back from the dangerous place her mind had wandered to.
Then she saw Oliver was on his knee in front of her. Why was he on his knee? His blue eyes were dancing and everyone around them had fallen silent.
‘Victoria, you know how much I love you.’
She smiled, but inside she was stunned. Was this—? No way was Oliver about to—
‘Will you marry me?’
Victoria stared at him. Somehow she kept the smile on her lips.
Oliver, her first boyfriend, who she knew and trusted. And here, in front of her parents, his parents and—
‘Victoria?’ Liam interrupted.
OMG. Don’t look at him. Don’t.
She couldn’t resist.
His eyes were fixed on her. His too-warm, gold-flecked intense eyes staring right through her as if he could read her every thought. Every doubt.
Every desire.
‘Do you mind?’ Oliver sounded more stunned at the interruption than annoyed. ‘I’m asking her a question.’
But Victoria’s eyes were locked on Liam. She should look away, but she couldn’t. She sensed restlessness ripple through the people surrounding them. Her parents. Any second now someone else would speak. Would question.
Oliver cleared his throat. Oliver, the one perfect for her, who had their future mapped out. She couldn’t hurt him, embarrass him. Him or any of them.
‘Victoria?’ Oliver said. Now he sounded slightly annoyed.
Victoria immediately, mutely, looked back to Oliver, the guy right before her. She smiled—automatically soothing because that was what she did. And she wanted to because she loved Oliver, right? She wanted everything that he wanted—what they all wanted and expected—didn’t she?
Oliver smiled back. And as she sat flushed, yet frozen, he repeated the question.
‘Will you marry me?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Victoria answered brightly, ignoring the burning muscles in her hand. ‘Absolutely.’
She’d do whatever it took. That was what entrepreneurs did, right? Made sacrifices. Worked all night. She’d read You Too Can Be a Billionaire months ago, so she knew. Not that she wanted to be a billionaire or even a millionaire. She’d settle for solvent—no more of that screaming red ink on her bank statement, thanks.
Anyway, writing another five place cards in flourished copperplate was nothing on the number she’d already done. So long as those passed their impending inspection. They’d better. So much depended on this.
Victoria watched her client, Aurelie Broussard, cross the ornately furnished room to the large writing desk where she nervously waited. Like everyone else who’d ever been in Aurelie’s presence, Victoria couldn’t help staring. The ‘in-another-realm’ woman glowed in a long white summer dress and navy shrug. Her hair fell to the middle of her back in long, loose curls. Its colour matched her eyes, as glossy and dark and sensual as hot fudge sauce. Athlete, model, businesswoman. And about seven months pregnant judging by the graceful swell of her belly. Victoria hadn’t known about the baby, but then she didn’t know much about the former world-champion surf star other than that she was getting hitched in five days’ time. Victoria deliberately didn’t take an interest in water sports—they flowed too close to deep-buried, sharp-edged memories.
She’d never met a more beautiful woman. Or anyone with the power to improve her business so drastically— or destroy it. If Aurelie liked her work, she’d be set. If she didn’t, Victoria was screwed. And brides were notoriously picky—especially brides with squadrons of celebrity friends and a ‘super wow factor’ wedding to pull off in less than a week.
Victoria slowed her movements to hide her nerves, carefully laying out some of the completed cards on the antique wood. Aurelie silently studied them. They’d taken Victoria more hours than she could count, working under bright lights all through the night to get them finished. She’d been contracted at the last minute—not ideal for a calligrapher whose craft required light, space, time and serenity to get it right.
‘They are beautiful.’ Aurelie finally gave her verdict. ‘Exactly what I wanted.’
Victoria rapidly blinked back burning tears of relief. Two hundred and thirty-four painstakingly calligraphed cards—so many in such a short time she was in pain. But she wanted to be sure all were perfect.
‘I’ve done them exactly as they were written on your list but someone will double check them?’ she asked. She didn’t want some A-lister offended by having her name incorrectly spelt.
Aurelie nodded. ‘My assistant. Perhaps you can do the extra five while you’re here?’ She slid open the top drawer of the desk and drew out a sheet of paper with a list of names typed on it.
‘Of course I can…’ She’d brought her pen and ink and spare card with her, but the implication of five more guests suddenly hit and caused tunnel vision. ‘Umm…with the extra guests…’ Victoria’s innards shrivelled. ‘Does that mean you’ve changed the seating plan?’
That plan had taken so very, very long already. One large board with all those two hundred and thirty-four names written yet again in flourished copperplate, plus titles for the table—surf beaches. The thought of redoing the entire thing sent Victoria’s brain spinning. The nerves in her hand shrieked.
‘Yes.’ Aurelie turned her beautiful face towards her, and drew up to her full height—almost a head taller than Victoria. ‘Will that be a problem?’
‘Not at all.’ Victoria somehow stretched her mouth into a smile and lied. She’d stitch back her eyelids and work round the clock for the next five days and nights to get this done—and she was going to need every one of those hours to do it.
She remembered being a bride, wanting everything to be perfect. She’d work as hard as she could to help Aurelie have everything the way she wanted. But while Victoria’s own ceremony had been fairy-tale pretty, her marriage to Oliver hadn’t been perfect. It had been a slow-imploding mess.
Working on Aurelie’s wedding would help her recovery, financially at any rate. There were so many privileged people coming, with her best work on show, she might get more commissions.
The irony of having a career where she helped people create their perfect weddings wasn’t lost on her, given her own spectacular matrimonial failure. But she wasn’t cynical. For the right couple, a wedding was a wonderful beginning.
Hopefully Aurelie’s fiancé was a decent guy. Victoria knew even less about him than she did about Aurelie. She hadn’t looked up any Internet info—the turnaround time was so tight she’d had to get straight on with writing. But she’d recognised the names of some of their guests—elite sports people, celebrities, models.
‘I’m sure I can count on you.’ Aurelie
