Morgans' docked yacht. He'd stood at the bow, the lights of the Okeechobee Bridge dotted in the distance behind him. Cornelia was immediately riveted. Everything about Wyatt screamed aristocracy, though he wore just jeans and a white button-down rolled up to his forearms, and her immediate thought had been: "We'd look perfect together." She'd spent the night charming his best friend, Trip Peters, and feeling Wyatt's eyes on her. A month later (it would have happened sooner, but for all his safaris), he'd asked her to dinner at Per Se, which turned into drinks at Socialista. They'd been dating ever since.
The morning of the Townhouse party, her source at Harry Winston called to inform her that Wyatt had stopped in to do some Christmas shopping, and that before he was guided toward the tennis bracelet she'd set aside he'd cast an eye over the engagement rings. Cornelia had been pleased, but hardly surprised. It was all part of her plan. Wyatt would propose by the following spring, giving her a full year to plan a June wedding at her family's estate in Northeast Harbor. The rehearsal dinner could be at his family's estate in Northeast Harbor. The Hayes-Rockman wedding would net a four-page spread in Vogue , maybe more.
Their tiff was a glitch in that scheme, but one she could recover from. If Cornelia had learned one profound life lesson in her twenty-seven years, it was that she could always get what she wanted. She'd relished the high of scoring her croc Birkin, snagging her front-row seat at Marc Jacobs, and capturing not one but three tickets to the Vanity Fair Oscar party--and to win Wyatt back would be her most satisfying triumph yet.
"Isn't it enough I'm letting the girl live in my apartment?" Eloise laid a finger on the top of Trip's Wall Street Journal and pulled it down so that he had to look at her. They were twenty thousand feet and climbing en route back from Aspen, where they'd spent the holidays. "Now you're asking me to spend my entire Friday with her, hunkered down at some spa?"
"You make it sound so torturous," Trip said, folding up the newspaper and storing it neatly in his briefcase. He smiled. "Besides, don't pretend you weren't thrilled to move in with me."
Eloise swatted him lightly. "I'd be even more thrilled to have my own closet."
"You have too many clothes. Anyone ever tell you that?"
"I'm a stylist, sweetie. It comes with the territory." She snuggled under the thick cashmere blanket, folding her legs underneath her. "Why can't Wyatt spend the day with her? I don't need a forced friendship. She's his project, not mine."
"I told you, he's got to be in Boston on business."
"Oh, please. When's Wyatt going to stop pretending he works?" Eloise didn't know why she was being so difficult. She suspected it had less to do with Wyatt and this Lucy person, and more to do with Trip's last-minute insistence that they spend the holidays skiing instead of driving to Duxbury to be with her family. She'd spent the first twenty-four hours of their trip doing damage control with her mother. Worse, she couldn't seem to make Trip understand why it was a big deal. "It's like he's trying to engineer his perfect woman. He called me yesterday asking for my opinion on highlights versus lowlights!"
Trip just laughed. "Trust me, Lucy is as far from Wyatt Hayes's perfect woman as the Cubs are from winning a World Series."
Eloise wasn't entirely convinced. She hadn't actually met Lucy yet--the girl was never at the apartment when Eloise went over to retrieve her mail or get more clothes. Apparently she was spending night and day at Wyatt's, in socialite boot camp. Wyatt had been in isolation mode, too, even bailing on his mother for the holidays so they could keep up their so-called training. "I swear, this is his strangest diversion yet."
Trip pulled a lock of her hair--now a strawberry blonde--off her face. "All I know is, he keeps hounding me to ask you to spend time with her. Just be nice to the girl. You
The morning of the Townhouse party, her source at Harry Winston called to inform her that Wyatt had stopped in to do some Christmas shopping, and that before he was guided toward the tennis bracelet she'd set aside he'd cast an eye over the engagement rings. Cornelia had been pleased, but hardly surprised. It was all part of her plan. Wyatt would propose by the following spring, giving her a full year to plan a June wedding at her family's estate in Northeast Harbor. The rehearsal dinner could be at his family's estate in Northeast Harbor. The Hayes-Rockman wedding would net a four-page spread in Vogue , maybe more.
Their tiff was a glitch in that scheme, but one she could recover from. If Cornelia had learned one profound life lesson in her twenty-seven years, it was that she could always get what she wanted. She'd relished the high of scoring her croc Birkin, snagging her front-row seat at Marc Jacobs, and capturing not one but three tickets to the Vanity Fair Oscar party--and to win Wyatt back would be her most satisfying triumph yet.
"Isn't it enough I'm letting the girl live in my apartment?" Eloise laid a finger on the top of Trip's Wall Street Journal and pulled it down so that he had to look at her. They were twenty thousand feet and climbing en route back from Aspen, where they'd spent the holidays. "Now you're asking me to spend my entire Friday with her, hunkered down at some spa?"
"You make it sound so torturous," Trip said, folding up the newspaper and storing it neatly in his briefcase. He smiled. "Besides, don't pretend you weren't thrilled to move in with me."
Eloise swatted him lightly. "I'd be even more thrilled to have my own closet."
"You have too many clothes. Anyone ever tell you that?"
"I'm a stylist, sweetie. It comes with the territory." She snuggled under the thick cashmere blanket, folding her legs underneath her. "Why can't Wyatt spend the day with her? I don't need a forced friendship. She's his project, not mine."
"I told you, he's got to be in Boston on business."
"Oh, please. When's Wyatt going to stop pretending he works?" Eloise didn't know why she was being so difficult. She suspected it had less to do with Wyatt and this Lucy person, and more to do with Trip's last-minute insistence that they spend the holidays skiing instead of driving to Duxbury to be with her family. She'd spent the first twenty-four hours of their trip doing damage control with her mother. Worse, she couldn't seem to make Trip understand why it was a big deal. "It's like he's trying to engineer his perfect woman. He called me yesterday asking for my opinion on highlights versus lowlights!"
Trip just laughed. "Trust me, Lucy is as far from Wyatt Hayes's perfect woman as the Cubs are from winning a World Series."
Eloise wasn't entirely convinced. She hadn't actually met Lucy yet--the girl was never at the apartment when Eloise went over to retrieve her mail or get more clothes. Apparently she was spending night and day at Wyatt's, in socialite boot camp. Wyatt had been in isolation mode, too, even bailing on his mother for the holidays so they could keep up their so-called training. "I swear, this is his strangest diversion yet."
Trip pulled a lock of her hair--now a strawberry blonde--off her face. "All I know is, he keeps hounding me to ask you to spend time with her. Just be nice to the girl. You
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