Page 11 of Beautiful Revenge
“This will be the perfect place to pretend to lick my wounds. I don’t plan on leaving anytime soon. I just wish you could be here, too, but there’s no one else on earth I trust but you.”
Chrissie’s tone turns grave. “I’ll do whatever I can. You know I will.”
“I’m counting on you.”
“I’ll take care of things here, but you need to prepare forthe battle you just incited. I’ll let you know when things are settled.”
“I know this is above and beyond. Thank you.”
“Hang on, Harlow.” Chrissie does what she does best and hands out orders to those around her. I hear voices in the background and a scurry of movement before she returns. “I’ve got to go. Whatever you do, don’t leave Winslet. We’ve got a long haul ahead of us, but this will settle eventually. When it does, they’ll pay.”
“Be careful, Chrissie, and keep in touch,” I demand.
“You’re the one with the target on your back, and you’re telling me to be careful,” she mutters. “I’ll be watching TMZ for the news to hit.”
Albert turns to lean in and speak to the officiant. I might be stories high and looking down on them from a bird’s-eye view, but it’s easy to see that my fiancé is doing his best to keep his cool. And I can tell his best isn’t enough.
This is more satisfying than I thought it would be.
A small smile plays on my lips as I watch it play out and continue to talk to Chrissie. “It’s going to be epic. Beautiful, even.”
“That it will be. Still, be careful, and call me soon.”
“Will do.” I disconnect the call and slide my cell into my back pocket.
That’s when I see my English hero who had no idea what he signed up for when he booked the Madison-Humphries wedding. The poor man thought The Manor at Winslet—in all her elegance and glory—would play host to the A-list event of the year. I’m no pop star, but there are a few singers, actors, and even politicians in attendance. Janie likes to keep her contact list varied.
No, I’m sure when Devon Donnelly woke up this morning, he thought he’d be zipping me around in a golf cart, not walking down the aisle to my fiancé to deliver a note like we’re in middle school.
And there he is, stalking through the winding gardens with an older woman in a floral dress and low heels practically skipping to catch up. I vaguely remember her from the front desk when I arrived two days ago.
I was so set on trying to convince Devon to do my dirty work, I didn’t appreciate his formal black suit, black shirt, and black silk tie. Not everyone can pull off black on black on black, but he can. Maybe he’s dressed to blend in, but it doesn’t matter. He stands out and looks good doing it.
Very good.
I’m going to think of it more like he was dressing for the death of my marriage before it had the chance to begin.
I’d say he’s as stately as his manor if it weren’t for the aviators—his varied choice of sunnies for the day—that he’s added to his ensemble before walking the grounds.
And the sight of him approaching Albert makes me feel better about what’s about to happen. The only person I could truly count on in life before today was Chrissie, but it looks like I can add Devon to that list. He might as well be my savior at the moment.
Maybe a loathing one, but a savior all the same.
I cringe and feel bad for Devon, but not enough to trade places with him.
I completely chickened out. There’s no way in hell I want to be anywhere near Albert, the mothers, or the guests. I’ll hide out in this suite for as long as I have to.
Devon will just have to get used to me being a staple in Winslet for the time being.
Devon
“Mr. Donnelly, I thought you were going to fetch the bride? The guests are getting restless. Everyone is waiting!”
Felicity has to double time it to keep up with me, but I don’t slow my stride. I’m on a mission to get this shit over with.
I’m sure Harlow is probably packing her bags at this point. The sooner this is over, the better.
I glance down at the woman who runs the front desk. Since the Madisons and Humphries booked the entire place for the weekend, Felicity is helping out behind the scenes.
