Page 18 of Take the Wheel

‘Ms Stark,’ he said, dipping his head in greeting. His voice was smooth and refined, carrying just enough weight to make itclear he was the gatekeeper to this world, if not a participant. His gaze flickered briefly to Nancy. ‘And guest.’

Nancy barely resisted the urge to straighten her posture. Ari, on the other hand, flashed the butler a winning smile, utterly unbothered by the formality of it all. ‘You remembered me, Laurence. I’m touched.’

‘You didn’t make the reception last night,’ Laurence replied, neither confirming nor denying Ari’s statement. ‘Were you detained?’

Ari shrugged. ‘Flat tyre. Sorry.’

‘Of course.’ He stepped aside, gesturing for them to enter. ‘Please, allow me to take you through to the garden. The guests are gathering for drinks.’

Without another word, he turned on his heel and led them down a polished hallway lined with ancestral portraits, past an ornate staircase that spiralled towards the upper floors.

Nancy kept her steps measured, resisting the urge to rubberneck at the sheer opulence surrounding her. She was not staff today. She was a date. Ari, however, walked like she owned the place, her stride lazy and confident.

Laurence pushed open a set of French doors, and they were met with the sight of a sprawling garden. The air was thick with the scent of freshly cut grass, and clusters of guests, who might as well have come dressed in outfits made of fifty-pound notes, were already mingling around tables set with crystal glasses and carafes of chilled white wine.

Laurence stepped aside with a small bow of his head. ‘If you require anything, do not hesitate to ask.’

Ari gave him an affectionate tap on the shoulder. ‘I never do, Laurence. Super high maintenance, as you’ll recall.’ He nearly smiled as he left them.

‘There she is,’ Ari muttered from between gritted teeth.

Nancy spotted them across the lawn, surrounded by a gaggle of well-wishers. The bride, Paris—a vision in what Nancy, thanks to Ari, had learned was probably Valentino—with her hair perfectly styled and a bright smile plastered across her face, seemed to embody the very essence of joy. But only if you didn’t look too hard.

Nancy squinted slightly, trying to pinpoint what it was that unsettled her about Paris. She was objectively stunning with symmetrical features, luminous skin, and the kind of effortless poise that came from a lifetime of being admired. But there was something about her perfection that felt utterly manufactured, like a face airbrushed just a little too much. Even her laughter, bright and melodic, had the careful precision of someone who knew how to be watched.

Nancy folded her arms. ‘Well, she looks… euphoric.’

Ari let out a breath that sounded dangerously close to a sigh. ‘Doesn’t she just.’

Next to Paris stood the groom, cutting a square figure, muscles packed into more couture, looking equally radiant as he laughed at something one of the guests had said.

‘What’s his name?’ Nancy asked.

Ari looked blank. ‘Hold on.’ She took out her phone. ‘Oh, it’s Callum. Classic Scottish hunk name,’ she said with a little derision. She took a deep breath. ‘Ready to dive into the madness?’

Nancy smiled. Or rather, she bared her teeth. ‘Ready as I’ll ever be,’ she replied.

As Nancy and Ari approached the bride and groom, the air buzzed with excitement. Paris turned her attention to Ari, hereyes sparkling with delight. ‘Ari! You made it!’ she exclaimed, her arms opening wide for an embrace.

Ari stepped forward and hugged Paris. ‘Of course! I wouldn’t miss it for the world!’ she declared. Even Nancy nearly believed it.

Nancy stood slightly apart, feeling like an intruder in a moment. Paris’s eyes shifted to her, curiosity flickering beneath the surface. ‘And who’s your friend?’

Ari turned, gesturing towards Nancy. ‘Oh, this is Nancy. She’s…’ Her voice trailed off, and Nancy could see the wheels turning in Ari’s mind as she searched for the right words to introduce her. ‘My date.’

‘Nice to meet you, Nancy,’ Paris said, her tone friendly but with an edge of suspicion. She looked Nancy up and down, assessing every last square inch of her. ‘How do you know Ari?’

Nancy kept her smile plastered on her face. ‘Um, we met through… mutual friends,’ she stammered, scrambling to keep her answer vague.

‘Right,’ Paris replied, her expression remaining neutral, but Nancy could sense the lingering doubt. She looked at Ari. ‘I wasn’t sure if you were bringing anyone along.’

‘I ticked plus one,’ Ari reminded her.

Paris gave her a condescending smile. ‘Of course.’ She turned to Nancy. ‘Well, it’s lovely to have you here. What do you do?’

Nancy realised that she had no backstory worked out. Was she rich? She should probably be rich. ‘I work in the city.’

‘Oh, finance? You don’t look like a stockbroker. They’re usually so…pressed.’ Paris’s gaze skimmed over Nancy.

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