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Chloe flashed a look around the room as she stepped in. Damn. It would seat a hundred comfortably.
    And wow, it was startling. There was indeed whitewashed brickwork, which she’d expected to look tacky, but actually looked authentically French, Italian, or something. Like a villa she’d once stayed in high on the Tuscan hills, comfortable and welcoming, yet stylish. Crystal chandeliers reflected the natural light, and crisp white tablecloths adorned white ironwork tables with matching chairs in a long room with towering ferns and greenery, illuminated by large cathedral candles on white candlesticks. There was even a small raised section, perfect for the main wedding group to sit in full view of their guests. In essence, it was perfect.
    Double damn.
    At the end of the room were huge glass French doors. Chloe gestured to them. ‘May I look at the garden? Obviously, being a summer wedding, it would be just perfect to be outside. Although, I doubt…’ That I’ll like it. That it’ll fit a hundred. That I can hold this smile much longer.
    With fingers crossed that it would be totally unsuitable, Chloe led the little troupe down the room and out into a… well, a slice of heaven. More whitewashed walls, more candelabra, and more glass reflecting even more light. Strings of tiny fairy lights cascaded down the walls. It was simple, stylish, sophisticated perfection to the point her breath stalled in her chest. This time her smile was genuine. ‘Wow. Are you allergic to colour or something?’
    He gave a nonchalant shrug that he’d clearly learned in the kitchens of the foreign restaurants where he’d spent a good part of his life. ‘I prefer to keep things simple. Too much of anything detracts from my food. Believe me, that is what will make you say wow.’
    The arrogance again. Shame she wouldn’t be going anywhere near his food.
    Vaughn stood by the French doors and cranked a large handle into gear. ‘We use this when it rains.’ With a couple of twists, he released a canopy of the lightest gossamer cloth that provided cover but preserved the light. ‘It’s delicate, but 100 per cent waterproof. I imported it from Naples.’
    He’d thought of everything.
    With a whelp, Stacey clapped her hands, her voice as high-pitched as Chloe imagined hers would be, if she were capable of more speech. ‘Oh my, it’s beautiful. Please say you’re available on the twenty-first? Please?’
    Chloe lay a warning hand on her client’s arm and whispered, ‘We haven’t talked prices. It could be way over budget; I don’t want you getting your hopes up. And what does Mark think?’
    ‘I’ll tell Mark what to think.’ Stacey hissed back through a forced smile as she regarded her fiancé. ‘Bugger the cost. It’ll be worth every penny.’
    ‘One question.’ Chloe caught Vaughn’s self-satisfied, hooded gaze and her heart did a little loop-the-loop. That was what frank annoyance did to you—palpitations. ‘Why are you available at such short notice?’
    He handed them each a menu. ‘I’ve only just got my alcohol licence. It took more time than I thought possible. Bureaucracy here is even worse than in France. If you’ve seen enough here, perhaps we can talk potential menus for the big day? Go in, take a seat.’ He motioned for them all to go back inside. Stacey and Mark led the way, Vaughn went next, stopping at the door to wind in the canopy. There was nothing she could do but wait until he’d finished—that, or crush past him. No way.
    She looked down at her shoes and wished she’d worn ruby slippers, doubting that clicking nude heels together three times would get her anywhere near home.
    After a couple of twists, Vaughn turned to her. The well-rehearsed business pretence dropped, and he stared at her with stark annoyance. ‘Well, hell, Chloe Cassidy. I’d heard your business had all but dried up. I didn’t imagine I’d see you again. Not in my worse nightmares.’
    Wait a minute. She was the nightmare?