Page 50 of Strictly Pretend

But it’s all flooding back now. The memory of the last wedding, the phone call I had with Jemima. I let out a long breath.

“Don’t worry, I gave him and Jemima the worst room,” she tells me. “I wouldn’t have invited him at all, but his dad and minego way back.” She wrinkles her nose and squeezes my arm again. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here.”

The next room is the dining room, which is connected to the living room by an ornamental arch. I try to count the chairs around the table but give up at twenty. At the end of the room is an ancient-looking door, and when she opens it there are stairs. “My dad’s wine collection is down there,” she tells me. “Minus the bottles we’ll be using for the wedding.”

She takes me on a whirlwind tour of the place, and although we miss out on the entire upper floor where the family and their relations will stay, it still takes almost an hour before we’re walking outside. At the back of the building are a series of landscaped waterfalls. The sound of the water hitting the surface of each pool is strangely relaxing.

“Okay, and the best bit. See over there?” she says, pointing to her right. I squint my eyes and follow the direction of her finger. “That’s where you’ll be staying.”

There are a series of what look like white buildings. But as I look closer I can see they’re not buildings. They’re tents.

“Aren’t they gorgeous?” she says, clapping her hands. “Daddy paid a company to install a hundred yurts. He was moaning because if he hadn’t had such short notice for the wedding he could have built a little village. He’s kind of grumpy about that.”

“A village?” What is he, some kind of medieval duke? Wait, did they even have dukes in medieval days? I file that thought away, because I don’t have time to follow it down the rabbit hole.

She shrugs. “He has way too much money and too little sense. But listen, the yurts are gorgeous, I promise. They have proper beds and bathrooms. They’re like being in a hotel room, but also in a tent.” She rolls her lip between her teeth. “Will and Jemima are staying in the house.” She lowers her voice. “But if it makes you feel any better I put them in the servant’s quarters, so you don’t have to worry about bumping into themdown there. The yurt village is full of the coolest people. And there’s a hospitality tent and a band playing every night up to the wedding.”

“Where is the ceremony taking place?” I ask her. Because as beautiful – and as huge – as her family home is, there is no sign of decorations.

“Over there,” she says, pointing in the other direction. “Daddy had time to build a series of barns, at least. We’ll be taking everybody in wagons and on horses. He insisted.”

I can barely see the buildings, they’re so far away. But I take her word that they’re big enough to host a wedding of this size. At the last count she said she had over six hundred guests.

“Come on, let’s get you over to your yurt and settled,” she says as we walk back into the house. When we make it to the hallway – another minute of walking later – Brooks is standing there, leaning against the wall. “Tonight we’re all having dinner by the lake. A huge barbecue. Then tomorrow the girls and boys separate for our bachelor and bachelorette parties. And on Saturday we have the ceremony.”

At the sound of our heels clicking against the tiled floor he looks up, Brooks’ gaze catches mine. He rolled up his sleeves, his hands stuffed in his pockets. Slowly he pulls them out and walks over to us.

“How was the tour?” he asks, his voice low. He takes my hand and brushes his lips against my cheek, whispering in my ear. “You need to check your messages,” he tells me.

I hadn’t even thought to turn on my phone. And now I feel bad because I should have called Granddad as soon as we landed. But my mind was on other things.

“Okay.” I nod, trying to give him the sweetest smile, even though he’s turned back into grumpy Brooks.

“If you’d like to follow me, one of our ranch hands will take you down to your accommodation,” Sam says, appearing fromwhat feels like nowhere to open the door. “Cassie, your mother is looking for you.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Damn, I guess I can’t avoid her forever. She has this real bee in her bonnet about the way I want to arrive at the ceremony.” She leans forward and kisses my cheek. “You and Brooks settle in.” She winks. “The beds in those yurts are super comfy. Don’t ask me how I know.”

CHAPTER

THIRTEEN

EMMA

As soon as Cassie heads to find her mom, Sam takes us to our transport, which turns out to be a horse and cart, which is basically comprised of a wooden platform with bench seats attached, and four huge black wheels with spokes bigger than my legs. At the front, harnessed up is a beautifully haughty white horse who bares his teeth at us as we walk past him.

Holding him is our driver, who introduces himself as Tex, because apparently he was born in Texas.

“Don’t mind him,” Tex drawls, shaking his head at the horse who’s still looking at us as though we’re the worst things he’s ever seen. “He’s pissed because I woke him up.”

“He reminds me of you,” I say to Brooks as he helps me onto the carriage.

“Funny, I was going to say the same thing.”

There’s no elegant way to climb into a carriage. I clamber up, landing on my knees, then climb onto the bench, thanking the gods of clothing that I wore yoga pants to travel in and not – say – a mini skirt.

Brooks has the benefit of long legs and stupidly muscular arms, and even though he’s in a suit he looks annoyingly elegant as he takes the seat next to me.

“Giddy up,” Tex says, shaking the reins.

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