matter. What matters is, I’m interested. I find myself wanting to know more about you, which is unusual for me, I assure you. But, since I do... I’m a good listener, really. If you wanted to talk about why the idea of being Melissa’s maid of honour makes you want to throw up or pass out, I’ll listen.’
‘You mean you’ll stand there until I tell you, whether I want to share or not.’
‘Basically, yes.’
‘Great.’ Eloise sighed, then turned to rest her back against the stone wall of the terrace, staring back at him with those big blue-green eyes. ‘Fine. You want the whole sob story? I don’t know what Melissa Sommers is like on set but when she was a teenager she was a bully, a cheat and she made my life a misery. In fact, part of me wonders if the only reason she’s holding her wedding at Morwen Hall—and the only reason she asked her half-sister to be her wedding planner, come to that—is so that she can lord her success over all the little people she left behind. And I know I sound bitter and jealous, but I’m not—really, I’m not. I wouldn’t be Melissa for all the tea in China. But that doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to hate her a little bit.’
‘I never said it did,’ Noah replied, bemused. Where had Eloise been hiding all that anger and all that rage all morning? Ever since he’d arrived, she’d been professional, courteous, distant, and never even the slightest bit inappropriate. He’d been starting to think he might never get under that pale skin. But now it seemed that Eloise had limits—just like everyone else—and Melissa had just passed them.
What had she called Melissa? A bully and a cheat. ‘Well, I guess I can see why you don’t want to be her maid of honour.’
Eloise gave a watery chuckle and hid her face with her hands. ‘It’s going to be horrendous.’
‘Oh, it won’t be that bad.’ Noah slung an arm around her slim shoulders for moral support and she stiffened instantly. If she’d felt anything like the tingles that ran up his arm at the contact, he didn’t blame her.
That wasn’t like it was with all the other women he’d dated either. It seemed nothing about Eloise was usual.
‘You’ll wear the dress, pose for some photos, give a couple of short interviews, dance with me...’
Eloise groaned. If he didn’t have such a healthy ego, Noah might be starting to take some offence around now.
‘You don’t like dancing?’ he asked.
‘I don’t like any of it.’ Eloise lifted her face and he could see the edge of fear in her eyes. She wasn’t exaggerating. Something about the maid of honour job really had her off-balance. ‘I hate being the centre of attention.’
‘I’m pretty sure that’s going to be Melissa, however expensive your frock.’
Eloise shook her head. ‘You don’t get it. I hate people looking at me. I hate anyone noticing me, noticing what I do.’ Which explained her prickly reaction to his attentions, at least. ‘You can’t understand—your entire life is basically about shouting, “Hey, look at me!” and seeing how many people you can get to turn around.’
‘My whole career, a decade of work, reduced to a schoolyard attention grab.’ Noah gave an overly dramatic sigh, hoping it might lighten the mood. ‘The saddest part is, you’re right. But now I’ve seen the error of my ways, I’ll go and become a hotel manager instead.’
‘I didn’t use to be a hotel manager,’ Eloise said, ignoring his attempt at humour. ‘I was a chambermaid for years, then worked my way up. My whole career at this hotel has been about fading into the background, not being noticed by the rich and famous who come to stay here. Putting on a show, a spectacle, but not drawing attention to myself. The whole point is that every stay is supposed to go so seamlessly that no one ever notices I’m here, working away in the background.’
Noah couldn’t help it; he let out a bark of a laugh. ‘The background? Honey, you couldn’t fade into the background if you tried.’
Eloise pulled a face. ‘I know, I know, the hair stands out.’
‘It’s not the hair,’ Noah said, although that was part of it. ‘It’s you. Your beauty. That would stand out anywhere.’ At least, it did to him. Although, maybe that was just because he knew now that he couldn’t have her.
He pulled back, away from Eloise, and strode over towards the doors to the hotel again. It unnerved him, just a little, how easy it was to listen to Eloise talk. How natural his replies felt. How, without even thinking about it, he let in some real feeling between the jokes.
She was looking at him curiously now and he knew he needed to end this moment. People always wanted a secret in return for their own. And he had no intention of giving up any of his.
‘You think I’m beautiful?’ she asked, her eyes wide and vulnerable, and Noah swore silently in his head.
Because she meant it. He could tell that much straight away. This wasn’t the usual coyness of a Hollywood actress, or the ‘I’m a model but still don’t believe I’m pretty’ type of false insecurity. She was honestly surprised.
‘I can’t be the only person to tell you that,’ he said, searching for a way out. Because that lack of self-awareness, that would be his undoing. He’d only known one other person so artlessly unaware of her own beauty.
Sally.
And he really wasn’t thinking about her any more this weekend. It had been seven years, for goodness’ sake.
‘No, but you’re the first movie star to say it,’ Eloise said, and the moment was broken. Because he’d never been a movie star to Sally. He’d just been her best friend.
But to Eloise he was Noah Cross, the brand—and that was all he needed to be. She didn’t need to see any deeper, and he didn’t need to worry about having to let her in too far. He just had to keep his eye on the prize—his name in that little golden envelope when they announced the coveted award for Best Actor, once Eight Days After came out.
And all he had to do to achieve that was not sleep with Eloise, and knock his audition out of the park.
At least one of those should be no trouble at all. He just wished he could be entirely sure which one.
* * *
Eloise let herself back into the hotel, her dizziness faded but replaced by a strange confusion after the unexpected interlude with Noah on the terrace. At least he’d retreated up to his room to let her recover her wits in peace. She couldn’t cope with any more of that intense conversation and gaze right now.
What had all that been about? She’d expected to get hit on by sex-crazed or drunk actors looking for a fling at the wedding—it happened often enough while working at the hotel, however much she tried to fade into the background. The rich and famous, in her experience, seemed to expect to be able to seduce anyone they wanted. And actors were the worst—they were all about the quick, meaningless fling. Which was still better than the times they pretended it was something more, that they’d fallen for her charms at first sight and couldn’t live without her in their beds.
She knew better than to believe them. Her mother had been the queen of that game, and look how that had ended up.
No, she knew actors, knew the entitled clientele of Morwen Hall, and she knew how they behaved.
Noah Cross was not living up to the stereotype and it bothered her.
Of course there were probably some actors and actresses who managed to stay happily married and faithful, or who were looking for long-term love. She’d just never met any of them. Or seen them in the celebrity magazines in the staffroom. And she’d never expect Noah Cross, famed ladies’ man, to be one of them.
In fairness, she had no evidence that he was. He’d admitted he was flirting with her—even if he didn’t seem inclined to take it any further.
Either way, he hadn’t