‘He doesn’t...how did he put it?’ Tessa took a breath and started again. ‘Stefan wants the film to be the focus, the thing everyone is talking about. Not your love life.’
‘I don’t have a love life,’ Noah pointed out.
He hadn’t been in love since Sally died. How could he be?
‘You have women. Lots of women, whether you love them or not.’
‘I don’t.’ Why did he have to say it? Tessa already knew. But somehow it felt important to be clear. As if he’d be betraying Sally if he let there be any doubt.
And he already had enough guilt to deal with, knowing he hadn’t lived up to being the best friend that she needed.
‘You go out with a lot of women and you’re seen doing it. People take photos. The photos show up in magazines, on the Internet, and people talk about them.’ Tessa’s words were clipped, her tone impatient. ‘You know this, Noah, and you know the effect it has. Don’t be obtuse.’
‘The effect it has? The way it drives up ticket sales, you mean?’ Because being seen, getting out there, that was as much a part of his job as showing up and playing a part. In some ways it felt like just another part he was playing: Noah Cross, Film Star.
‘Not this time,’ Tessa said. ‘This isn’t the sort of film you’re used to, Noah. Stefan wants people talking about the meaning, the theme, the soul of the film. Not who you’re sleeping with tonight.’
‘So you’re saying, take the part and give up sex?’ Because if that was the case... No, he still wanted the part.
‘I’m saying, try a little discretion for once. Okay?’
Discretion. That he could do. ‘Fine.’
For a moment, Noah had an image of bright red hair and sparkling eyes. Eloise. With her arresting beauty, she was anything but discreet. Anyone would remember seeing him with her.
Apparently, this wedding had just got a whole lot less fun.
‘I’ll be discreet,’ he promised. ‘I’ll be so discreet you won’t even know I’m here.’
Tessa snorted. ‘I’ll believe it when I see it.’
* * *
By late afternoon, Eloise felt as if her feet might fall off. She’d known the high heels were a mistake. Normally she wore low wedges or boots, but today she’d felt the need for something a little smarter. They weren’t even all that high—certainly lower and more sensible than Melissa’s expensive spike-heeled boots—but apparently running around Morwen Hall in them all day had beaten her feet into submission. She was ready to retire to the tiny bedrooms they kept for staff members working big events and soak her feet in the not quite full-size bath for an hour or two. Preferably while eating chocolate and sipping red wine.
But, instead, she still had a few more guests to welcome and show to their rooms—including the brother of the groom, who still didn’t know his room had been taken over by Riley himself. In all the chaos, Eloise still hadn’t found a solution to that either. Unless he wanted her room, and she’d just have to sleep behind the reception desk. She certainly couldn’t risk going home, not while Melissa was on the premises. As much as Eloise trusted her deputy manager, she wouldn’t leave anyone to deal with Melissa alone.
Wearily, Eloise stepped back behind the reception desk and, once she was sure no one could see, slipped her feet from her shoes and let the cool stone floor soothe her feet through her tights. That was better.
For a moment, she honestly believed she might get a small break in the craziness of the day to get herself together before the nightmare of the welcome drinks that evening.
Until Melissa’s scream cut through the air.
Eloise let her eyes flutter closed just for a moment as she steeled herself for whatever was about to happen. When she opened them again, Melissa was bustling across the lobby, a towel wrapped around her hair, wearing a coat and boots over black silky leggings and a matching top that Melissa obviously classed as loungewear, and probably cost more than Eloise earned in a month.
‘Is something the matter, Melissa?’ Eloise asked in her calmest, everything-will-be-fine voice. Inside, she just prayed that whatever the problem was, it wasn’t the Gatehouse. If Melissa had a problem with the Bridal Suite they really were in trouble.
‘It’s Cassidy!’ Melissa shrieked. ‘She just called from Aspen! She’s broken her leg on the slopes!’
‘Cassidy,’ Eloise repeated, her mind running through the guest list again in the hope that this might mean she had a spare room after all... ‘Wait, your maid of honour Cassidy?’
‘Yes!’ Eloise winced as the pitch of Melissa’s voice reached parts only dogs could hear.
Okay, that was a problem. But Eloise was sure one of Melissa’s other celebrity bridesmaids would be willing to step up to the job. And in the meantime... ‘Does that mean she and her family won’t be attending the wedding after all?’
And I can give their room to Riley’s brother?
Melissa gave her one of those were-you-born-this-stupid looks that Eloise had learned to hate during their childhood. ‘Of course they’re coming. Well, not Cassidy—apparently she can’t fly. But Dillon—her husband—will still be here. He says he’s bringing an “old friend” actually.’ The way she said it, Eloise could actually hear the air quotes around the words. She tried not to pull a face, but clearly she was never going to understand celebrity marriages. Who brought their mistress to a friend’s wedding when their wife was laid up in hospital?
A melodic chiming noise filled the lobby and Melissa shoved one perfectly manicured hand into her coat pocket and pulled out her phone.
‘Kerry? Thank God you called back. Did you hear about Cassidy? Well, what do I do? When are you getting here, anyway? Tomorrow! I need a new maid of honour before tomorrow!’
Kerry, Eloise recalled from many contract negotiations and emails, was Melissa’s agent. Why she was the first port of call in a maid of honour crisis, Eloise wasn’t sure. But she suspected it was another one of those things she didn’t understand about Hollywood.
‘Someone who knew me back when? You think we should play up the “local girl made good” angle?’ Melissa asked, not bothering to lower her voice at all. ‘Isn’t it enough that I came back to this dump in the first place?’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Fine, fine. If that’s what you think will sell. Yeah, I’ll ask her. Okay. Bye.’
Dump? Had Melissa really just called Morwen Hall a dump? It might not have been the peak of luxury ten years ago, but these days it was spectacular.
She was so annoyed she was still grinding her teeth in annoyance when Melissa turned back to the reception desk and said, ‘Right, change of plan. You’re my new maid of honour.’
Eloise blinked. ‘What?’
‘You.’ Melissa pointed at Eloise, jabbing a nail against her breastbone. ‘You’re going to put on the very expensive pretty dress I’ve already paid for and walk down the aisle in front of me. You’re going to smile for the cameras. You’re going to say wonderful things about me, and tell the reporter covering this wedding how close we were growing up, and how Hollywood hasn’t changed me at all. Okay?’
‘Why?’ Eloise asked, baffled. Then, as she stared down Melissa’s frown, she figured it out. ‘This is because of all those articles lately, isn’t it? The ones calling you a diva who’s forgotten where you came from.’
Melissa sniffed. ‘I don’t read that sort of trashy magazine.’
‘Isn’t it the same one that’s covering your wedding?’ Melissa didn’t answer that one. ‘So, let me guess. Your agent thinks that if you have an old friend as part of the wedding party it’ll show how down-to-earth