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
