Do Not Disturb (44 page)

Sian finally managed to pull her away, steering her out into the lobby and on toward the bar before things got really out of hand.

“Honestly, Bels,” said Honor, once they’d gone. She was still shaking with shock. “I don’t feel comfortable. I’d rather go.”

“Listen,” said Arabella kindly, “if you leave now, it’d be tantamount to admitting that you
are
the marriage wrecker he’s made you out to be. Devon was the one who broke his vows, honey, not you. Let him leave if he wants to.”

“But…I’ll have to see him. At dinner. And Lola won’t let it go. I don’t want to ruin Minty’s big day.”

“Don’t worry about Lola. I’ll straighten her out. I’ll even throw her out if I have to. And you won’t have to see Devon at all if you don’t want to. There’s over a thousand people in that reception, and I happen to know for a fact that your table is about as far from his as it could be.”

Honor looked doubtful.

“Come on,” said Arabella, taking her hand. Apart from a couple of stragglers, they were the last ones left in the chapel. “You have to come out of hiding sometime. It may as well be now. I’m going to have Johnny fix you a big fuck-off martini, and then we’re walking into that ballroom with our heads held high. OK?”

Honor nodded miserably.

“Good,” said Arabella. She’d make a great White House Chief of Staff. Or head coach at a fat camp. “Follow me.”

The service itself may have been more farce than fabulous, but the reception was quite another matter. Having safely deposited Lola at the bar in the care of two ushers (unsurprisingly, they were more than happy to devote the rest of their evening to keeping an eye on a showstopping redhead while she got busy with the hard liquor), Sian set off into the throng to star-spot.

Not even at Palmers had she seen so many famous, wealthy people gathered in one room. Socialites, actresses, politicians, fashion designers: everyone was there. Sofia Coppola was loitering glamorously in one corner while in the other the Clintons were chatting with old friends. And not ten feet away stood Lola’s longtime role model, Donna Karan, outshining beauties half her age in a simple midnight-blue column dress that clung to her curves like a mud wrap.

By the time dinner was served, Sian’s brain was groaning with names and snippets of overheard conversation. If only she had her notebook with her! Still, with any luck she’d be able to
remember enough to put together a witty diary piece that she could pitch to the
Daily Mail
when she got back to London. The Brits pretended to be uninterested in the New York social scene. But beneath the veneer of disapproval, editors still fell over themselves for insider pieces like this. Especially if they had a decent celebrity angle.

Taking her seat, Sian looked around in vain for Lola at the bar, but she appeared to have vanished.

“Hello.”

She looked up to find Superman had taken the seat next to her.

“Is your friend not staying for dinner?” He gestured forlornly to the empty place opposite Lola’s name tag.

“She’s supposed to be,” Sian shrugged. “She’s having a micro-crisis tonight. Family trouble. I left her at the bar earlier, but she seems to have gone AWOL.”

His face fell. It was so cute, Sian had to laugh. He looked about two.

“I wouldn’t worry too much,” she said kindly. “She’ll turn up eventually. If it makes you feel any better, she already told me she thinks you’re cute.”

“She did?” The pout evaporated and his face lit up again like a firework.

Obviously, he wasn’t much of a liar. Which would make a refreshing change from the two-faced dickheads Lola usually went out with. Sian liked him at once.

“Scout’s honor,” she assured him. “She likes you. But for now you’re gonna have to settle for me, I’m afraid. Sian Doyle.” She thrust out her hand.

“I’m so sorry,” he stammered. “That was so rude not to introduce myself.” His accent was educated but deep enough to save it from sounding effeminate. “I’m Marti. Gluckman. Really, I feel awful. I don’t normally behave like a—”

“Goofy teenager?” offered Sian.

“Was I really that bad?” Marti blushed even deeper.

“Fraid so.”

“It’s just that your friend is so…mesmerizing,” he said dreamily.

“So I’m regularly told,” said Sian.

“I couldn’t find her after the service, but a guy told me her name. So I ran around every table in here trying to find where she was sitting. Which is more exercise than I’ve gotten in years, by the way. Have you seen how many people there are? Goddamn freeloaders.”

Sian laughed.

“Anyway, I finally found her, and I had to beg this weird Armenian guy to switch places with me—I don’t know, his English wasn’t the best. I think he thought I wanted to sleep with him later or something, but anyway, he moved. But now,” he sighed heavily, finally drawing a breath, “she’s not here. Although, obviously,” he added hastily, “it’s terrific to have met you. Sian Doyle.”

Despite this less than auspicious start to the conversation, the two of them were soon chatting away like old friends. Only when Marti left for the bathroom did Sian realize she’d been completely ignoring the girl sitting on her other side.

“Hi,” she said, turning around and realizing for the first time that the girl was actually supermodel stunning. Her thick black hair glugged like molasses down her bare back, the only flesh visible in the floor-length fire-hydrant-red dress she was wearing, and her skin was that gorgeous, smooth milk-chocolate color unique to South American women. Combined with her voluptuous figure, wide-set, nut-brown eyes, and perfect, naturally full lips, she looked every bit the storybook Inca princess.

Sian was all set to start hating her, but infuriatingly, she turned out to be perfectly charming.

“I would have introduced myself earlier,” she said, smiling shyly, “but you and your boyfriend seemed a bit, you know…engrossed. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Oh,” Sian laughed, “he’s not my boyfriend. We just met, actually. He wants to put the moves on my friend, but she’s already hooked up with a Mr. Jack Daniel, so the poor guy got stuck with me.”

“Really?” said the girl. “Well he looked like he was having a great time to me. My name’s Bianca, by the way.”

“And I’m Sian,” said Sian. “So. Are you a friend of the bride or the groom?”

“Neither,” said Bianca, lighting up a Marlboro red and inhaling deeply, then blowing the smoke out through her rounded lips in a perfect
O
. Whoever said smoking was a dirty, unsexy habit had obviously never seen Bianca do it. “My boyfriend’s a friend of Stavros’s. An acquaintance, really. We were supposed to come together, but he had some work crisis as usual, so here I am, alone. Again. I know nobody.”

“Me either,” said Sian, recrossing her legs and moving her chair closer to her new friend. “Lola, the girl I mentioned to you—her family knows the Burnsteins. I’m just tagging along for the ride.”

“Well in that case, we should stick together.” Bianca beamed. For such a beautiful girl, she really was disarmingly nice.

Marti’s trip to the bathroom seemed to have taken a turn for the permanent. For the rest of dinner the two girls chatted away happily, making fun of the more outrageous fashion victims swanning around the room like overdressed matchsticks. After that, they told each other their own potted histories. Bianca, surprise surprise, was a model and split her time between New York and London. Sian’s life felt so dull by comparison, she skipped most of it and instead told her new friend about her friendship with Lola and the background to the earlier drama in the chapel with Honor Palmer.

“So,” she finished finally, wolfing down the last crumb of her meltingly delicious pecan dessert, “when Lola saw Honor here today, you can imagine. She totally flipped.”

“I’m not surprised,” said Bianca with feeling. “What nerve, turning up like that! I’ve never met the girl, but I’ve heard a lot about her—most of it bad. But she is very beautiful,” she added, looking across the room to the top table, where Honor was throwing her head back and laughing at some joke of the bride’s.

She’s not half as beautiful as you
, thought Sian.

In her simple pantsuit, Honor was underdressed for the occasion, but somehow the plainness of her outfit only served to emphasize her unique face with its beautiful, hawk-like features.

“I can see why your friend’s father fell for her,” said Bianca. Honor seemed to have taken Arabella’s advice to heart and decided to enjoy herself despite Lola’s histrionics. Unlike Devon, who, Sian noticed, was sitting next to Karis at the opposite end of the dance floor, looking about as cheerful as a prisoner awaiting the firing squad.

“My boyfriend actually knows her a little bit,” said Bianca.

“Honor?” Sian, still looking at Lola’s parents, was only half tuned in.

“Yeah. He ran into her in the Hamptons last summer. A few times, I think.”

“Really?” said Sian. “How funny. I was working out there myself last summer. At Palmers. Small world, huh?”

Bianca nodded. “My boyfriend stayed at the other hotel, not Palmers. You know, the new one.”

“The Herrick,” said Sian.

“That’s it. His best friend used to run it.” Bianca took a long sip of champagne. “He doesn’t anymore, but that’s a whole other story.”

Sian felt her blood run cold. “You mean Lucas? Lucas Ruiz is your boyfriend’s best friend?”

“Uh-huh,” said Bianca. “A lot of people didn’t want to know Lucas after he got fired. But Ben’s never had a bad word to say about him. He’s really loyal like that.”

“Oh yeah,” said Sian bitterly, as a creeping nausea rose up from her belly. “Ben Slater’s loyal all right. As long as you’re a guy.”

Bianca’s eyes widened. “You know Ben?”

Sian kicked herself. Why couldn’t she have kept her mouth shut?

“Er, yes,” she admitted. “I used to know him. We dated actually.”

“You
did
?” Bianca looked suitably surprised. “Ben never mentioned he was seeing someone out there.”

“Well, it wasn’t serious,” said Sian hastily. “Honestly. It was, like, five minutes. It was nothing.”

She had no desire to open up a conversation about Ben. Bianca was lovely. But it still hurt to think that she’d been traded in for someone so incomparably stunning—and that Ben hadn’t even deemed their relationship important enough to mention to his new girlfriend. All at once she felt her confidence oozing away, like air from a slow-punctured balloon.

Gluing on a fake smile for Bianca’s benefit, she gave herself a stern talking to. So Ben had moved on. Well of course he had. Big deal. That was hardly news. It had been six months, after all, and they’d dated for only a couple of weeks. Besides, what did she care what he did or who he was with? He’d accused her of being a gold digger, let’s not forget, and taken the word of a try-hard like Lucas Ruiz over hers. According to Bianca, he and Lucas were still thick as thieves. Who needed him?

“Look, let’s not talk about Ben, OK?” she said. “I’d much rather hear more about modeling. Are the agents really as sleazy as people say they are?”

Bianca smiled. She was evidently as keen to drop the subject as Sian was.

“Honey,” she said conspiratorially, “you have no idea.”

Meanwhile, in a janitor’s closet hidden away next to the ladies’ room, Lola Carter was straddling Marti, arching her back and squeezing her muscles tightly around his dick as she came.

“Shhhhh,” he laughed, cupping one hand over her mouth to stifle her full-volume moans. “Someone’ll hear us.”

Marti had been feeling marginally guilty about taking advantage of a girl he’d only just met, and who was clearly very, very drunk. But after Lola had torn his clothes off and leaped on him like a starving animal, his concerns had alleviated considerably. Gazing rapturously at her flushed, happy, postorgasmic face, he decided she was clearly a young lady who knew exactly what she wanted.

Pushing aside a pile of stacked chairs, sending them flying to the ground with an almighty clatter, she sprawled out on her back and spread her legs wider, grabbing hold of his butt and pulling him hungrily inside her.

“Your turn now,” she grinned.

With her red hair spreading around her like a halo and her green dress pulled down to the waist to reveal the two large orbs of her breasts, as plump and ripe as grapefruits, she was a vision of desirability. Marti was justly proud of himself for having held on this long, but he didn’t have an ounce more restraint in him. Closing his eyes, he gave himself up to the slippery, needy warmth of her body and came, driving himself so hard into her that she slipped along the linoleum floor and clunked her skull against the back wall of the closet.