Absolutely unnecessary.
Completely stunning.
And likely to melt into a hazard if someone danced too close.
The air buzzed with sound, the crisp pop of champagne bottles, the murmur of recognisable voices, the click of camera shutters from behind the hedges where paparazzi and the public hovered like exotic birds. Every so often a cheer rose when a more notable guest stepped out of a car beyond the gates.
From the kitchen came a steady chorus of clattering pans and sizzling butter, wafts of truffle, lemon, and charred seafood drifting across the terrace. Waitstaff glided with balletic accuracy, delivering oysters, canapés, and endless glasses of fizz that magically refilled themselves.
The whole evening glowed.
Literally glowed, thanks to tens of thousands of fairy lights threaded through vines, trees, tables, and anywhere else a stylist could reach.
It was dazzling, ridiculous, and just a little bit magical.
The sort of moment that made guests stand a little taller and smile like they knew they were on the right side of decadence.
And it was only just getting started.
I was doing my usual zigzag from group to group, checking on everyone. Trying to stay present, gracious, in control. A one-woman Wi-Fi network keeping the whole thing connected.
“Excuse me,” an American voice said behind me. One of the wellness influencers, the one with straight white teeth and a permanently restful expression, held a candle between two fingertips. “This candle feels… toxic.”
I blinked. “Toxic?”
She nodded serenely. “It feels heavy. Do you have something… plant based?”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and instead smiled professionally. “Of course. I’ll find an alternative.”
Which unfortunately meant a trip to the kitchen to rummage for whatever candle was the least offensive.
Before I made it there, the DJ intercepted me near the fountain. He had platinum hair, mirrored sunglasses despite it being night time, and the energy of someone who slept in 40-minute cycles.
“Hi Holly, darling,” he purred, “any chance I can start my set early? I’ve got a secret Berlin gig later. NDA vibes.”
“Your contract starts at nine,” I replied sweetly.
He put a hand on his forehead. “Nine is like… super restrictive.”
“I’m sure it is,” I said. “But you’ll survive.”
He trudged off, muttering something about “creative suffocation”.
On my way back towards the terrace, one of the junior staff caught my sleeve, looking flustered.
“Holly? Sorry, the housekeeper asked me to tell you something.”
I paused. “Is everything okay?”
“She’s not sure,” the girl whispered. “It’s the display cabinet in the east hallway. Some of the pieces have been moved.”
Moved?
“She said a silver frame is sitting in the wrong place, and there’s… um… an empty patch in the velvet lining. Like something was picked up and put back slightly off. She’s trying to fix it before anyone notices.”
My stomach tightened.
Nothing stolen.
