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Olivia doesn’t have a bridesmaid dress—and try explaining that to the bride. End of.’
    And with that she turned on her heel and walked straight out of the door, her hips swaying, her high-heeled boots clicking on the hardwood floor and her seriously annoyed nose high in the air.

THREE
    Heath Sheridan stepped out from the back seat of the black London cab, tugged down his suit jacket, then turned and thanked the driver. The taxi slid away from the kerb, leaving him standing on the pavement outside Kate’s studio feeling rather like a teenager watching his parents drive away from his boarding school on the first morning of the new term.
    He knew that feeling only too well and it nagged at the deep well of disquiet before he rolled his shoulders back and strolled out into the bright July sunshine.
    An imposing two-level stone warehouse stretched out the whole length of one side of the cobbled street. It reminded him very much of the Sheridan print works back in an old part of Boston which had not changed over the last one hundred years. Impressive buildings like these were created to intimidate visitors with the power and wealth of the owners in a time before press conferences and the kind of celebrity TV interviews he was accustomed to organizing for his bestselling fiction writers.
    Well, he knew all about that. Sheridan Press had built up a reputation through years of hard work and quiet, understated excellence. Not flashy promotions or grand gestures. That was the world that his father had grown up in, which made it even more remarkable that he had swallowed his pride and asked Heath to help him.
    In hindsight he should have guessed that there was more to the request than the business problems—but he had never expected it to be personal.
    Just one more reason why Alice Jardine was going to have four bridesmaids walking behind her on Saturday, not three.
    A passing delivery van snapped Heath awake and he straightened his back and strode towards the warehouse.
    There was only one girl who would fit that bridesmaid’s dress and that girl was Kate Lovat. So he had better gird himself to do some serious grovelling.
    Attached to the wall was a modern nameplate with the words Katherine Lovat Designs in an elegant font.
    It was classy but not stuffy or imposing. And it stopped Heath in his tracks.
    Perhaps it’d been a mistake to underestimate Kate Lovat?
    Kate had been an astonishing delight until he had opened his big mouth and put his foot in it. Surprising and intriguing and more than just attractive. She had a certain unique quality about her that Heath could not put his finger on and he was kicking himself for overreacting.
    The breeze picked up some dry leaves and tossed them up towards Heath, bringing him back down to earth with a thump. He had to work fast. His father was already at Jardine Manor with Alice preparing the house for their wedding, which his son was organising so very brilliantly.
    Heath slid his sunglasses into his hair and his smart black designer boots clattered up the well-worn stone stairs that led to the first floor.
    He stretched out to press the doorbell just as he noticed that a piece of pink fluorescent paper had been taped onto the metal door. Someone had written in large letters:

    Casting today 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. Gents to the left. Ladies to the right. All leotards and tutus must be collected before you leave. Any lingerie left behind will be recycled.

    Tutus? Casting? Heath quickly checked his watch. Nine-thirty.
    Amber had told him that Kate specialized in tailoring for women, but nothing about running dance shows! Surely designers used agencies for that sort of thing? Perhaps he had come to the wrong address?
    The door was slightly ajar and, with a small tap on the frame, Heath opened the door and slipped inside the most remarkable room he had ever been in.
    The entire floor of the warehouse was one single space. Large, heavy pillars supported the ceiling and no doubt the floor