Wedding Promises

‘I don’t suppose you’re feeling in the mood to reprise some of your more famous Shakespearian roles, are you?’

‘Fancying some Romeo at last, huh?’

‘Or Hamlet, or Benedick, or Puck...I’m not fussed, as long as there’s someone up on that stage performing when our guests arrive.’

‘Aren’t I one of those guests?’

Eloise shook her head. ‘You’re the best man. That means pitching in and fixing whatever goes wrong with the wedding.’

‘I suppose it does,’ Noah said slowly, an idea forming in his mind. ‘And I guess as maid of honour you have to do the same, right?’

Her eyes widened. ‘Well, in principle...but you’re the actor here. This really seems like a job for you.’

‘Ah, but it would be so much better with two, wouldn’t it?’ Noah said. ‘Monologues are so boring. But a good bit of dialogue...that’ll get people watching. So, how’s your Shakespeare?’

‘Rusty. Very, very rusty. I mean, I used to help my mum learn her lines, and she did a few of Shakespeare’s, but that was years ago. As was my A-level English Lit course, for that matter.’

‘Your mum?’ Noah frowned. ‘She was an actress?’ Did that explain Eloise’s strange prejudice against actors? Had one messed her mother around? Or was her dad an actor?

For someone he knew so little about, he felt strangely invested in her past. And in her immediate future, come to that.

‘Of a sort. Look, it doesn’t matter now. The point is, I don’t know the lines. Any lines. For any play.’

‘You don’t need to,’ Noah told her, pushing aside his questions about her parents for a time when Eloise was less stressed. So, some time next year, probably. The woman had been stress incarnate since he’d met her. Strange—that wasn’t something he’d ever found attractive before. ‘We’ll do readings rather than acting out the scenes. It’ll work fine and you don’t need to worry about remembering anything.’

Eloise frowned. ‘I suppose. But...’

Now they were getting to it. ‘So, what’s the real reason you don’t want to do it? Worried I’ll show you up? Trust me, I wouldn’t. It’s a long time since I’ve done Shakespeare too.’

She pulled a face. ‘That’s not it. Well, yes, partly, I suppose. You’re an actual actor. I’m someone who’s just read the plays a few times.’

‘I’m an actor who mostly beats people up in films these days,’ he reminded her. ‘But, actually, I’m looking to get into some different roles, so maybe a change of pace will be good for me. And I think fooling around on stage with me will be good for you too. We can just do the comedies, if you like. It’ll be fun.’

‘Fun? Standing up there with the famous and the beautiful watching me make a fool of myself? Not my idea of a good time.’

‘That’s what you’re worried about? Them?’ Noah shook his head. He knew from personal experience that nobody attending this wedding thought too much about anyone except themselves. ‘I really wouldn’t.’

‘Easy for you to say. I don’t...’ She swallowed and met his gaze. ‘I told you. I really don’t like being the centre of attention.’

So that was it. ‘That’s why you didn’t want to do the dance either,’ he said, remembering how she’d shrunk away, almost disappearing into the wall, when she’d been watching him and Melissa dance that morning. ‘And why you wear such boring clothes.’

‘Leave my clothes out of it,’ she grumbled. ‘Not everyone has to be a peacock like Melissa.’

‘Or a show-off like me,’ he finished for her. ‘But it doesn’t matter. That’s the joy of acting. You’re not the centre of attention at all—your character is. You can be someone else for a while. It’s fantastically freeing.’

‘Really?’ Eloise didn’t look entirely convinced.

‘Sure. Why do you think so many actors are screwed up as human beings? It’s not the job that does it. It’s the reason they choose the job in the first place. Who else would pick a career that lets them escape from themselves?’

‘I suppose,’ Eloise allowed. ‘But that doesn’t change the fact that it would be me up there on the stage. Making a fool of myself.’

‘I won’t let you do that.’ He reached out a hand to take hers. ‘Come on. It’ll be fun. I promise.’ It would be, he was certain. And fun was definitely something Eloise needed more of in her life.

She sucked in a deep breath, so deep he could see her chest move. ‘Okay,’ she said at last. ‘Let’s do this.’

* * *

If women in Shakespeare’s time really wore dresses as uncomfortable as the one Noah picked out for her, suddenly Eloise understood why they always looked so miserable in paintings. She’d almost rather be wearing the hideous bridesmaid’s dress. Almost.

‘Perfect,’ Noah said as she stepped out from the Portaloo she’d used as a changing room. Apparently stardom wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

‘I feel like an idiot.’

‘But you look like a star,’ Noah promised.

Eloise glanced down at the corseted bodice, the intricate lacing and embroidery and the full skirt. The deep winter green of the fabric suited her, she knew, and the golden stitching added something special to the dress. But it wasn’t until she met Noah’s gaze and saw the warmth and approval in his eyes that she truly believed she looked okay.

More than okay, if the way Noah’s gaze travelled her body was anything to go by. She almost wished there was a full-length mirror around so she could see for herself.

But she knew that the prettiest costume couldn’t hide her from the reality of what she was about to do.

Why had she agreed to this? How had she let him convince her? He hadn’t even really had to try—he’d just smiled at her and told her it would be fun, and she’d fallen for it.

This was why she needed to stay away from Noah Cross. Something that would be a lot easier if they weren’t both in the wedding party from hell.

‘Are you ready?’ Noah asked as they stood at the side of the stage.

‘No.’

Noah smiled, and handed her the first reading they’d decided on—one of her favourite exchanges between Beatrice and Benedick from Much Ado About Nothing.

‘You can do this,’ he whispered. Then he took her hand and led her out onto the stage.

It had been so many years since she’d done this, Eloise had thought she must have forgotten how. But as she stood there, script in shaking hand, it all came flooding back. The tiny local theatre in her home town, just a few miles away from where she stood now. The scruffy red velvet seats in the audience. The way the wood of the stage smelt. The heavy curtains that rose and fell on their shows.

Eloise, twelve years old, standing in the chorus line of their latest musical, watching her mother fall in love with her leading man, rehearsal after rehearsal. And her father in the wings, humiliated again. And knowing, even then, that this affair wouldn’t last either. That everyone would talk—in whispers, if her dad was around, and openly if he wasn’t—and predict when they might make it official. Whether this time Letitia would leave, find a man who could be equal to her instead of staying with her boring, grey old husband.

And every time she would threaten to walk out, there’d be scenes—on stage and off. And every time, as the last night ended, Eloise would know it would all be over soon. That her mother would never really leave, never really chase the perfect happiness and true love she claimed she wanted.

Because if she was happy, where would the drama be? Letitia lived for the drama, not the love.

She’d even chosen drama over her own daughter when she’d seduced Derek away from her. Eloise was under no illusions about what mattered most to her mother—or to actors in general.

Noah gave her a look and she took a breath, smiled and began the act. She’d taken all the drama classes, played her parts in the society beside her parents, so she knew what she was doing.

But she would never be an actress. Not when she’d already seen how much happiness it could destroy.

It was easy to lose herself in the lines, the humour, the characters. Noah had been right about that, at least. Up there on the stage, she could almost believe she was another person and that made it a lot easier.

They hadn’t planned a full performance, as such, so there was no start time and no audience waiting patiently for them to start. Instead, they began the scene as the guests started to mill around the Frost Fair, and waited to be discovered. By the time Eloise looked out from the stage after the third scene she and Noah had chosen, she was amazed to find that they had drawn quite a crowd.

As they applauded, Noah took the script from her and gave her the next one. Eloise frowned as she looked at the highlighted passage. This wasn’t one she’d agreed to. They’d said comedies only, and Romeo and Juliet was most certainly not a comedy.

‘Ready?’ Noah whispered and, before she could answer, said his opening line.

It was the scene at the masked ball, Eloise realised as she responded. That short, incredibly flirtatious and sexy scene where they dance and talk and...

‘Then move not while my prayer’s effect I take.’

She barely had a moment to register Noah’s words before his hands were at her waist, tugging her close. He kissed her lightly, just a brief press of his lips against hers. But it was enough. Enough to send sparks through her whole body, to leave her aching and desperate for more.

Wait. He’d just said something. Which meant she had another line.

Somewhere, from the recesses of her memory and an abiding love for the movie version, she found it.

‘Then have my lips the sin that they have took.’

Noah grinned, still holding her against him.

‘Sin from my lips?’ he said. ‘O trespass sweetly urged. Give me my sin again.’

Again? Eloise’s eyes widened but he just kept smiling at her—before dipping her deeply over his arm and lowering his lips to hers.

There was nothing brief about this kiss. Nothing perfunctory. And nothing about it felt like an act.

Her hands tightened on the fabric of Noah’s doublet as he deepened the kiss, teasing her mouth open and driving her wild. Her whole body reacted to the sensation of his lips on hers, tightening and tensing with the need to take things further. If they hadn’t been in public...

A whoop went up from the crowd and reality came crashing in on her. They weren’t just in public. She was on a stage, in front of the Hollywood elite, some of her staff and probably her teenage nemesis. Making out with a famous actor like some girl with a crush.

She tried to pull away but, since Noah was the only thing holding her up, she didn’t get too far. Fortunately, he seemed to sense the change of mood and slowly raised her back to a standing position, only ending the kiss at the last possible moment.

The audience cheered, clapping and whistling, and Eloise knew her face had to be the same colour as her hair.

‘Okay?’ Noah whispered, too soft to be heard over the crowd.

But Eloise couldn’t answer. The only words she could find were Juliet’s.

‘You kiss by the book,’ she declared, and the crowd laughed.

She was glad someone found it funny. Because, as far as Eloise was concerned, that kiss meant only one thing.

She was in big trouble.

* * *

‘You kiss by the book.’

Eloise sounded suitably stunned, but the way she projected the line into the crowd left Noah uncertain. Was she still acting? Or had the kiss affected her the same way it had him?

Because he definitely hadn’t been acting.

Oh, the first kiss, sure. That had just been a joke, almost. He’d slipped the short Romeo and Juliet exchange in while Eloise had been getting changed, partly because it was one of his favourites and partly because it gave him an excuse to kiss her. He’d purposefully kept that first kiss light and relaxed, giving her the freedom to pull back any time she liked, even if it was only an act.

But from the moment his lips had met hers he’d known that wouldn’t be enough. The electricity between them, the way her touch sparked through his body, heating him to boiling point even in the freezing English air...that couldn’t all be pretend, could it? And then, of course, he’d had to know for sure.

So he’d kissed her. Properly.

And his whole world had tilted.

The audience were applauding again, and Noah realised he’d almost forgotten they were there. He hadn’t been playing to the crowd for once, or thinking about how his moves would look on the big screen. The only thing that had been on his mind was the woman in his arms.

Never mind Tessa and her admonitions to behave. Never mind his reputation. Even the role of Marcus hadn’t mattered for the long moments where he’d held Eloise.

He blinked and the spell was broken, and the real world surged back in.

Her final line spoken, Eloise tried to make a dash for the edge of the makeshift stage but he grabbed her hand to keep her with him, his mind churning. When she glared at him, he explained softly, ‘We have to take a bow.’

Her glare didn’t lessen, but she gave a sharp nod and took her place beside him. Hand in hand, they bowed to the assembled audience, who whooped and cheered even louder.

‘What were they serving at those drinks stands?’ Noah asked. Because he was good, he knew that, and Eloise had been fabulous, but this level of enthusiasm still seemed a little over the top. Unless they’d seen the truth behind the kiss—but he doubted that too. This crowd wouldn’t know truth if it kissed them.

‘Spiced apple cider.’ Eloise didn’t look at him as she answered, smiling out at the crowd as they took their second bow.

‘Alcoholic.’

‘Apparently very.’

‘Encore!’ someone in the crowd yelled but Eloise shook her head and, before Noah could stop her, she was across the stage and descending the steps, ready to disappear back into the mass of people filling the Frost Fair. Suddenly Noah was alone on the stage, wondering if her reaction to the kiss meant she was more or less likely to let him do it again.

Because one thing he was very sure of. He wanted to kiss Eloise Miller in a way he hadn’t wanted to kiss anyone for years.

In fact, he wanted to do a lot more than kiss her. Discreetly, of course. But that kiss had proved that Eloise was worth taking the risk.

And, after the way she’d responded to him, she was going to have to come up with a better excuse than I don’t date actors to convince him that she didn’t want exactly the same thing.

CHAPTER EIGHT

ELOISE REFUSED TO dwell on the memory of Noah’s kiss, instead throwing herself into traipsing around the Frost Fair to make sure that everything was going perfectly. Then, when the stallholders started looking irritated at her interference and Laurel assured her that she had everything in hand, Eloise stormed off back to the hotel to get out of her ridiculous costume and into something more appropriate for Melissa’s hen night.

By the time the bride, bridesmaids and other favoured female guests were gathered for games, pink drinks and the wearing of feather boas in the main bar that evening, Eloise could still feel the memory of Noah’s lips against hers.

How was she supposed to think about anything else after a kiss like that? She’d barely managed to focus on her job long enough to check everything was in place for the hen night. And choosing a dress... Well, what did one wear after wearing Juliet’s best frock all afternoon? Eloise’s wardrobe certainly had nothing so fancy. In the end, she’d settled on another navy dress—one of four in her wardrobe. This one, at least, was made of more slippery material than her thick, knitted work one, and it skimmed over her body in a way that suggested that she might actually have some curves under the fabric. Somewhere.

Just in case Noah felt the sudden need to reprise their roles of Romeo and Juliet, she told herself. After all, if it was Juliet kissing Noah rather than Eloise, that couldn’t be so bad, right?

No. That was crazy. And that was exactly the sort of thinking that had seen her mother fall into affair after affair with her leading men.

Eloise had sworn her whole life that she wouldn’t make the same mistakes. That she wouldn’t get caught up in the spectacle of a love affair and miss the reality underneath. She’d rather a boring, predictable romance to the high drama of the ones her mother had enjoyed anyway. And she wouldn’t let movie star good looks and charm sway her from that.

No matter how incredible his kisses were.

They’d said friends. That was what she had to stick to. That was what she needed to get her through this nightmare of a wedding—a friend.

‘Of course, Eloise had loads of practice at being on stage, didn’t you?’ Melissa waved her champagne flute across the table in Eloise’s direction as she spoke, and Eloise scrambled to try and catch up on the conversation she’d been ignoring in favour of reliving Noah’s kiss.

‘Sorry?’

Melissa rolled her eyes. ‘The girls were just talking about your performance at the Frost Fair this afternoon.’

‘You were fantastic!’ one of the guests Eloise had met only briefly, and didn’t recognise from the movies at all, said. She had a feeling the woman was the wife of a director or something similar. ‘You really brought the whole Frost Fair to life.’

Eloise looked down at her hands to try and hide her blush.

‘And I was saying how you’d had lots of practice on the stage,’ Melissa went on. ‘Totally different to the movies, of course. But all those years taking part in those local plays with your mum was obviously good for something, wasn’t it?’

Melissa’s gaze met hers as she spoke, and Eloise felt the threat in her words as she mentioned her mother. A chill ran through her at the calculating look in Melissa’s eyes. The unspoken message was clear: upstage the bride again, and everyone would get to hear about Eloise’s mother’s antics.

Everything Eloise had spent the last ten years living down would be public knowledge all over again.

‘Perhaps it’s time for the first game?’ Eloise stood and clapped her hands together, deflecting the conversation away from herself.

Melissa, mollified for the time being, beamed as her guests threw themselves into games that thrust her back into the centre of attention. Eloise, meanwhile, found herself watching from the sidelines, noting every other instance of Melissa manipulating the evening to keep herself on top. Like the way the bridesmaids were all just slightly less beautiful and famous than she was. Or how guests with little to give in a professional sense were kept on the outskirts of the gathering, while much attention was given to those in power—directors, actresses with more Hollywood pull. The tiered system Melissa had in place was obvious, now she knew what she was looking for.

Clearly Melissa had managed to keep her reputation for sweetness intact in the film industry, the same way she always had when working at Morwen Hall. But Eloise was sure there must be people in Hollywood who had experienced the other side of Melissa too—as she had all those years ago.

She couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if one of those people suddenly became more famous and powerful than Melissa.

‘Time for Balloon Question Time!’ Laurel, official hen party planner, clapped her hands and distracted the group from laughing at the male body parts they’d all been making out of modelling clay for the previous game. Eloise, having observed their efforts, was glad of the change of pace.

‘Now, this game has a bit of a twist,’ Laurel said, looking at Eloise with an apology in her eyes as she spoke. ‘We have twenty questions in these twenty balloons in the net. The pink balloons hold questions for the bride. The purple balloons have questions for the bridesmaids and maid of honour to answer.’

Eloise groaned, hoping the sound was covered by the excited chatter of the other hens and the music playing in the bar. Just what she needed—more attention.

‘So, ladies, line up and prepare to pop balloons! Bride, bridesmaids and maid of honour, come on down!’ Melissa, Iona and Caitlin followed Laurel’s instructions and took their seats on the barstools lined up on the platform by the bar. Eloise followed more slowly.

‘Want to give me a heads up?’ she whispered to Laurel as she passed.

‘Sorry, no can do. I didn’t set the questions. Melissa did.’ Laurel patted her on the arm. ‘On the plus side, if you refuse to answer any of them, you get to drink a shot.’

More alcohol. That would help.

The first few balloons went well. Each guest took a turn popping one, then reading out the question inside, directing it at the bride or attendants depending on its colour. Melissa answered questions about her first boyfriend—where she shot a warning look at Eloise before lying through her teeth—and the role she’d most like to play on film, Marie Antoinette, which Eloise could totally see. Caitlin answered the question about her biggest regret, and Iona one about her favourite memory of Melissa.

And then, with the next purple balloon, it was Eloise’s turn.

‘Well, this seems very appropriate today,’ Laurel said, grinning. Eloise felt something inside her relax. Laurel obviously felt that this was a safe question. How bad could it be? ‘Eloise, tell us—in detail—about your best ever kiss.’

The room burst into laughter—all except Melissa, who sat stony-faced beside her. She must have written the questions before the Frost Fair, Eloise realised. Laurel had been setting up the games while the festivities were still going on, so she must have had the questions beforehand. There was no way Melissa wanted to draw attention back to Eloise and Noah’s kiss.

‘I think we all saw the answer to that this afternoon!’ Caitlin said, and took another sip from her bright pink cocktail. ‘So, tell us! How did it feel?’

Melissa snorted—which led Eloise to assume she’d had one too many cocktails. ‘As if we don’t all already know that? Noah Cross must have dated almost every woman in this room.’

‘I went to an awards ceremony with him,’ Iona said. ‘But he never kissed me like that.’

‘Or me,’ someone else piped up.

‘He didn’t kiss me at all,’ another woman added. Eloise frowned. She might think that Noah’s playboy reputation was a lie, except anyone who kissed like he did had clearly been practising a lot.

‘It was just a kiss,’ Eloise said, realising that the hens were still waiting for an answer. ‘It wasn’t even a real one. We were acting.’

‘Looked pretty real to me,’ Caitlin said.

‘That is sort of the idea, Cait,’ Melissa snapped. ‘Although I appreciate you might not have reached that lesson in your drama training yet.’

There was a moment of stunned silence, and Melissa obviously realised she’d stepped out of her perfect friend character. She turned to Eloise and beamed. ‘It did look very real though, I suppose. But then, that shouldn’t be such a surprise, should it? It must be in the genes.’

Iona frowned. ‘In the jeans? They were in period costume.’

‘Genes with a G,’ Melissa said sharply. ‘Eloise’s mother was an actress too, you see, locally, anyway. And she was absolutely famous for her ability to make all her leading men fall in love with her. Wasn’t she?’

Eloise froze, the shame and humiliation cresting over her like a wave, just at the reminder. Melissa knew every single story that had ever been told about Eloise’s mother. Her own mother had been the one spreading the rumours, most of the time.

She tried to tell herself that it didn’t matter—that these people, flown in for the week for a wedding, would be out of her life in just a few days. They didn’t care about her, didn’t care about her past. They had no importance in her life.

But knowing that didn’t make any difference. The humiliation she’d endured at the hands of her mother’s behaviour for so many years hadn’t faded, even now. She wouldn’t ever shake those painful memories, she knew. The whispers, the whole town talking about her, casting sympathetic—or worse, mocking—glances at her father. Everyone she knew expecting her to turn out the exact same way.