CHAPTER ONE

      LAUREL SOMMERS STEPPED back from the road as a London taxi sped past through the puddle at the edge of the kerb, splashing icy water over her feet, and decided this was all her father’s fault, really.

      Well, the fact that she was stuck in London, waiting in the freezing cold for a car to take her back to where she should be—Morwen Hall, the gothic stately home turned five-star hotel in the countryside an hour and a half’s drive out of the city—was clearly Melissa’s fault. But if their father hadn’t wanted to have his cake and eat it for their entire childhoods then her half-sister probably wouldn’t hate her enough to make her life this miserable.

      Sighing, Laurel clasped the bag holding the last-minute replacement wedding favours that Melissa had insisted she collect that afternoon closer to her body as a stream of cars continued to rush past. It was three days after Christmas and the sales were in full swing. London was caught in that strange sense of anticipation that filled the space between December the twenty-fifth and New Year’s Eve—full of possibilities for the year ahead and the lives that might be lived in it.

      Any other year Laurel would be as caught up in that sense of opportunity as anyone. She usually used these last few days of the year to reflect on the year just gone and plan her year ahead. Plan how to be better, to achieve more, how to succeed at last. To be enough.

      Just last year she’d plotted out her schedule for starting her own business organising weddings. She’d been a wedding planner at a popular company for five years, and had felt with quiet optimism that it was time to go it alone—especially since she’d been expecting to be organising her own wedding, and Benjamin had always said he liked a woman with ambition.

      So she’d planned, she’d organised, and she’d done it—she had the business cards to prove it. Laurel’s Weddings was up and running. And, even if she wasn’t planning her own wedding, she did have her first celebrity client on the