door. Moreover she could hold her own amongst them; her clothes bore designer labels, her taste in food and décor and the special little things she brought to each reception was being talked about with admiration.
But what had she proved? Nothing. With a few well chosen words Arancha had demolished her achievements and resurrected her inferiority complex so that it seemed to her she was once more sitting on the sidelines, looking in. She was no closer to entering Arancha and Juanita’s circle than she’d ever been. Not to mention Carlos’s…
She’d believed she could no longer be accused of being the housekeeper’s daughter as if it were an invisible brand she was doomed to wear for ever, but, if anything, it had got worse.
From a dedicated cook, a person to whom the smooth running of the household—the scent of fresh clean linen, the perfume of flowers, the magic of herbs not only for cooking but infusions as well—from that dedicated person to whom all those things mattered, her mother had been downgraded to a ‘kitchen’ worker.
Her father, her delightfully vague father who cared passionately about not only what he grew but the birds and the bees and anything to do with gardens, had suffered a similar fate.
She shook her head, then clamped her teeth onto her bottom lip and forced herself to get a grip.
That was when the snarl of a powerful motor made itself heard, not to the guests but to Mia, whose hearing was attuned to most things that came and went from Bellbird, and she slipped outside.
The motor belonged to a sports car, a metallic yellow two-door coupé. The car pulled up to a stone-spitting halt on the gravel drive and a tall figure in jeans jumped out, reached in for a bag, then strode towards her.
‘I’m late, I know,’ he said. ‘Who are you?’
‘I…I’m running the show,’ Mia replied a little uncertainly.
‘Good, you can show me where to change. I’m Carlos O’Connor, by the way, and I’m in deep trouble. I’m sure I’ve missed the actual ceremony but please tell me I haven’t missed the speeches!’ he implored. ‘They’ll never talk to me again.’ He took Mia’s elbow and led her at a fast pace towards the house.
‘No, not the speeches,’ Mia said breathlessly, ‘and now you’re here I can delay them a little longer while you change. In here!’ She gestured to a doorway on the veranda that led directly to the bridal suite.
Carlos turned away from her. ‘Would you let them know I’m here?’
‘Sure.’
‘Muchas gracias.’ He disappeared through the doorway.
Mia stared at the door with her lips parted and her eyes stunned. He hadn’t recognised her!
Which was what she’d hoped for but the awful irony was she hated the thought of it because it had to be that she’d meant so little to him she must have been almost instantly forgettable…
She swallowed, then realised with a start that she still had a wedding to run and a message to deliver. She straightened her hat and entered the dining room and discreetly approached the bridal table, where she bent down to tell the bride and the groom that Mr O’Connor had arrived and would be with them as soon as he’d changed.
‘Thank heavens!’ Juanita said fervently and her brand new husband Damien agreed with her.
‘I know I didn’t need anyone to give me away,’ Juanita continued, ‘but I do need Carlos to make the kind of speech only he can make. Not only—’ she put a hand on Damien’s arm and glinted him a wicked little look ‘—to extol all my virtues but to liven things up a bit!’
Mia flinched.
‘Besides which, Mum is starting to have kittens,’ Juanita added. ‘She was sure he’d had an accident.’
‘I’d have thought your mother would have stopped worrying about Carlos years ago,’ Damien remarked.
This time Juanita cast him a speaking look. ‘Never,’ she declared. ‘Nor will she ever rest until she’s found him a suitable wife.’
Mia melted away at this point and she hovered outside the bridal suite to be able to direct the latecomer to the dining room through the maze of passages.
She would have much preferred to delegate this to Gail, not to mention really making Gail’s day, no doubt, but she was not to be seen.
After about five minutes when Carlos O’Connor still had not appeared, she glanced at her watch with a frown and knocked softly on the door.
It was pulled open immediately and Carlos was dressed in his morning suit and all present and correct—apart from his hair, which looked as if he’d been dragging fingers through it, and his bow tie, which he had in his hand.
‘I can’t tie the blasted thing,’ he said through his teeth. ‘I never could. Tell you what, if I ever get married I will bar all monkey suits and bow ties. Here!’ He handed Mia the tie. ‘If you’re in charge of the show, you do it.’
Typically Carlos at his most arrogant, Mia thought, because she was still hurt to the quick.
She took the tie from him with a swift upward glance that was about as cold as she was capable of and stood up on her toes to briskly and efficiently tie the bow tie.
‘There.’ She patted it briefly. ‘Now, if you wouldn’t mind and seeing as you’re already late as it is, this wedding awaits you.’
‘Wait a moment.’ A frown grew in Carlos’s grey eyes as he put his hands on her hips—an entirely inappropriate gesture between guest and wedding reception manager—and he said incredulously, ‘Mia?’
She froze, then forced herself to respond, ‘Yes. Hi, Carlos!’ she said casually. ‘I didn’t think you’d recognised me. Uh…Juanita really needs you so…’ She went to turn away but he detained her.
‘What are you mad about, Mia?’
She had to bite her lip to stop herself from blurting out the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Chapter and verse, in other words, of every reason she had for…well, being as mad as she could ever recall.
She swallowed several times. ‘I’m having a little trouble getting this wedding going,’ she said carefully at last. ‘That’s all. So—’ She tried to pull away.
He slipped his hands up to her waist and said authoritatively, ‘Hang on. It must be—six—seven years—since you ran away, Mia.’
‘I didn’t…I…well, I suppose I did,’ she corrected herself. ‘And yes, about that. But look, Carlos, this wedding is really dragging its feet and it’s going to be my reputation on the line if I don’t get it going, so would you please come and make the kind of speech only you can make, apparently, to liven things up?’
‘In a moment,’ he drawled. ‘Wow!’ His lips twisted as he stood her away from him and admired her from her toes to the tip of her fascinator and all the curves in between. Not only that but he admired her legs, the slenderness of her waist, the smoothness of her skin, her sweeping lashes and delectable mouth. ‘Pardon my boyish enthusiasm, but this time you’ve
