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“Chance is with me. He hung back to give us some privacy.” Even as he said the words, the doors swung inward again to reveal the big Aussie, who had a fierce glower on his face.
“Stay in sight, mate. That was the rule,” Chance muttered beneath his breath, before levelling a warm grin at Iris. “Hello, Sunshine. I’ve missed you.”
Iris returned his smile and stepped around Trystan to give Chance—whom she hadn’t seen since he’d left to accompany Trystan on his press tour—a warm hug.
“Chance, it’s so good to see you.”
“Iris.” Her father’s voice snapped Iris back to the present and her surroundings and she quickly became aware of the fact that all movement and chatter had stopped in the kitchen as everybody stared at the commotion that she and these two tall men were creating in the doorway.
She heard the collective gasp of recognition when Trystan turned to face the small crowd of people and sighed inwardly. Her parents were not going to be happy about yet another disruption to their service.
“Sorry, Dad, I’ll get right back to work. But we have an extra pair of hands to help out,” she said with forced good humor, determinedly ignoring the whispers and stares.
“Two extra pairs,” Trystan volunteered.
“Nope,” Chase disagreed cheerfully. “I’m already working right now. Need to keep my hands free. Besides, this is your penance tour, mate, not mine.”
Trystan shot Chance a disgruntled look, but Chance ignored him to cast a professional eye around the kitchen, probably noting exits and potential weapons and threats.
“Just me then,” Trystan said with awkward cheer.
Iris’s father eyed him with blatant dislike on his face. “You’re more likely to be a distraction and we’re already running behind schedule today. I’m not sure what you’re playing at, but I can’t let you turn this wedding into a three-ring circus while we all pander to your ego.”
Trystan’s handsome features took on a determined cast as he met her father’s eyes unflinchingly. “I understand why you would feel that way, sir. And I don’t blame you. I promise you I didn’t know that Iris would be working for you today, or I would have timed this better. But I’m here now, and I was a waiter at my uncle’s Italian restaurant throughout high school and college. I know my way around a professional kitchen. I can help if you need it.”
Iris’s mum stepped forward, placing a hand on her husband’s bony shoulder, to stop whatever he’d been about to say. She ran an assessing eye over Trystan’s frame.
“Robbie, stop gawking and give Mr. Abbott?—”
“Trystan, please.”
“—Trystan, your waistcoat. And why are you still here? We told you to go home after cleaning up the kataifi.”
“Mum,” Robbie’s voice was filled with hushed protest while his awed gaze remained glued to Trystan’s face. “I can stay and help.”
“No. Trystan will take your spot,” she said implacably. Iris couldn’t tell what the other woman was thinking or feeling right now. But part of her knew that her mum had to be relishing this opportunity to put Trystan in his place. She’d made her feelings on the subject of Trystan Abbott clear on very many occasions. Even after his public apology.
Robbie, his face contorted into a bad-tempered scowl, dragged off his waistcoat and handed it over to Trystan. The teen was tall and lanky, and Iris was pretty sure the waistcoat would be too tight for Trystan, but he took it without hesitation.
“Thanks, Robbie. Nice to meet you, by the way. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Yeah?” For a second Robbie’s face lit up like a little boy’s—and he looked exactly like the adolescent he was, meeting one of his favorite movie stars—before it settled back into that familiar black scowl. “Well, you’re a dick and my sister is better off without you.”
Iris’s heart melted at the grumbled words, and she watched with a fond smile as—after slanting a slightly self-conscious glance at her—Robbie skulked off muttering a few choice profanities that she hoped for his sake their mother didn’t hear.
Trystan’s smile faded and he nodded, taking Robbie’s criticism on the chin, before shrugging into the waistcoat. As Iris had predicted, it was too tight, but he managed to get one straining button fastened.
“How many times am I going to have to tell you all to get back to work today?” Her father snapped at the staring, whispering staff. They all reluctantly returned to work.
“You,” her mother pointed at Chance with an authoritative finger. “You can have a seat over there. It’s out of the way but—since we can’t let this one out of the kitchen for fear of him being recognized—you can still do your job from there. Help yourself to some food.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Chance said, in a twangy drawl that sounded remarkably like his best friend, Ty’s. He ambled over to the corner her mother had indicated, picking up a plate and loading it with food on the way.
“Iris,” her mother said, still in that no-nonsense voice. “Prep the champagne trays. The toasts will be starting after dessert. Trystan can help you.”
Iris nodded and made her way to the relatively quiet corner where the empty champagne flutes were waiting. She knew her mother had assigned this task to her and Trystan because it would afford them some privacy to talk while they worked. But Iris wasn’t sure she was ready to talk to Trystan. To say this day had taken an unexpected turn was understating it.
Her day had derailed and then tumbled off a cliff.
