“Sophie… hi. Glad you could make it,” Caroline said, looping an arm through her cousin’s. Her tone was cheerful but with an unmistakable note ofplease, for the love of God, behave yourself.
Sophie spun in a slow circle, her braid whipping around like a celebratory ribbon. “This is insane!” she breathed. “The vines! The flowers! This is what heaven looks like if heaven shops at farmers markets and drinks organic rosé! Someone pinch me!”
Emma shot Caroline a look. “I can do that,” she whispered.
Her canvas bag promptly slid off her shoulder and thumped onto the tiles. A half-finished sketchbook popped out, along with three paintbrushes, a stick of charcoal, and something that suspiciously resembled a handmade candle.
Emma, still adjusting her sunglasses nearby, stared at the mess and muttered, “Of course she brought her entire art studio.”
Sophie turned her excitement on Emma. “Emma! Isn’t it brilliant we’re both bridesmaids? Wehaveto catch up later and talk about the hen’s party.” Her grin was wicked.
Emma smirked. “Fantastic. I can already tell I’m the designated adult.”
Sophie laughed and spotted Margaret at the base of the stairs. “Auntie!” she cried, bouncing towards her. “This place is wow! Just, absolutelywow!”
Margaret’s posture remained impeccable, though the faintest hint of amusement glinted in her eyes. “Sophie. Welcome. Try not to get lost in the vines.”
Sophie gave an exaggerated curtsy. “I’ll try, Auntie. But honestly, the vines are practically screaming adventure, don’t you think?”
Margaret’s face softened, the lines around her mouth easing. “Spoken like your father. He was always chasing something just out of reach.”
Sophie’s grin wavered, a brief shadow passing over her face. “Yeah. Grandmother says that about him too.”
“Of course she does,” Margaret said, her tone gentler now. “He was her favourite after all. He’d have liked that you’re here, Sophie, even if your mother couldn’t make it.”
Sophie nodded, the smile returning. “I think he would’ve too.”
Caroline's expression brightened. “Sophie, why don’t we all go up to our rooms together and settle in?”
Sophie grabbed Caroline’s hand, practically bouncing towards the staircase. “Lead the way! But I get first pick of the view, obviously.”
As the ladies headed upstairs, I slipped out towards the estate’s kitchen, heels clicking against the polished stone floor. The kitchen was alive with motion, chefs arranging platters, servers testing water glasses, the air rich with the scent of baked bread and fresh herbs.
I moved through it all with practiced ease, offering calm nods and discreet directions that somehow managed to be both kind and authoritative.
My eyes swept over each station, mentally checking off details: timing, presentation, temperature, everything had to be flawless.
“One last check on the dining room,” I said, mostly to myself.
I adjusted a tray of hors d’oeuvres, straightened a garnish, and turned a fork until it sparkled just right. Nothing escaped my attention, a plate slightly off-centre, a chair just a hair width out of alignment.
“This four-course lunch is the first chance they’ll have to see what we’ve been planning,” I murmured to Cleo, who hovered nearby, notebook in hand. “Impressing them isn’t optional.”
Cleo leaned against one of the chairs, lowering her voice. “You’ve really outdone yourself with this one. The clients are going to lose their very wealthy minds.”
I gave a modest shrug, though a low thrill of pride stirred in my chest. “Let’s hope so. I want them to feel like they’ve stepped into a fairytale.”
Cleo grinned. “Fairytales. Your speciality.”
“Exactly,” I said, giving the table one last approving glance.
The dining room gleamed, silver polished, glasses sparkling, every place setting aligned in perfect symmetry.
I slipped back into the kitchen, weaving through the staff with smooth precision.
The servers were already lined up along the stainless-steel counters, a small army in crisp black trousers, tailored white shirts, and aprons embroidered with the Langston Estate crest.
“Keep everything at the right temperature and have the first course ready the second they sit down,” I said, my voice even but edged with quiet authority. “Wine and water poured and topped up immediately. Cutlery straight, napkins crisp. Lunch starts on time, no excuses.”
