The first to appear was Emma Caldwell, Caroline’s maid of honour and a fellow high-powered professional.
I heard the squeal before I saw her, a sharp, delighted sound that carried from the entrance hall. Caroline had clearly spotted her best friend before the car had even stopped moving.
Emma’s car, a sleek black Mercedes that definitely came from a luxury dealership, rolled to a neat, silent stop. Her uniformed driver stepped out with military precision, opening the door as if Emma were arriving at Cannes rather than a vineyard in Western Australia.
Emma swung out in a tailored navy pantsuit that screamedold money, new attitude, her oversized sunglasses covering half her face, and her blonde hair looking like it had been professionally blown out by someone who charged by the minute.
Her suitcase, monogrammed, naturally, wobbled dangerously behind her as she practically skipped forward.
“Caroline!” she called, her voice bright and unrestrained. “Do you have any idea how many hours I’ve been in that car? My back is now shaped like a croissant. It’s tragic.”
Caroline ran forward, arms outstretched, nearly tripping over the abandoned suitcase in her haste. “Emma! Finally! I thought I’d be stuck talking to the grapevines all morning!”
Emma gave the vines a contemplative look over her sunglasses. “Well, at least they’d be more responsive than my legal team. And they’re dressed better.” She smirked. Then she turned and immediately pulled Caroline into a full, tight hug, arms wrapped properly around her, like she’d been waiting to do that since she arrived.
“Oh my God,” she said into her shoulder. “You’re actually getting married!”
She stepped back, hands on Caroline’s shoulders, appraising her friend like she was a fashion exhibit. “You look radiant. Annoyingly radiant.”
Caroline laughed, relieved and glowing.
She leaned in conspiratorially. “Now, I expect a full report on the drama I missed while chained to my desk. Don’t leave out the juicy bits.”
Caroline grinned. “You mean last week’s PR meltdown? You’ll want popcorn for that one.”
Emma’s eyes sparkled. “Brilliant! I live for this.”
As they headed inside, I couldn’t help smiling. The two of them were electric together, sharp, competitive, but somehow completely unfiltered around each other. The kind of friendship that was equal parts admiration and competition.
Entertaining to watch.
Potentially exhausting to manage.
They swept into the hall, already deep in gossip, barely noticing anyone else. Caroline was mid-story, gesturing animatedly, while Emma gasped and giggled at all the right moments.
Then a sharp, polished voice cut through their chatter. “Caroline! Darling, where are you going?”
Caroline froze mid-sentence as Margaret appeared at the top of the staircase, every inch the commanding matriarch, gaze sweeping the room like she was inspecting troops.
“Coming, Mother!” Caroline called quickly. “Just catching up with Emma!”
Margaret descended the stairs with a measured grace. “Catching up, yes, but let’s not forget this is your wedding week. And your cousin Sophie should be arriving any minute.”
Caroline groaned faintly, though her expression stayed intact. “Sophie. Of course.”
Emma chortled under her breath. “Oh, this should be fun.”
Margaret gave a faint, knowing smile. “Just… try to keep her contained, Caroline.”
Caroline raised her hands innocently. “I’ll do my best, Mother.”
As if on cue, an ageing olive-green Jeep bounced onto the gravel outside, tyres crunching loudly before throwing up a dramatic cloud of dust that drifted straight into the potted rosemary by the entrance.
Sophie tumbled out before the tyres had even stopped turning, all limbs and enthusiasm, her long red hair in a messy braid that looked like it had been done by a friendly breeze rather than an actual human.
A paint-splattered canvas bag was slung over her shoulder, the strap held together by what appeared to be… twine?
Her green eyes widened as she stepped forward, taking in the estate with immediate, unfiltered awe. “Oh. My. God.” She pressed a hand dramatically to her chest. “Are you kidding me? This place is like a painting!”
