Secrets Of The A-List Box Set, Volume 3. Dani Collins
after. But last night something had changed. Was he not ecstatic about her marriage because he was in love with Thom? Fuck. Now was not the time, but she’d have to talk with him about this soon, get the truth, hope she’d read the look on his face wrong.
With a sigh, she skirted the table, made sure the train of her dress was tucked neatly to the side, and pulled out a chair and sat down beside him.
She set her champagne flute on the table, toying with the diamonds on the stem for a moment before she glanced at him. “Rafe, are you all right?”
Rafe paused for an infinitesimal second before he shrugged. “Sure. Why do you ask?”
“You’re drinking a lot these days. I’m worried about you. Why else would I ask?” she demanded.
“Fuck if I know,” he mumbled, staring into the dregs in his glass. “Maybe you want to pass the time?”
“Or maybe I’m finding it odd that you hate whisky and yet you’re throwing it back by the mouthful?”
“You have nothing better to do at your wedding reception than spy on your big brother, sis?”
Again there was no malice, only a haunting melancholy.
“Is this about Dad? You’re drinking his favorite drink, after all,” she said.
His mouth twisted in a mockery of a smile. “Yeah. Sure. It’s about Dad. Everything’s about dear old Dad these days, isn’t it?” This time there was a touch of bitterness in his voice.
The frown she’d tried to stop before threatened to break through. “Rafe—”
“Do you remember the time we took his Porsche out for a joyride and came back to find he’d called the cops because he thought it’d been stolen?” His chuckle was a little forced.
Elana allowed herself to be sidetracked.
“Do I remember how I was stupid enough to let you and Luc talk me into joining you on that episode of madness? That day will be branded on my memory forever. Dad just stood there, let the cops handcuff us and put us in the back of the patrol car and drive to the end of the driveway before he stopped them. I nearly pissed myself, I was so terrified.”
Rafe snorted, peering at her. “Nearly?”
She felt the first signs of a long-forgotten flush creep up her neck. “I plead the Fifth,” she mumbled.
Rafe barked out a laugh. “Don’t worry, sis. I was pissed-scared, too. I kept thinking how long it’d take before I was forced to become some skinhead’s bitch in prison.”
“Ha, you were thinking much farther ahead. I was wondering if I’d survive Mom skinning me alive when she found out what we’d done. Luc was as cool as a cucumber, though, wasn’t he?” she mused.
“Isn’t he fucking always?” The mirth had disappeared from his tone, and for a moment Elana was sorry she’d mentioned their brother. “Mr. Goddamn Perfect.”
He poured another shot. Elana placed her hand on his before he could raise the glass.
“Come on, Rafe. You’re going to wake up with a killer hangover if you keep knocking it back like that. Do you really want to miss my wedding reception that much?”
“Elana, you’re already married. I was there for the whole thing. And I wish you and Thom well. I really do, but right now I just want to be left alone to—”
“Oh my God!” Elana gripped her brother’s wrist tighter as a woman—a visibly pregnant woman—walked past a group of guests in the middle of the room. Elana only caught the side of her face, but the woman was too striking to miss or dismiss as someone else. “What’s she doing here?”
“What? Who?”
She pulled harder at Rafe, ignoring his slurred curse when the whisky sloshed over his fingers. “Over there.” She pointed to the figure weaving her way through the guests. “That’s the woman we saw at the airport!”
“What airport? And let go, would you? You’re creasing my Tom Ford,” he grumbled.
She leaned forward to catch a clearer sight of the woman. “The pregnant woman who spoke to us at Charles de Gaulle.”
Rafe frowned for a moment, then his eyebrows spiked. “No way. She’s here? Why? Do you know her?”
“No, of course not.”
He looked from Elana to the throng of guests. “Then how is she here? Are you sure it’s her?”
“Of course I’m sure. I’ve barely had a drink. I’m not as hammered as you are.”
Rafe stopped searching the crowd, glanced at her and shrugged. “Give me a couple of hours. I’ll get there just fine.”
Elana scanned the crowd for another handful of seconds. She was sure it was the woman they’d met in Paris. What were the chances of seeing two pregnant women who looked like that in such a short space of time?
Then her gaze returned to her brother. This was one of the times that she knew discretion was the better part of valor.
So she sat with him for a minute, then stood, placed a light kiss on his cheek and smiled as she saw Thom making his way toward her. She’d deal with Rafe later.
This was her wedding day. And she was determined to enjoy it.
Five minutes later she was laughing and dancing again, the strange episode of the pregnant woman forgotten.
* * *
Traditionally every wedding had to have at least one minor hiccup for it to be deemed a successful event. Whether it was misplaced wedding rings or a bridesmaid’s outfit suddenly not fitting, it was all supposed to be a blessing on the lucky couple.
Mariella had been keeping her fingers crossed mentally that Elana’s bathroom episode and Thom’s strange interruption during the ceremony was this wedding’s only speed bumps. She really couldn’t take anything else going wrong.
The six-course dinner service had gone flawlessly. Many guests, including those who considered themselves connoisseurs in food and drink, had complimented her on the excellent seared branzinoand the accompanying wines with every course. One stuck-up cow she wouldn’t be inviting to any future Marshall function had had the nerve to comment on the ethics of serving such a meal—while stuffing her face with it. Mariella had shut her down by reminding the woman of the foie gras she’d served at her last party.
She’d shed a tiny tear as she’d helped Elana hand out the personalized wedding goody bags that contained diamond tennis bracelets for the women and designer cuff links for the men to the VIP guests, then left the staff to distribute the rest to the remaining guests.
Even watching Elana and Thom cut the gorgeous ten-tier Fiona Cairns wedding cake had produced tears.
After decades ensconced in a world of superficial glitz and glamour, Mariella had grown jaded in so many ways—and had grown even more so with the recent revelations of Harrison’s secrets—but even she couldn’t help but take pride in the magnificence of the wedding she’d planned and the happiness she wished for her daughter.
And now, three hours after her daughter’s first dance, Mariella stood on the edge of the dance floor with Joe next to her and smiled indulgently as Elana walked to the middle of the spotlighted floor, her beautiful bouquet gripped in her hand.
Her daughter glanced coquettishly over her right shoulder, a mischievous grin on her face as she surveyed the sea of designer-clad single women eager to catch her bouquet.
The excitement in the air was palpable. You’d think that she was about to throw a handful of Harry Winston’s latest diamond collection into the waiting crowd rather than a bunch—albeit a twenty-thousand-dollar bunch—of flowers.
But as much as Mariella didn’t want to think too much about it, she wished Harrison hadn’t