim,him? As in Noah?”
“Who else?”
She pressed a hand to her chest like she was having palpitations. “Oh, great. Let’s add ‘missing priceless jewellery’ to the list of things to discuss with the man who already thinks we are going to trash his winery.”
I tried not to smile. “You meanme. You’re not coming.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re too jumpy. You nearly drowned the photographer. You’d start sweating and confess to crimes we haven’t even committed.”
She glared, though her voice came out faintly panicked. “Fine. I’ll stay here and… write my resignation letter. I’ll even use the nice paper.”
“Cleo.”
She exhaled hard, deflating. “Okay, okay. You’re right. Better he hears it from you than from the police.”
I switched off my tablet and tucked it under my arm, trying to summon the calm, capable version of myself I usually trotted out for media interviews and last-minute weather emergencies.
“Deep breaths,” Cleo said. “Channel your inner diplomat. Smile like everything’s fine. Maybe flirt a little if it helps.”
I stared at her in shock. “I’m not going toflirtwith Noah Langston.”
She gave me a look like I was crazy. “Then good luck, boss. Godspeed.”
I shot her a look and started towards the vineyard, the late morning sun glinting off the rows of vines. My heels clicked against the flagstones, too loud, too deliberate, as I mentally rehearsed the opening line.
Noah, a quick word? It’s not urgent, but also possibly catastrophic.
