Chapter 4 - The Rehearsal Dinner Crash
The Marble House ballroom looked like the inside of a jewel box lined with gold leaf.
Three hundred people stood beneath the soaring, frescoed ceilings, their voices blending into a polished roar of social self-congratulation. Women in pastel silks and diamonds drifted past waiters bearing silver trays of vintage Krug. At the center of the terrace, overlooking the dark lawn that sloped down to the Atlantic, Carter Hayes held court.
He wore a bespoke Ralph Lauren tuxedo with a peak lapel. His blond hair was brushed back with casual perfection, his smile flashing as he accepted the congratulations of an elderly senator. Beside him stood Madison Tierney, slender as a reed, draped in pale blush Valentino, looking like a girl who had never in her life heard the word *no*.
“Look at him,” Harper murmured.
She stood with Julian at the top of the marble staircase leading down into the ballroom.
Julian looked down at her. Vito’s creation—the *abissale* dress—had been cut with brutal, architectural elegance. The neckline was square and low, highlighting the pale expanse of her collarbones; the skirt fell in heavy, unyielding pleats that rustled like dry leaves with every step. Around her neck sat a single piece of jewelry Julian had handed her in the car: a platinum choker set with three raw, uncut emeralds that looked older than the house they were standing in.
“Are you ready?” Julian asked.
Harper drew in a long, cold breath. Her chin went up.
“Lead the way, Mr. Cross.”
Julian offered his arm. Harper took it. His forearm was like steel under the wool of his tuxedo.
They descended the marble stairs.
It didn't happen all at once. It happened in waves, like ripples in a pond after a stone breaks the surface. First, two younger analysts from Carter’s firm turned, their glasses pausing halfway to their mouths. Then Mrs. Tierney, standing near the string quartet, adjusted her lorgnette, her forehead wrinkling in confusion.
Then Carter turned.
The smile on his face didn't fade—it shattered. His blue eyes widened, his lips parting slightly as his brain struggled to reconcile the image of the woman he had dumped in a Brooklyn kitchen with the striking, aristocratic figure descending the stairs on the arm of a man whose presence in that room was an impossibility.
“Harper?” Carter’s voice was too loud, cutting through the nearest circle of guests.
Madison turned, her blue eyes narrowing. “Who is that, Carter?”
Harper didn't hurry. Julian matched her pace, step for measured step, guiding her through the crowd that instinctively parted before them. Julian didn't look at the guests; his gaze was fixed entirely on Carter with the cool, indifferent appraisal of a surgeon looking at a tumor.
“Carter,” Harper said smoothly, stopping three feet away. “Madison. The decorations are… remarkably thorough.”
Carter looked from Harper to Julian, his complexion shifting from sun-kissed Hamptons bronze to the greyish hue of wet cement.
“Cross,” Carter choked out. The name sounded like broken glass in his throat.
“Hayes,” Julian said mildly. “You look nervous. Marriages are supposed to be joyous occasions. Or did the closing price on the Malta bond issue rattle you this morning?”
Carter flinched. It was a tiny movement, but Harper saw it—the sudden terror in his eyes, the quick, frantic dart of his gaze toward the far corner of the room.
Harper followed his line of sight.
Standing near the tall French doors, surrounded by three men in dark suits who did not look like Newport socialites, stood Arthur Tierney. The patriarch of Tierney Capital was sixty, with silver hair, cold blue eyes, and the broad, thick build of a former collegiate rower.
Tierney was staring at Julian. His glass of scotch remained stationary against his chest.
“Harper,” Carter stammered, stepping toward her, trying to regain his footing. “I… we didn't think you’d actually make the trip. Especially… not with…”
“With Julian?” Harper asked, letting her fingers slide down Julian’s forearm until her hand rested comfortably in his. Julian’s fingers closed over hers immediately—warm, steady, and unmistakably possessive. “Why wouldn't I? When you sent that lovely note saying it would be good for everyone to see we’re okay, I realized you were right. Closure is so important, Carter. Particularly before you take on so much… additional liability.”
Madison Tierney stepped forward, her voice sharp as a razor. “I’m sorry, who invited you into this private dinner?”
“I did,” Carter whispered, looking as though he wanted the marble floor to open and swallow him whole.
“Miss Tierney,” Julian said, bowing his head with impeccable, mocking courtliness. “A stunning evening. Your father’s taste in venues remains as… imperial as ever. Please tell him I received his shipment from Antwerp. We’ll discuss the tariff discrepancy after the vows tomorrow.”
Madison looked bewildered. “The tariff discrepancy? Carter, what is he talking about?”
“Nothing, Maddy, it’s… business. Julian, please, not here.”
“I’m not conducting business, Carter,” Julian said, stepping closer. He was three inches taller than Carter, and twice as wide across the chest. The difference in their gravity was devastating. “I’m simply escorting my date. Now, if you’ll excuse us, Harper hasn't tried the Beluga yet, and I hear your father bought the entire summer catch to keep it out of the public markets.”
Julian turned Harper smoothly, his hand moving to the small of her back. The touch was firm, protective, and burned straight through the silk of her gown.
As they walked toward the terrace, Harper heard Carter’s ragged intake of breath behind them, followed by Madison’s furious whisper: *“Carter, who the hell is that man?”*
Harper felt a wild, dark laughter bubbling up in her throat. She looked up at Julian’s profile.
“One down,” she murmured.
May you like
“Not yet,” Julian said, his eyes scanning the terrace perimeter. “Tierney just signaled his head of security. Don't look back, Harper. Walk straight into the garden.”
***
