The Tycoon's Scandalous Proposition. Miranda Lee
BLAKE STOOD NEXT to the groom, wondering what the hell he was doing, being best man at this wedding. He knew this marriage wouldn’t last—knew it was just a matter of time.
He’d tried to reason with Lachlan. But nothing could dissuade him. Not even Blake’s argument that he himself had married at the same age—twenty-four—and the marriage hadn’t lasted six months.
At least the bride wasn’t an actress, Blake reasoned more positively. Also on the plus side, it wasn’t as though marriage—even a temporary one—harmed a movie star’s popularity these days. Gone were the days when the powerbrokers of Hollywood had dictated who a star could marry. And when.
The rise of social media had changed all that. The public couldn’t get enough of celebrity relationships. They especially enjoyed break-ups and divorces, and any whiff of scandal. Such was life in the spotlight.
Thankfully Blake’s own life wasn’t so much in the spotlight—though he’d gained a little more attention in the press since moving Fantasy Productions from Sydney to LA fifteen months ago. Still, movie-makers—even very successful, very wealthy ones like himself—didn’t grab the headlines the way actors did. Especially those like Lachlan, with his golden boy looks, buffed body and bedroom blue eyes. Add to that buckets of boyish charm and you had a prize publicity package.
Blake had first recognised Lachlan’s potential when he’d attended a performance at Australia’s much lauded National Institute of Dramatic Art a few years ago. He’d instantly signed him up. And the rest, as they said, was history. Three years and four movies later Lachlan was an established star, whilst he’d become Australia’s most successful film writer/director/producer.
Blake suspected, however, that their working relationship would not last for much longer. It was only a matter of time before something—like this marriage—would make his star move on.
‘There she is,’ Lachlan whispered suddenly, snapping Blake out of his cynical thoughts.
Blake followed the groom’s enthralled gaze past the seated guests and up the sweeping staircase down which the bride would eventually descend, and into the large living area, which had been filled with several rows of chairs divided by a strip of red carpet.
Blake spied a froth of white up on the gallery landing. White dress, white hair, white flowers. Behind the bride, attending to the long white veil, bustled the one and only bridesmaid, wearing something long and svelte in jade-green. Blake couldn’t see her properly—didn’t have a clue who she was. He hadn’t even met the bride, having been too busy with his latest movie, plus several other new projects, to fly back to Australia for Lachlan’s engagement party, and only jetting in to Sydney late last night.
The only contribution Blake had made to this wedding had been getting billionaire Byron Maddox—who was a good friend as well as a business partner—to offer his very lovely harbour-side home as a venue for the wedding and the reception afterwards.
The original venue had rather inconveniently burnt down six weeks ago, throwing Lachlan into a panic after getting a phone call on location from his hysterical bride-to-be.
Thank heaven for rich friends, Blake thought, and threw Byron and Cleo a grateful glance.
When they smiled back at him his own face cracked open into a wide smile. God, but they were a great couple. If ever a man and woman were made for each other it was those two. They almost made him believe in true love.
Finally some music started up. Not a traditional bridal march but a rather romantic piano rendition of ‘The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face’.
It was at that moment that the bridesmaid in jade-green moved round from behind the Barbie doll bride and came into full view.
Blake’s dark eyebrows lifted in surprise. She wasn’t a stunner. But she was extremely attractive. Tall, with a slender figure and pale skin which suited the off-the-shoulder style of her gown. Her hair was a golden-brown colour, drawn straight back from her high forehead and falling in a softly waved curtain down her back, held in place by a simple circlet of pink and white flowers. It was her face, however, which Blake kept returning to—a face any camera would love.
Blake had a habit of looking at faces as though through a lens, especially on a first meeting. It was a long-ingrained habit, and one which didn’t do any harm, really. No one knew what he was thinking at the time, so Blake didn’t feel any guilt as he continued to assess the bridesmaid’s looks from every camera angle.
He knew from experience that high cheekbones and a well-defined jawline photographed well in any light and from any angle. This woman’s nose wasn’t starlet-small, but it suited her, giving her face character. She didn’t have pouting bee-stung lips either, although it was all the fad these days. Her mouth was actually rather wide, but still well formed. And expressive. So were her almond-shaped eyes.
Blake frowned as he tried to fathom the reason behind the sadness he kept glimpsing within their dark brown depths as she made her way slowly—and stiffly—down the staircase. Along with the sadness lay undeniable tension, he noted. Her knuckles were white as she clasped the posy of pink and white flowers at her waist with unnecessary force.
At last she reached the bottom step. It was at this point that she sucked in a deep breath, as though trying to gather all her courage. The gesture touched him, evoking an uncharacteristic surge of compassion. Something was bothering that girl about this wedding—something much more emotional and personal than Blake’s cynical view.
‘Who’s the bridesmaid?’