Falling for the Bridesmaid

And then there was Violet. Tom had enjoyed the hell out of researching her. The thought made him smile even as he rubbed at his gritty eyes.

A commotion at the counter made him look up, and he blinked at the sight of a tall blonde in a ridiculous dress and heels crashing past a table full of customers. Was that Rose? Or a sleep deprivation induced hallucination?

‘Sorry!’ the blonde yelped, and he decided that she was probably real. Hallucinations didn’t usually yelp, in his experience.

Shaking his head to try and wake up, Tom packed up his laptop. It looked as if his ride had made it after all. Any time now he could fall into that nice, peaceful, quiet bed and sleep for a week. Or at least until Rick Cross summoned him for his first interview.

From all the reports he’d read, Tom was pretty sure Rick wasn’t an early riser. That lie-in was practically in the bag.

‘Rose,’ he said, hoisting his bag onto his shoulder and reaching for the handle of his suitcase. ‘I thought you were going away? You didn’t have to come all the way out here just because the idiot you asked to pick me up forgot. I could have just caught a cab, you know.’

Rose looked up, eyes wide, her hands still gripping her skirt. ‘Oh, um, no, it’s fine. Thomas. It’s fine, Thomas.’

Why did she keep repeating his name? And why was she calling him Thomas instead of Tom all of a sudden? They’d spoken plenty of times before, and even had lunch once. It wasn’t as if she might have forgotten it all of a sudden.

Unless...

The smirk formed unbidden on his lips. ‘I’m sorry, Violet. I thought you were your sister for a moment. And it’s Tom.’

‘That’s okay. You’re not the only one to get confused.’ She pulled a frustrated face, and Thomas couldn’t help but laugh. It was just so familiar. And not from Rose.

‘What?’ Violet asked, obviously startled by his outburst. Maybe he should have had caffeinated coffee. Obviously the sleep deprivation was starting to affect him.

‘I’m sorry,’ he managed, trying to keep his smirk in check. ‘But for a moment you looked just like you did in the—’ Self-preservation kicked in as her face turned stony and he cut himself off.

‘No, really. Do continue.’ Her cut glass accent was sharp enough to wound, and any humour Tom had found in the situation ebbed away. ‘I believe you were about to finish that sentence with the words “leaked sex tape”, right?’

‘I’m sorry,’ Tom started, realising he’d apologised to this woman more in the first three minutes of meeting her than he’d normally need to in even a month of dating someone. But Violet interrupted before he could get to the part about sleep deprivation and inadequate impulse control.

‘That’s right,’ she said, a little louder than Tom thought was strictly necessary. ‘I’m the famous Huntingdon-Cross Sex Tape Twin. Not one of the two sisters who found true love and settled down. The one who men only want so they can film us together and put it on the Internet. Get your autographs here.’

The café was almost empty, but a couple of guys sitting at the table nearest the front definitely had their camera phones out. What kind of audacity did it take to stand up in public and admit to being the star of a ridiculously explicit sex tape watched by half the world? The sort only the rich and famous had.

‘And apparently, according to the frustrated and annoyed look on my face, it can’t even have been good sex. Personally, I don’t remember, but Mr Buckley here has obviously watched it often enough to be considered an expert. Do feel free to ask him questions, if you like. I’m not in a hurry. I mean, I’m only missing my parents’ marriage renewal ceremony to be here. Carry on.’

Waving an imperious hand towards him, Violet perched on the edge of a stool by the counter and waited. Feeling the heat of embarrassment in his cheeks, Tom grabbed the last of his things from the table and headed for the exit. Violet Huntingdon-Cross might be used to this sort of exposure, but he certainly wasn’t.

‘No questions? Oh, what a shame. I suppose we’d better be on our way, then.’ Violet hopped down and followed him out into the arrivals hall.

‘I suppose I deserved that,’ he muttered as she held the door of the terminal open for him. He had laughed first. But she’d been over an hour and a half late to collect him. So the sleep deprivation was at least partly her fault, right?

‘I suppose you did,’ she replied. ‘And I’m very sorry for being late to collect you. Rose gave me the wrong flight times.’

Damn. There went that argument.

‘This is where you apologise to me for humiliating me in front of a crowd of people,’ Violet prompted, and Tom raised his eyebrows.

‘Me? Trust me, sweetheart, you did the humiliating all by yourself.’ As if a performance of that sort was second nature to her. Which, judging by the sex tape, it might well be. He’d heard that Violet had calmed down in more recent years, but maybe the family had just got better at hiding her exploits from the media.

Her whole face flushed bright red at his words, and she pushed past him as they left the terminal. ‘I’m parked in the short stay car park,’ she called back over his shoulder.

He was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to hear her muttered words as she strode off towards the car, but he did. ‘Hopefully not as short as your stay with us, though.’

Tom allowed himself a smile. Violet Huntingdon-Cross was definitely a worthy interview subject. And if he could get some new or hidden scandals on the eldest family wild child to help sell his book proposal, well, he’d be an idiot not to. Right?

CHAPTER THREE

VIOLET’S HANDS WERE still shaking as she tried to get the key into the ignition. At the back of the car, Tom was struggling to open the boot for his cases, but she had no intention of helping. Not least because the way her body was trembling meant she’d probably be even worse at it than him.

What on earth had possessed her? Eight years of best behaviour, of keeping her head down, of politely ignoring all the comments and jokes—all gone in one moment of frustration and humiliation in an airport coffee shop.

It had been his laugh, she decided, as the key finally slid home. It had made it so abundantly clear that she wasn’t a real person to him, just a hilarious anecdote. One she had probably now ensured he would be dining out on for all time.

She was used to being seen as a public figure more than herself. She was always Rick and Sherry’s daughter first, and often Rose or Daisy’s sister before she was ever a person in her own right. Except when she was the Sex Tape Twin. And, quite honestly, she’d rather be nobody than that.

Except that was all she ever seemed to be to anyone outside her own family. And God, was she sick of it.

The car boot slammed shut; Tom must have managed to stow his cases away. Any moment now he’d slide into the passenger seat beside her and they’d have to make polite conversation all the way home. That, or sit in frosty silence. Violet wasn’t sure which would be worse.

She sighed. Yes, she was. Silence would be worse. Because only her dad had any idea how long Thomas Buckley would be staying at their house, and she couldn’t simply send him to Coventry indefinitely. This wasn’t boarding school; it was real life. And somehow that had turned out to be even more confining and stifling than the strict Catholic school they’d all been sent to.

She was a grown-up now. The mistakes of her youth were supposed to be in the past. She was more than the stories people told about her. Which meant sucking it up and making nice with the offensive American music journalist who would be writing some sort of tell-all about her family and their life any time now. And hoping he’d forget what a disaster this whole night had been.

It was like her dad had said, back when That Tape had first hit the internet and suddenly her sex face was splashed all over magazines and newspapers everywhere. He’d left the rest of the band in some hotel somewhere, mid-tour, and come home to check on her. While she’d lain sobbing on her bed, he’d rubbed her back and told her, ‘At least you know now, honey. Not everyone out there wants what’s best for you. And only you can decide who to trust.’

Well. There was an easy answer to that one, Violet had found. Don’t trust anyone—except family.

Will had been an exception to the rule, and a hard-won one at that. But it helped that he’d only ever been friend material. She wouldn’t trust even her best friend with her whole heart. Not like Rose had done.

The passenger door opened and Violet sucked in a breath before plastering on a smile. ‘All okay?’

Tom gave her a slightly wary look, as if uncertain whether she might just drive off with him half in and half out of the car. She couldn’t really blame him; she hadn’t been exactly consistent since they’d met.

Time to start mending fences before he started writing articles.

‘Fine.’ Tom slid into the seat beside her. ‘And, uh, you?’

She forced her smile to brighten further. ‘Just dandy.’

‘Right. And are you always prone to such extreme mood swings?’

Oh, God, he was probably thinking that she was on drugs, or bipolar, or something else that would make a good story. This was not going well.

Violet sighed. Time to try honesty. ‘Okay, look. We got off to a rotten start here, I know. But Dad wants you staying with us, working with him, and Dad doesn’t change his mind once it’s made up. So I just have to suck it up and get on with things, right? And since I don’t particularly want to spend the next however many weeks avoiding you or trading insults on sight, I figure the easiest thing is to pretend the last half an hour didn’t happen. Okay?’ Partial honesty, anyway. She didn’t need to mention—

‘Plus you don’t want me to tell the story of this evening in any future articles or books?’

Damn. ‘Well, do you blame me?’

Tom was quiet so long that she had to glance over to check that he hadn’t fallen asleep. When she looked, he was holding out his hand.

Eyebrows raised, she took it, biting her lip at the slight tingle she felt at his skin against hers. For heaven’s sake, it was a handshake! Had it really been so long since someone she wasn’t related to by blood or marriage had touched her that her body had forgotten what it felt like?

‘I’m Tom Buckley,’ he said with a half smile. ‘Nice to meet you. Thanks for coming to pick me up.’

‘Violet Huntingdon-Cross. Sorry I was an hour and a half late.’

He chuckled. ‘Let’s just blame Rose for everything, yeah?’

‘That’s what I’ve been trying to do for the last twenty-seven years,’ Violet said, and sighed. ‘Sadly, it never seems to stick.’

At Tom’s laugh, she slipped the car into gear and pulled out of the parking space. ‘Come on. Let’s get you home. I bet you’re tired after your long journey.’

‘Exhausted,’ Tom admitted, and when she looked she could see the dark circles under his eyes, even in the poor lighting of the airport car park. ‘That’s kind of my excuse, actually. For, well, everything. Sleep deprivation. It’s been a hell of a week.’

‘I’m sure. Rose said you were working out in Miami?’

He nodded. ‘For the last week. Then a flying visit home to New York to repack my bags, then straight here. I feel like I haven’t slept in a month. I’m looking forward to some peace and quiet, actually. Your dad told me that Huntingdon Hall is out in the middle of nowhere, right?’

‘Ye—es,’ Violet said, biting her lip as she remembered the party she’d left just a couple of hours before. It was long gone midnight. Surely everyone would have gone home by the time they arrived, right? Oh, who was she kidding? Rick and Sherry’s parties were legendary. They’d be lucky if they didn’t find anyone passed out on the tennis court in the morning, this time.

‘That sounds ominous,’ Tom said. ‘Do they have guests? Wait...’ Glancing over, she saw him frown, the moment it clicked into place for him. ‘Oh, hell. It’s their vow renewal today, right? You said you were missing it... That’s why you were so annoyed about having to come and fetch me?’

‘And why I’m wearing this fetching yet inappropriate dress,’ Violet confirmed. No need for him to know that, actually, she’d been happy to get out of there. ‘I’m afraid there’s a very real chance the party might still be ongoing.’ She glanced at the dashboard clock. ‘In fact, I think Dad and the boys will probably be taking the stage for their encore session right about now.’

Tom groaned and let his head fall back against the headrest. ‘So, no sleep tonight is what you’re telling me.’

‘Basically. Sorry! Maybe you can get some sleep in the car?’ She should feel worse about this. The guy was obviously exhausted to the point of losing all social niceties. She should feel bad that her parents and their friends were going to keep him up for another night.

She really, really didn’t, though.

* * *

It seemed to Tom that no sooner had he closed his eyes than a car door was slamming, then another opening, and cool night air flooded over his face. Followed swiftly by his ears being assaulted by one of The Screaming Lemons’ classic hits being played as an acoustic number.

Normally, he’d be up at the front of the stage, soaking in the moment, tucking the memories away for future articles, trying to find the right words to describe the perfection of that three and a half minutes.

Tonight—or rather this morning—he just wanted it all to go away. Including Violet Huntingdon-Cross.

‘Wake up, Sleeping Beauty,’ she said, in a voice far too jolly for someone who had recently glared at him with such loathing. ‘You’re missing the party.’

He cracked open one eyelid and waited for the yellow blur of her hair, the pale fuzz of her face and the purple blotch that was her dress to come into focus. Then he blinked; she was closer than he’d thought, and suddenly the only things in focus at all were her bright blue eyes, peering down at him.

‘Oh, good,’ she said, straightening up. ‘I thought for a moment I was going to have to leave you here for the night. That or get someone to come carry you to bed. That sort of thing never makes a terribly good first impression, you know.’

Unlike, for instance, pointing out a woman’s sex tape history within five minutes of meeting her. God, when he woke up properly he was going to have to work at getting Violet back onside. As the only daughter living at home, he had a feeling she could make life difficult for him if she wanted.

And he rather suspected she might more than want to. It might actually be her burning life ambition at this point.

‘I’m awake,’ he half lied, forcing himself to straighten up. Another couple of moments and he might even make it out of the car.

Violet grabbed his hand and, even through his sleep fog, he couldn’t help but be aware of the feel of her smooth, cool skin, or the way something indefinable crept up his arm at her touch. Something that seemed to crackle with possibilities.

Something that woke him up completely.

Blinking again, he twisted round to get his feet firmly on the ground and stood up, belatedly aware that he was still gripping onto Violet’s hand, probably rather tighter than she’d like.

He dropped it fast, but her blue, blue eyes were still fixed on his and the puzzled crease between her eyebrows told him that whatever he’d felt, she’d felt it too.

At least he had the excuse of sleep deprivation. What justification was she using?

Violet shook her head and stepped back, nicely out of his personal space. ‘I know you’re exhausted. But given that sleep is likely to be impossible for the next couple of hours at least, and since you are here to observe and interview and write about the band... Why don’t you come and meet Dad?’

Dad. Even after an hour in the company of one of the most famous celebrity kids in the world, it still felt strange to hear her refer to the infamous Rick Cross as ‘Dad’. How different a world must Violet live in to the real one he inhabited, to so casually be able to think of Huntingdon Hall as home, and one of the most recognisable couples ever as Mum and Dad?

Different, certainly, to the kid from New York who never even knew who his father was, only that he wouldn’t have done him any good in life if he’d stuck around anyway. The kid whose mother had so disapproved of the method he’d used to get out of the gutter, she hadn’t spoken to him for three years before her death.

Yeah, there were worlds between him and Violet. And however long he stayed at Huntingdon Hall, he had to remember that.

‘Isn’t he still playing?’ Tom said, hoping it wasn’t painfully obvious he was stalling. Rick had seemed sharp on the phone, the sort to see through people’s masks. He wanted to be on top form when he sat down with Rick for the first time.

Violet tilted her head to the left, listening to the music, he presumed. ‘This is usually his last number. He’ll be off stage soon and still on that performance high. It’s a good time to meet him if you want him to like you.’

‘And do you want him to like me?’ Tom asked. It seemed strange that she would, given everything.

A look of annoyance flashed across Violet’s face, as if she weren’t used to being asked this many questions about her motives and feelings. Maybe she wasn’t. ‘Yes.’

Tom couldn’t resist. ‘Why?’

‘Does it matter?’ Violet tossed her hair back over her shoulder as the last chord rang out from the stage. ‘We’re going to miss him.’

‘You haven’t answered my question.’ Tom folded his arms, leant back against the car and waited.

With an impatient huff, Violet grabbed his hand and started dragging him towards the stage. Tom didn’t budge until she started talking.

‘Because Dad makes up his mind about people and things in an instant, and that’s it. You’re here; you’re going to be writing about him and us. If he likes you, he’ll show you his best side, the stuff I want you to be writing about. If he takes a dislike to you...’

‘Things could get messy?’ Tom guessed.

Violet sighed as they reached the edge of the stage area. Even though the party was obviously filled with friends and family, the cheering as the band came off stage was still as loud as Tom had heard in any stadium.

‘Let’s just say this whole experience will be a lot less fun. For all of us.’

Suddenly, the familiar craggy face of Rick Cross appeared at the top of the stage steps, mouth open and laughing at something his band mate was saying behind him.

‘Showtime,’ Tom whispered, and Violet flashed him a quick grin—the first honest smile he’d seen from her.

Tom took a breath. Time to meet the parents.

CHAPTER FOUR

VIOLET HID A grin at the slightly shell-shocked look on Tom’s face as Dad and the boys traipsed down the temporary stairs at the side of the stage set, all laughing, chatting and still clearly caught up in their own world—a world that consisted of music, noise and melodies.

She knew the kind of impact they could have, just off stage. When she was younger, just old enough to be allowed to stay up to watch the occasional gig from the wings, she and Rose had found it hard to understand this part—when Dad wasn’t Dad, just for a moment. He was all Rick Cross, rock star, right now. And that was a sight to behold.

The adrenaline would wear off soon enough, Violet knew. He’d come down, hug his wife, ask for a drink, and before too long he’d be heading to bed to sleep it off. Well, maybe after a little more time with his closest friends—drinking and talking and probably singing.

Right now, in this moment, he was exactly who Tom Buckley had come here to interview. She hadn’t lied when she said that this was the best time for Tom to make a good impression with her father. But it was also the best time to remind Tom that this wasn’t just anybody he’d come here to write about.

The press could publish all the stories they liked about her and her sisters—and heaven knew they would. But they couldn’t touch her parents. Rick and Sherry were rock royalty, beyond reproach. There were no affairs, no addictions, no mistakes made—nothing to latch on to and use to make their lives hell. It might have been different back in the day, but not any more.

Now they were national treasures, and Violet was unbearably proud of them for it.

‘Mr Cross.’ Stepping forward, Tom stuck out his hand, smiling warmly. Violet had to give him credit—if he hadn’t been slumped over in her passenger seat for the last forty-five minutes, she’d never have known he was utterly exhausted. He looked professional, ready to do a great job.

She just hoped that Dad’s idea of a good job and Tom’s meshed.

‘Mr Buckley, I presume!’ Rick’s famous smile spread across his face. ‘Great to have you here.’ He shook Tom’s hand with what looked like painful enthusiasm. ‘Boys, this is the guy I’ve invited over to write our musical life story.’

‘And your family’s,’ Tom put in. Violet rolled her eyes. As if any of them would forget that he was here to expose all their private lives as well as their public personas.

‘Oh, he’s here for the dirt, Rick.’ Jez—Uncle Jez to the girls—the band’s lead guitarist and Rick’s best man, elbowed his friend in the ribs. ‘Time to hide those skeletons in better closets!’

Rick laughed, his head tipped back in pure amusement and joy. Violet bit the inside of her cheek and just prayed there wasn’t anything hidden there that she didn’t know about. She couldn’t imagine how there could be, given how closely she’d been involved in her parents’ lives and work since she’d moved back home eight years ago.

But you could never be too careful when it came to the press. And if Dad had any secrets, Uncle Jez would be the one to know them.

‘Trust me, I’m just here to write the best, most honest story I can for your legion of fans. They’re only interested in the truth.’ Unlike Tom, presumably.

‘And that’s just what you’ll get.’ Rick clapped a hand on Tom’s back, and Violet knew the reporter had passed some test that no one but her father would ever understand. ‘The complete unvarnished truth, ready to be written down for posterity.’

Relief warred with apprehension inside her, and Violet clenched her fists so tightly her nails bit into the palms of her hands. On the one hand, the fact that her dad liked Tom would make the interviews go more smoothly, reducing the chances of a story about a recalcitrant, difficult star. On the other, it opened up the opportunity that Rick would get too close to Tom. As much as he talked about the unvarnished truth, surely her father realised there were some parts of their family lives, and history, that none of them wanted shared with the world. For the umpteenth time in some cases.

Well, there was nothing for it now but to see how things went. And try and keep tabs on both Tom and Rick, so she could try and head off any prospective trouble before it turned up in the papers this time.

‘Darlings, you were brilliant as always.’ Sherry floated up to them, kissing each of the band members on the cheek before planting a rather more thorough kiss on her husband. Tom, Violet noticed, was politely staring at the floor. Everyone else was too used to it to even bother.

‘Mum, this is Tom Buckley,’ Violet said once the public display of affection was over. Might as well get all the introductions over in one go. ‘He’s the writer Dad—’

‘The writer who’s going to tell our little story! Of course.’ Sherry held out a hand, although whether she intended it to be kissed or shaken Violet wasn’t sure.

Tom went for the handshake. Not fully charmed yet, then. Mum might have her work cut out with this one. Obviously he wasn’t taken in by her disingenuous description of his subject matter. Nobody in the world would describe the history of The Screaming Lemons and the Huntingdon-Cross family a ‘little story’. Least of all anyone who had lived it.