“Thought that was your overkill convoy,” Noah replied with a crooked grin, striding forward. The two men embraced briefly, a solid, brotherly hug followed by a hearty back-slap.
“Still bringing the entire Secret Service with you, I see,” Noah teased.
James’s grin widened, shaking his head. “They worry more than I do. Perks of being a hostage risk.”
Caroline stepped forward, her heels clicking on the gravel. “You must be Mr. Langston,” she said, extending a pristine manicured hand.
“It’s Noah,” he corrected, nodding with a half-smile. “Glad to have you both here.”
James looked around, hands on his hips, taking in the picturesque vineyards and the stately estate. “Still can’t believe this is your place now. It looks even better than the photos.”
“It’s the vines,” Noah said simply, a hint of pride in his voice. “They like an audience.”
Caroline’s mouth curved knowingly. “Let’s hope they perform well for the wedding photos.”
I stepped forward then, crossing the gravel towards the group. Caroline was the first to notice me, her expression warming as she leaned in to greet me with two perfectly executed air kisses, one on each side.
“Holly. It’s so good to see you again.”
“Likewise,” I replied kindly, returning the gesture. “Welcome to Langston Estate. Your rooms are ready, and I’ve sent over the itinerary, printed and digital, of course.”
James turned towards me, an easy grin spreading across his face. “You must be the infamous Holly. I’ve heard you’re the best in the business, the one people call when they want the kind of wedding everyone talks about for years to come.”
I lifted my chin slightly, a confident smile tugging at my lips. “Guilty as charged. If someone wants perfection, down to the last petal and place card, I usually get the call.”
I glanced over at Cleo and added, “But I couldn’t do it without my Cleo.”
At that moment, the purr of a vintage Rolls-Royce floated up the drive, the unmistakable sound slicing through the quiet morning.
Cleo leaned closer to me, listening again to her earpiece, her voice low and full of mischief. “The Queen approaches.”
The car’s polished chrome caught the morning sunlight, sparkling as it rolled to a stop near the group.
A chauffeur opened the door with practised precision, and Margaret Harrington stepped out. Regal in a pastel blue suit cut to command attention, her hair set into a no-nonsense style, she wore pearl earrings that blinked like tiny stars.
Everything about her suggested a woman who’d spent a lifetime mastering control, of herself, her family, and probably everyone within a ten-metre radius.
Her sharp gaze swept across the estate, taking everything in, from the gravel path to the vineyards beyond, as though she were mentally grading it all.
Behind her, Richard Harrington climbed out of the car a little more slowly, adjusting his pocket square with the ease of a man used to wearing suits on the daily. His glance at the vineyard was brief, almost dismissive, though I could tell his mind was already tallying its worth down to the last vine.
“Hello Mother, Father,” Caroline said, standing a little taller. “I see you’ve brought Grandmother’s Rolls out for the occasion?”
Margaret leaned in, greeting her with two air kisses so precise they could’ve been choreographed. “Darling, you look tired. Have you been sleeping? Your under-eye area—”
Caroline gave a tight smile, smoothing the front of her coat. “I’m fine, Mother. It’s just the travel.”
“Hello, Margaret,” James greeted, stepping forward.
She regarded him coolly. “James. This place is so… rustic, isn’t it?”
Richard extended a hand towards James. “Son. This the vineyard?”
James nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Richard nodded thoughtfully. “Solid acreage. Looks profitable.”
James smiled. “I believe it is.”