“That said,” I continued, because honesty is important and also unavoidable in my line of work, “this is a big wedding. The guest list alone is… substantial. There’ll be media interest.”
A muscle jumped in his cheek. Subtle, but telling.
“I know,” he said. “That’s the problem. Press, photographers, people turning up who weren’t invited… it’s going to be chaos. This place wasn’t built for that.”
“It doesn’t have to be chaos,” I said calmly. “We’ve handled high-profile weddings before. We put systems in place, manage access, control movement. It’s all very… contained.”
I held his gaze, just enough to let him know I wasn’t bluffing.
“You focus on the vineyard,” I added. “I’ll handle everything else.”
Because I’d handled bigger media storms than this. Repeatedly. Successfully. Often while wearing heels on grass, which should frankly qualify as a professional skill.
I didn’t need Noah Langston assuming that I didn’t know how to manage it.
“We’ve already arranged extra security, and I’ll make sure uninvited guests are all kept off the property. The focus will stay on the wedding, not the photographers.”
Noah watched me for a moment, expression unreadable. “I hope so,” he said at last. “Because the last thing I need is this place being trampled by journalists looking for a story.”
My patience thinned, but I kept my tone sturdy. “It’s not going to be a problem,” I said.
There was a touch more edge in my voice than I’d planned, but honestly? He’d earned it.
I opened my mouth to explain the details, then shut it again before something unhelpful escaped, like the tiny, inconvenient truth that I wasn’t planning on telling him about the bride’s latest “vision.”
Because before we arrived, Caroline Harrington had called and asked whether we’d sourced a pair of white swans like she’d seen at “an event in Monaco.”
Swans.
Actual swans.
On a vineyard.
“It’s all taken care of.” I smiled politely, the kind that saidI’m fine, everything’s fine, please don’t ask follow-up questions,and made a mental note not to mention any of the more bizarre details unless I wanted to watch a grown man spontaneously combust.
Honestly, he had no idea how much nonsense I was already shielding him from.
Cleo stood off to the side watching us like it was centre court at Wimbledon, her head shifting subtly between us. I could practically hear her placing bets.
Noah studied me for a second, then gave a small nod. Not agreement. More… acknowledgment.
“I’ll hold you to that,” he said. “But if anything goes wrong, you’ll hear about it.”
Oh, how generous of him.
I closed my tablet with a snap. “As I said, everything’s on track. I’ll run through final details with the family tomorrow.”
“All right,” he said. “I’ll be around.”
He turned and walked off, all broad shoulders and storm-cloud energy.
The spark of attraction from earlier?
Gone. Extinguished. Like a match tossed into a puddle and then reversed over by a tractor.
I looked over at Cleo and rolled my eyes. She caught it instantly and smirked. “Well,” she said jokingly, “he seems… friendly.”
I let out a breath.
