He dusted his hands together and turned to me, an apologetic half-smile tugging at his mouth. “Guess history will have to wait.”
“History’s been waiting sixty years,” I said, amused. “It’ll survive another evening.”
His gaze flicked briefly towards the stairs before returning to me. “Meet me later?” he said softly. “We’ll read the rest properly.”
A slow warmth crept through me at the invitation, annoyingly noticeable considering we were standing in a freezing wine cellar.
“Deal,” I said, trying for casual and probably not entirely succeeding.
As we turned to climb the stairs, I peered back at the patch of wall that seemed no different to any other and felt a tiny shiver of something I couldn’t name, wonder, maybe, or warning.
The cellar door closed behind us with a hollow, echoing thud, as if the old stone walls themselves were reclaiming the moment.
When we stepped back into the light, it felt almost like a different reality. As the late sun spilled through the corridor, somewhere deep under the Estate, an old love story had just stirred again.
Chapter Twenty-One
If perfection had a scent, it would be candle wax, roses, and Chardonnay.
The rehearsal dinner was in full swing, and the fairy lights were delicately blinking, doing that warm, happy twinkle I’d spent three separate inspections refining.
And honestly? Worth it.
The whole terrace felt ready to be photographed for an obscenely expensive wedding magazine, clean, serene, and just a touch smug in its own beauty.
Rows of candles were placed down the tables in a seamless formation. The silverware polished until it practically glowed. Even the personalised ice cubes, yes, with the couple’s monogram subtly frozen inside, were holding their shape beautifully in the champagne cocktails.
The floral installation above the tables was one of my proudest triumphs: a suspended canopy of white roses, eucalyptus, and imported peonies that definitely should not have been in season but somehow were, thanks to a grower who only deals with “select clientele.”
And beyond all that curated beauty, the natural landscape melted into dusk, the sky shifting from peach to lavender in a way I hadn’t planned but would absolutely accept compliments for as if I had personally arranged the weather.
A harpist in the corner plucked a rendition of a Beyoncé song so delicately that people kept squinting like they were imagining it. Meanwhile, white-gloved waitstaff moved like ghosts, topping up glasses before guests even realised they were thirsty.
It was flawless. It was extravagant. It was the kind of scene only very rich people believe is “classic and understated.”
And yes, I was extremely proud of it.
Though, annoyingly, part of my brain was still replaying the way Noah’s low “meet me later?” from the cellar like my subconscious had mistaken it for a hit song.
Which was confusing territory.
Somewhere between the missing brooch and the hidden love letters, being around Noah had started to feel… natural.
Which was, frankly, the absolute last thing I needed.
At the head of the table, Caroline was luminous. The woman could’ve walked straight off a Vogue shoot and no one would’ve questioned it.
She was wearing an impossibly sleek ivory dress, the kind of designer thing that has “dry clean only and don’t breathe near me” energy. Every seam was sharp enough to file paperwork with. Tiny beads along the neckline caught the candlelight in that “I am expensive, please admire me” sort of way.
Her hair was pulled back into one of those glossy knots that only seem to exist on Pinterest boards. Not a strand dared to move. I honestly wouldn’t have been surprised if the entire style was reinforced with industrial-grade engineering.
And yet… she seemed stiff. Not in a “bad posture” way, but in a “this is the only acceptable expression my mother approves of” way. The smile of a woman who’s been trained since childhood to glide through awkward moments as if she personally invented elegance.
James, on the other hand… oh, bless him.
He was dressed for the occasion, navy dinner jacket, crisp white shirt, fancy watch, the whole “I’m wealthy” ensemble, but he still managed to look quite overwhelmed by everything happening around him. His expression said,I’m relaxed,while his jaw said,I’ve been clenching since appetizers.
He kept doing this little half-grimace thing. You know the look men get when they’ve suddenly realised there’s no escape route and too many people are watching? That.
