Read the book: «Secrets Of The A-List Box Set, Volume 3»

Chapter One

What the fuck are you doing?

Thom tried to suppress the voice in his head as it screamed louder. Was he really doing this? Here, in front of all these people, had he just objected to his own wedding? Who the hell did that?

It seemed surreal, and yet, the words he’d uttered moments ago glared like neon signs in his mind. Better still, the words felt right.

The hush that had settled over the crowd at his brash announcement started to fracture. Mute shock gave way to wide-eyed speculation then super-eager anticipation of salacious gossip on which to dine on for the rest of the year. Well, not quite a year. One month, tops. This was TMZ Central, after all.

He glanced at the woman by his side. Elana had paled. For the first time since he’d known her, she looked green around the gills, even worse than she had after Harrison’s accident. Her wide, uncertain gaze held his, the bouquet clutched tight in her fist trembling a little. But within that look, he caught something else. Relief, perhaps? Or was he projecting his own feelings onto her? What the hell did that matter now?

Sweet freedom beckoned. He could taste it at the back of his throat. With a few words, this nightmare of living in the darkest part of the closet would be over.

But... Jesus...at what cost?

“Thom?”

He blinked.

Elana’s voice was as shaky as he felt.

He tightened his gut against the anxiety he heard in her voice. She could be wild and frivolous sometimes, but Elana was still human. And he was fucking up what should be her perfect day.

He was fucking up the day for everyone. Including his parents.

Shit. His parents. He could feel their gazes boring into his back, his mother’s especially. He didn’t need to turn around to see her narrow-eyed are-you-outta-your-mind? stare.

They would hate him for doing this. Enough to disown him? Maybe. Maybe not. He had the advantage of being the only child to eventually sway them, but still, love and hate could cohabit just fine. He should know. It was what he felt each time he looked in the mirror and acknowledged the fact that was still hiding his true self.

This alliance meant a great deal to his parents.

But, hell, wasn’t it time he stood his ground? Claim the life he truly wanted for himself, instead of living this sham?

Elana was still staring at him. Her eyes were slowly narrowing with that curious mix of anxiety and resignation.

Behind him, the crowd waited, expectant.

He swallowed past the rock in his throat and turned, carefully avoiding looking at where his parents were seated and focused somewhere in the middle distance.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I know what you’re all thinking—what the hell is he up to? But, hey, the groom needs a little attention at his own wedding, too, am I right?” His laughter sounded forced, even to his own ears.

A smattering of nervous laughter. More than a few disappointed expressions that said they’d hoped for something more earth-shattering than his pathetic joke. Nevertheless, they were all poised on the edges of their seats. They sensed there was more to come.

For a moment, his gaze dropped to the VIP section on the front rows. His future mother-in-law’s megawatt smile was flawless but fixed, her eyes demanding to know what the hell was going on. He hurriedly looked away. He couldn’t afford to waver.

He needed to do this.

“First of all, I’d like to thank you all for coming, even if most of you are here to see the most beautiful woman in the world marry a nobody like me.” Self-deprecating laughter, joined in by one or two. More exchanged looks. Mariella’s eyes started to narrow as more guests fidgeted. His gut churned harder.

Come on. Time to stop fucking around and man up.

“Seriously, though, there have been many times in the last few months when I’ve been overawed and so honored at the thought of becoming a part of the wonderful Marshall family. To be honest, I’ve also wondered why a gorgeous creature like Elana agreed to marry me in the first place. I know how many of you guys out there would kill to be in my shoes.”

Shit. Kill? Really? With an inward grimace, he pushed back thoughts of the Fixer and the threat hovering over his head and plowed on. “God knows I don’t deserve her.” He stopped, sucked in a breath. He tried to halt the haziness encroaching the edges of his consciousness from taking over. “And it’s because I don’t deserve her that I...that I just can’t bring myself to—”

From the corner of his eye, he saw a single figure rise from his seat. The movement was unhurried, indolent even, as if the guest was merely excusing himself to take a stroll.

But still, Thom’s words caught in his throat. Because he knew exactly who it was. Even before he turned his head to confirm his identity.

Icy fingers of dread crept down his spine as he watched Gabe walk calmly over to Thom’s family’s side of the seated guests. Watched him station himself with silent menace next to his father. Samuel Scott glanced up, a little puzzled by Gabe’s presence beside him, but he wasn’t distracted for long. Like everyone else present, he was too caught up in the spectacle his son was causing to be interested in much else. And to anyone else watching, they would’ve thought Gabe was there to offer support for whatever was coming. But Thom read the clear intent in his dark eyes.

Say what I think you’re about to say and your life is over.

Back out of this now and I’ll destroy you.

Thom read them and understood that the Fixer wouldn’t hesitate to strike where it hurt the most. Destroying the union he didn’t want even before he’d taken his vows was one thing. Having his closet door thrown wide-open, risking his career and reputation, would be extremely hard to take. But he would survive it. But was the Fixer now threatening his parents?

Like a popped balloon, the bravado he’d been high on a minute ago drained out of him. Palm clammy, he took Elana’s hand, forced himself to look into her eyes.

“It’s because I don’t deserve her that I just couldn’t let his moment pass without giving her the chance to object. But now I realize I don’t want her to. She’s here, standing by my side, ready to allow me this opportunity to promise to be the best husband I can be.” He lifted her hand, brought it to his lips and brushed a kiss over her knuckles. A small exhalation popped from between her lips. “And I will be, Elana. I promise you that if you’ll have me, I’ll spend the rest of my life making you happy. Deal?”

The alarm slowly drained from her eyes. In fact, every emotion drained out of her eyes for a startling minute.

Then she was smiling that flawless Marshall smile, her gaze sweeping away from his before it returned. Resolute. “Deal.”

The scent of scandalous drama denied lingered in the courtyard for a taut, silent few seconds. Then someone in the crowd clapped. Several hands joined in the applause. A bunch of awws followed.

And just like that, his life was once again on the straight and narrow.

Thom suppressed the buzzing in his head long enough to follow the instruction of the minister, long enough to utter the words that condemned his whole existence as a lie. And before he knew it, the cold band of gold had sealed him in his eternal prison.

* * *

Gabe returned to his seat, ignoring the speculative stares that followed him. Mariella glanced at him with a mixture of relief and curiosity. He threw out a hell-if-I-know shrug, unfastened the single button that held his bespoke tuxedo jacket and sat down. He knew he’d gotten away with not being grilled because his aunt was relieved and overjoyed that another small hiccup had been overcome.

He gritted his teeth. He couldn’t believe Thom had nearly thrown a monkey wrench in the works. The cold sweat that had broken over him when he realized what Thom was up to still lingered. For a single moment, he toyed with teaching the bastard a lesson anyway, just to ensure he didn’t get any other bright ideas down the line.

But no. The message he’d sent had hit home. He’d seen it in Thom’s eyes. Still, he intended to keep a close eye on him.

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Thom, you may kiss your bride.”

He watched the newly married couple turn to stare at each other, each hiding their hundred and one secrets. Thom’s gaze flicked over to him for a millisecond. Gabe, very much aware of the photographer recording every second of the proceedings, made sure his face was devoid of all emotion except brotherly, congratulatory acceptance.

Thom’s gaze returned to his bride. He took Elana in his arms and pressed his mouth to hers.

The crowd went wild.

“Gracias a Dios,” Mariella murmured fervently under her breath.

Gabe rose with the rest of the guests as the recessional began to play. The smiling couple stepped down from the altar and started down the aisle, laughing with joy as white rose petals and expensive silver glitter were thrown their way. His cousin blushed. Thom laughed and leaned down to his mother as she stepped up to him, whispered something in his ear before she kissed his forehead.

Sharply dressed ushers started directing guests down the aisle.

Taking his aunt’s arm, Gabe smiled wide and breathed a silent sigh of relief.

Another fucking crisis averted.

For now.

* * *

Luc watched the newly married couple waltz gracefully to “Thinking Out Loud” by Ed Sheeran. The spotlight in the impeccably decorated grand ballroom hit the bride and groom just right, highlighting his sister’s exquisitely designed gown and the impressive figure the groom cut in his tuxedo as they executed their first dance as husband and wife.

Thom said something to Elana that made her laugh before she leaned in to whisper in his ear. Whatever she said drew a wide grin from him. He twirled her away from him and caught her back with the suave elegance and confidence of a born sophisticate. From every angle, they cut a dashing, eye-catching figure, the very epitome of envy-inducing wealth, youth and power.

Luc caught a few wistful sighs and more than a few green-eyed looks directed at his sister and his newly minted brother-in-law. Wisps of conversation swirled around him. A couple of grandma types commented on how lovely the flowers were. How gorgeous the new couple looked. How soon they would be having children.

Really?

For fuck’s sake. They’d only been married five seconds. Of course, it didn’t take long before the good old-fashioned celeb bitchy comments about everything from the décor to the quality of the caviar, filtered through. He walked away as one guest started a knock knock joke about Elana’s dress. It was that or ruin his sister’s wedding by punching a guest in the face.

He had to admit he wasn’t surprised though that speculation was so rife. There’d been a hot minute during the ceremony when he’d thought Thom was about to hightail it out of there.

He grimaced.

Clearly, his brother-in-law had fast developed the flair for the dramatic that some members of his family were fond of. That was the sort of shit Luc wouldn’t have put past Rafe. Or even Elana herself considering the locking-herself-in-the-bathroom stunt she’d pulled earlier. He hadn’t expected it from Thom, though. Hell, for a moment he’d thought the guy had been ready to bail—

“Dance with me, baby.”

He abandoned his thoughts and glanced down. Rachel was smiling up at him, her eyes bright with a new kind of light that scared the shit out of him. His proposal had fueled a zeal in her that he knew most newly engaged women fell prey to, but his sister’s wedding seemed to have added an extra layer of determination. One he wasn’t altogether comfortable around. He let Rachel tug him onto the dance floor. A beam of light fell on her. Luc had to admit she looked gorgeous. Every inch the kind of woman a man like him married. Had he already told her she looked gorgeous? He couldn’t remember. Wonder of wonders, his mind had been somewhere else. On someone else, the way it stubbornly strayed these days.

Dammit. Why couldn’t he—

“Wasn’t the ceremony wonderful?” Rachel gushed.

He looked down at the woman in his arms. The woman he’d asked to marry him. He needed to stop thinking about the other woman, concentrate on this one.

“Uh-huh.”

She smiled. “Their vows were divine. I thought they’d go another way, make it really personal, but I guess Thom’s little speech was great, too. Do you think we should do that? Have personalized speeches?”

Luc shrugged. “Sure, why not?” he muttered.

“Hmm, I don’t know if I want to go down that route. My family are sticklers for tradition. They’ll probably want the ancient verse, right down to the honor-and-obey bit,” she said with a cute wrinkle of her nose.

“Whatever you want, baby,” he said, only half listening.

She slid her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his. “I’ll do it if you want, but the only place I intend to obey is in the bedroom. I’ll let you be my master there any time you want, Luc.”

Another brush of her body against his refocused his wayward thoughts. He wasn’t made of wood, after all. He settled his hands on her narrow waist and swayed with her, even managed a smile. He needed to pay her more attention. More compliments. Rachel loved that. He needed to remember that his girlfriend—no, fiancée—got sulky when she thought she had competition. She especially didn’t do well around other women more entitled to the limelight than she was. Like a bride. Or a certain housekeeper.

He opened his mouth to do just that.

And swallowed a curse when Vanessa and her date glided by. Where the hell did she even find him? And what the hell was he saying to her to make her smile like that? Laugh like that?

Luc’s stomach clenched against the husky sound of her laughter as they danced past.

She didn’t once glance Luc’s way, although he was less than three feet away. It was as if he didn’t fucking exist for her. Jealousy and anger congealed in his stomach.

He felt Rachel wince and realized his fingers had tightened around her. He opened his mouth to apologize, then thought the better of it. Doing so would invite questions he didn’t want to answer.

So he pulled his fiancée even closer, pressed his cheek to hers. And danced them away from the woman he couldn’t get out of his head.

* * *

“Dance with your mama, querido.”

The words, whispered in his right ear from behind him, made Gabe’s spine tense.

Shit. He’d been too busy watching Thom and a few key people in the room that he hadn’t clocked Ana heading his way until it was too late. A second later, she sashayed to a stop in front of him, blocking his view of everyone else in the room.

“Stop calling me that,” he said under his breath, thankful the music was too loud for them to be overheard.

A crestfallen expression drifted down her face. All practiced, right down to the tail end of the wince that followed. Gabe wasn’t moved. Nothing about this woman moved him. What did surprise him, though, was that she’d stuck around in Santa Barbara this long. On the few occasions she visited, she tended to split as soon as Harrison or Mariella scrawled a handful of zeros on a check.

She was up to something. He was almost sure of it.

But he had too much to deal with tonight to include the woman who’d given birth to him on his to-do list. He’d find out soon enough.

Also, he needed her to stop looking at him with those mournful eyes before she sparked another torrent of rumors.

Resigned, he held out his hand and watched her brighten dramatically.

Her pleasure seemed so genuine that, as he led her to the dance floor, Gabe wondered if perhaps his mother had gained a tiny fraction of humanity.

* * *

“Are you happy?”

It took concerted effort for Mariella not to startle as she waltzed across the floor in Joe’s arms.

There were so many ways she wanted to answer that question. A few short weeks ago, she would’ve said yes, with perhaps a hint of cynicism. Hell, a few days ago she would’ve imagined herself happy enough to be incapable of doing what she’d done with Joe on the beach, and last night in his room. So much had changed, while so much remained the same. Was she happy? Hell, no.

The scales had been cruelly peeled from her eyes.

But this was her only daughter’s wedding. So Mariella chose the most obvious answer as her daughter and new son-in-law glided across the dance floor, complemented by their bridesmaids and groomsmen.

Elana was smiling, but Mariella knew it, too, was a facade, not the happily-ever-after smile of a blissful bride. Had there ever been such a thing, she thought cynically. Had any woman ever found a love that lasted forever? Who was truly, madly, deeply happy without an ounce of heartache or disappointment?

“Mariella?”

She blinked and refocused on Joe as his arm tightened around her a fraction with the question. This close, she could feel his hard torso, his powerful thighs. The outline of his cock. The memory of what he’d done to her mere hours ago dragged slowly across her senses. Firing her up. She wanted to sway closer still. Brush her own thighs against his and deepen the intimacy.

But. No.

“I’m happy my Elana is married,” she replied to his first question. “Now I have one less thing to worry about when I go to sleep at night. Thom is dependable. He’s successful, ambitious and rich.” She shrugged. “What else can a mother ask for?” she asked.

A look passed over Joe’s face. She knew she hadn’t answered to his satisfaction. But she didn’t intend to. Not here. Not now. Maybe never. How could she, when she had no clue herself?

His answer was to smile down at her, the arm around her waist drawing her a fraction closer.

She sighed.

A few familiar faces were staring at them from the edge of the dance floor. Her sister, as she danced with Gabe.

Teresa St. Claire, the wedding planner and MSM team member, looked refreshingly different in a dress despite her customary headset attached.

A few of the women from the handful of specially selected charities who she hadn’t been able to not invite, despite despising them.

Gossipmongers and carrion lovers. One or two were even brazen enough to openly gossip about her, their rabid eyes fixed on her and Joe as they sipped the vintage Krug Clos d’Ambonnay and nibbled on Iranian Almas caviar on crackers she’d provided.

She should care about the gossip.

She should create some distance between herself and Joe, or she risked inviting the kind of speculation she couldn’t afford right now, when her whole world seemed to be poised on the edge of an abyss.

She would.

As soon as the song ended.

* * *

Look at them, gliding around in their ten-thousand-dollar dresses and priceless diamonds. Self-absorbed. Pampered and primped and made to think they were kings and queens. Not a care in the world.

The urge to bare her teeth and scream out her secret rose like a tidal wave within Nora. She could march onto that dance floor right now, drop her grenade in the middle of their snobbish existence and watch their world detonate.

And why not?

Harrison, the handsome fool, deserved it for abandoning her. Would she feel an ounce of remorse?

Absolument pas.

They all deserved it.

She didn’t doubt that each and every one of them would look down their fake noses at her if they knew who she was and what she’d been to their precious Harrison. He kept her tucked away at home in Paris like some dirty little secret.

Nora suppressed a bitter laugh. No, she didn’t plan on remaining a secret much longer. As for being little...well, her bump would tell its own tale in time.

A waiter walked past bearing a tray of the golden caviar Nora had only read about in Marie Claire and on Billionaire.com. Since her arrival at the reception, dozens of trays of the stuff had been carted around as if it cost nothing, except she knew the true cost of the world’s most expensive caviar. These people treated it like nothing when one mouthful could pay her rent for a month! Not that she’d ever paid rent. Since she’d turned sixteen, her many lovers always cared for her. And Harrison was no different. Until he walked out a few months ago, leaving her future uncertain...

She flicked her hand out to stop the waiter as he would’ve walked past her. For an instant he looked startled to see her standing there, in the shadows beside the delicate cake tree bearing three hundred cupcakes frosted with edible twenty-four-carat-gold leaf.

“I’m so sorry, ma’am, I didn’t see you there,” he blurted, confirming her suspicions.

She waved his apology away, took her time to spoon a heap of the expensive gold onto a delicate cracker, then flicked her hand in dismissal.

As he hurried away, she turned back to observe her quarry, musing on how best to strike for maximum effect and maximum gain. With a smile, she placed the cracker on her tongue, let the flavor of success suffuse her senses.

Her hand dropped to rub her bump. “Very soon, mon cher enfant, this will become our daily staple.”

* * *

Vanessa smiled as the band struck up a more up-tempo beat. The waltzes and slow smooch songs were fine for a bit, but while she’d thoroughly enjoyed the Cinderella dreaminess of it, the dancer in her preferred music that heated her blood and spoke to her soul. Even in this dress that cost more than she would earn in a year, even feeling as she did today—like a fairy-tale princess granted one night’s reprieve from drudgery—she couldn’t deny who she was. Or what she was.

Tomorrow would come soon enough, and with it the uniform that announced to whomever she came into contact with just what her role was within the esteemed Marshall household.

But right here, right now, she could pretend she was one of these people.

You are one of them.

She smothered the voice inside her head and smiled wider at her dapperly dressed dance partner.

“Thanks for agreeing to come with me. I’m sorry for the short notice.”

Her date, Bernard Atwater, raised his eyebrows. “Are you kidding? This is one of those times when I’m not ashamed to admit I don’t mind coming second on your list. Although I was a little surprised to hear from you. What happened to your date, anyway? Did she bail on you at the last minute?”

She laughed. “Yes. Her loss is your gain.” Joy had decided at the last minute not to come, preferring to stay back at Casa de Catalina and defy Mariella’s strong hint that she wanted all her staff to be here.

Vanessa got the feeling her absence wouldn’t go down well. One of the mounting set of negative marks the disgruntled chef was accumulating. Fireworks were brewing between her friend and her employer, and Vanessa, for one, wasn’t looking forward to the eruption.

She caught the smitten look in Bernard’s eyes. “You look sensational.” His gaze dropped to subtly brush her cleavage on the way down her body.

She tried to fight the blush that rose in her cheeks and failed miserably. The dress Mariella had lent her fit like a dream. Her jaw had dropped when she’d spotted the label. And she hated to be superficial, but God, the dress made her feel like a million bucks. Finally she was beginning to get why these filthy-rich people looked like they were walking on air all the time. Money certainly gave one a cushion against most things. Not everything, though...

“Thanks. But you don’t need to say things like that,” she murmured.

Bernard smiled. “Why not? It’s true.” He leaned closer. “I know I’m supposed to say the bride is the most beautiful woman in the room, but to be honest, you beat her hands down.”

Vanessa shook her head as she laughed. “Seriously, stop it.” She couldn’t let it go to her head.

Just like she couldn’t let this thing between her and Luc continue.

As if she’d conjured him straight from her imagination, he crossed her line of vision with his woman on his arm. Tall, broad shouldered, suave and elegant, he carried that inherent sophistication all the Marshalls seemed to have been born with so effortlessly, it was almost impossible to overlook him. The laughter dried in her throat, and her whole body stiffened before she could stop the reaction.

“Hey, what’s the matter? Did what I said offend you?” Bernard’s gaze held a touch of contrition.

She hurried to reassure him. “No, not at all. I just...there’s someone here that... I’m trying not to bump into someone and...” She stammered to a halt and hid a grimace.

“Someone like...an ex-boyfriend?” he inquired. His voice was light, but the question in his eyes was serious.

Her heart lurched. She and Luc Marshall could never have a relationship like that. Not that he seemed prepared to take the hint. Even now she could feel his gaze on her. She’d felt the sensation on and off throughout the day. “No. But he’s determined to be...something.” How could she elaborate without giving away her secret?