Chapter 2 - The Groom’s Morning Glory
Sunlight broke through the receding storm clouds at eight in the morning, bathing the Bellweather Grand’s presidential suite in golden warmth. Daniel Crawford stretched lazily across the king-sized mattress, inhaling the lingering scent of expensive linen and expensive scotch. His head throbbed with a mild hangover, but the persistent ache was immediately swallowed by an intoxicating wave of triumphant adrenaline.
Today was the day.
By three o'clock this afternoon, the ring would be on Claire’s finger. By five o'clock, the press releases would hit the business wires: Crawford Development seals strategic partnership backed by the Bennett trust. The banks would back off. The lenders who had been breathing down his neck would suddenly become obsequious courtiers. He had played the long game, enduring endless boring charity galas, listening to Claire talk about historic preservation and community endowments, nodding like a devoted pet while calculating the eventual payout.
His bedroom door clicked open. Vanessa walked in, looking striking in an emerald satin dressing gown, carrying two crystal flutes of Bellini. She had spent the early morning directing the florists downstairs, or at least pretending to.
""Wake up, prospective billionaire,"" Vanessa purred, sitting on the edge of the mattress and handing him a flute. ""The ballroom looks like an enchanted forest. Three hundred thousand dollars worth of white orchids. Your little rich girl certainly has expensive, predictable taste.""
Daniel took a sip, smirking around the rim. ""Her taste doesn't matter. Her signature does. You should have seen her yesterday at the rehearsal, Vanessa. She actually had tears in her eyes when I recited those generic vows Trevor pulled off the internet. She looked at me like I was a savior.""
Vanessa laughed, trailing a French-manicured finger down his bare shoulder. ""Trevor said you were brilliant on the mic last night. I'm just making sure you don't forget our Palm Beach arrangement once the honeymoon in Amalfi is over.""
""Amalfi is work,"" Daniel dismissed with a wave of his hand. ""Ten days of holding hands on private yachts and playing the doting husband for the paparazzi. Then Claire goes back to her little museum committees, and you and I take the corporate jet to Florida. The company account is already set up to route your consulting fees under business development.""
There was a firm knock on the outer suite door. Vanessa quickly stood up and smoothed her gown, retreating toward the adjoining dressing room. ""That'll be room service or Trevor. Don't take too long getting into your Tom Ford tux. We have photographers arriving at ten.""
Daniel pulled on a monogrammed silk robe and strolled casually to the heavy double doors of the suite. He swung them open, expecting a breakfast cart wheeled by a bowing waiter. Instead, he found Ethan Walsh standing in the hallway, accompanied by two uniformed hotel security supervisors who looked like retired heavyweights.
""Mr. Walsh,"" Daniel said, blinking in surprise. ""General Counsel for Bellweather. To what do I owe the personal visit? If this is about the bar bill from last night, just route it to the master wedding portfolio. Claire’s accounts handle the balance.""
Ethan did not smile. His face was carved out of cold, bureaucratic granite. ""Good morning, Mr. Crawford. I am here merely to confirm that all technical preparations for the grand ballroom are operating at full capacity. We have synced the primary audio-visual feed directly with the bridal suite.""
Daniel frowned slightly, a tiny prickle of unease brushing against his confidence. ""The bridal suite? Claire hasn't even come down yet. She’s superstitious about seeing me before the altar.""
""Ms. Bennett is fully appraised of the day's schedule,"" Ethan replied smoothly, checking his platinum wristwatch. ""The audio system you tested so thoroughly at eleven forty-three last night proved to be exceptionally clear. Every frequency was captured flawlessly.""
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Daniel froze for a fraction of a second, his pulse skipping. Did the staff complain about the noise? Probably. Some low-level manager whining about hotel policy. He quickly recovered his signature arrogant grin. ""Well, my groomsmen get a bit rowdy. Boys will be boys, Walsh. Make sure my champagne is chilled to forty-two degrees in the holding room. We’ll settle any noise complaints on Monday.""
""Of course, Mr. Crawford,"" Ethan said, bowing his head with chilling precision. ""Everything will be settled precisely when it is due.""
