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CHAPTER FIFTEEN
TROUBLE with a capital T, Tristan reminded himself the following morning as he stood beside Oliver in morning suit and top hat at the entrance to the Gothic cathedral, making small talk with yet another expensively dressed wedding guest.
It was a splendid day—except the sun had come out to grace Jordana’s big day and brought half the paparazzi in the Western world along with it. No doubt the combined news of Lily’s near-arrest and subsequent release and the many royal attendants at Jordana’s wedding was causing them to swarm like coachroaches. The local constabulary was also out in force, to keep intruders at bay, as well as a top London security firm that looked as if it employed some of the men from Lily’s premiere.
And if Tristan was feeling slightly seedy—well, that was just the Scotch he’d consumed last night, after a dinner that would surely go down as the worst ever. Having to sit next to Amanda Sutton and feign a civility he didn’t feel while Lily made eyes at one of the Blackstone boys hadn’t exactly put him in the best mood.
‘Smile, you great idiot,’ Oliver grumbled into his ear. ‘It’s my wedding day.’
Tristan cut him a dark look and then gracefully bowed over some old dowager’s gloved hand.
‘And why is it, exactly?’ he drawled.
‘What?’
He waited for Oliver to agree on the splendid weather they were having with the dowager’s daughter. ‘Your wedding day?’
Oliver looked flummoxed. ‘Is that a trick question?’
‘You said you’d never give up your freedom for anyone.’
‘That was before I fell for your sister.’
‘You could have just lived with her.’
Oliver shook his head. ‘And have someone steal her away at the first opportunity? I don’t think so. Anyway, I want the world to know that she’s mine. That we belong together. She’s my soul mate, and I can’t imagine a life without her in it.’
Tristan fidgeted with the wedding rings in his pocket. ‘If that’s not already a Hallmark card you could probably sell it to them for a few quid. Carlo!’ Tristan shook hands with the Italian count he’d stayed up drinking with last night. ‘Good to see you up in time for the ceremony.’
‘You didn’t tell me there was alcohol in that Scotch last night, Garrett.’
‘Hundred-year-old.’
‘That’s the last of the wedding guests.’ The wedding planner stopped in front of them and gave the Count a scathing once-over. ‘So,’ she spoke to Oliver and Tristan, ‘if you’d both like to make your way down to the altar?’
Oliver led the way, and when they finally reached the front of the church straightened Tristan’s tie.
‘Leave my bloody tie alone.’
Oliver grinned. ‘You could just tell her and get it over with,’ he whispered.
Tristan scowled. ‘Tell who what?’
The harpist started up, and Oliver dashed a hand across his forehead. ‘Stop being a coward, Garrett. It’s obvious you’re in love with her. Just tell her.’
Tristan swallowed. Hard. ‘Am I supposed to know who you’re talking about?’
Oliver threw him a dour look. ‘Unfortunately ignoring it or denying it doesn’t make it go away. Believe me, I did try.’
Tristan scowled.
‘Now, shut up and do your job, would you?’ Oliver growled. ‘And for God’s sake smile—or your sister is likely to make us do this all over again.’
A look of utter joy swept over Oliver’s face as he did the non-traditional thing of turning to watch his bride walk down the aisle, and Tristan swallowed heavily as he too turned, his vision immediately filled with Lily walking behind Jordana in a flowing coffee silk and tulle creation that curved around her sublime figure like whipped cream. All the other women decked out in their wedding finery, including Jordana in her delicate couture gown, couldn’t hold a torch to his Lily. She was so refined, so poised, and yet so vibrantly alive—and then he knew.
Oliver was right. He loved her. Maybe he’d always loved her. The words slotted into his head like the final piece in a puzzle. Actually, the second to last piece of a puzzle. The final piece was how she felt about him…and by the way she avoided eye contact with him as she moved closer he could see that wasn’t looking good.
Lily gazed around at the grand ballroom of the manor house Jordana had chosen for her wedding reception. It was filled with circular tables, each with an enormous central flower arrangement and ringed with white cloth-covered chairs tied with bows at the back.
