Secrets Of The A-List Complete Collection, Episodes 1-12. Cat Schield

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      This building was symbolic of that. It had history and prestige, like her when she’d met Harrison. But when they’d bought it, the previous owners had let it slide, so that the attention to detail and quality were no longer in place. Nobody believed it could be transformed.

      Just like her parents had sworn she would regret marrying a nobody like Harrison Marshall. He hadn’t been good enough for Mariella Santiago. So they’d said!

      How wrong they’d been. Three children, an empire, and thirty-two years of marriage to the man had shown her how important it was to hold fast. She had stood up to her parents and married Harrison despite their disapproval, and she would stand by him now, even when confusion about this mysterious Fixer made her wonder how many secrets he’d been keeping from her.

      How adroitly he’d maneuvered this entire portion of his life away from her. How trusting she’d been—when he’d received calls and excused himself from the room, she had never doubted it was a business matter. A real business matter, not something strange with this sideline concern of his.

      But she wouldn’t judge him. She was determined to listen to his explanation, and that meant waiting for him to wake up. And he would wake up. Just like he’d won her heart, faced her parents, and gone from a chef to a restaurateur to a billionaire.

      Mariella squared her shoulders and stepped from the car, her slim frame silhouetted by the midday sun. It was a warm day. She relished the sensation of the heat on her back as she moved through the enormous glass doors.

      She remembered the first party they’d hosted in the elegant ballroom. It had been a sensational affair—European royalty, sheikhs, American celebrities. Now, the restaurant and bar were busy. She moved past the din of conversation with her head bent and sunglasses in place, avoiding being drawn into any unnecessary conversation.

      The staircase was made of marble and the banister was gold; an enormous crystal chandelier hung perfectly above it. Mariella took the stairs with her head still tipped forward, her mind running over Harrison, her children and the empire that she would need to keep in her own control. Not the Fixer’s.

      The ballroom had been designed for maximum impact. It took the entire top floor of the building and had windows on either side, covered in dark red curtains. Mariella paused a couple of steps from the top and drew in a steadying breath then continued up. She removed her glasses at the top, sliding them into their case and replacing them in her handbag without breaking her step.

      “Veronica,” she said as she entered, her gaze landing on the woman instantly. Veronica Waterhouse, a former Miss America, was still whippet thin and extraordinarily beautiful. Like most of her contemporaries, she’d had so many little modifications to her face that she hadn’t just halted the aging process—she’d reversed it and shaved several decades off her appearance.

      “Mariella.” Her accent was clipped, courtesy no doubt of the sort of finishing school that women of her generation and social sphere had been encouraged to attend.

      Mariella eyed Veronica’s cocktail, a full glass beside an empty, and nodded to one of the milling staff. “Mimosa.”

      The bartender made a small gesture of understanding, and Mariella sat with ingrained elegance in the seat opposite Veronica. “I take it there’s a problem?” she prompted, trying to keep her irritation from her voice. “With the wedding?”

      Veronica compressed her lips. “I hope not. I need everything to be just perfect. I’ve promised Katherine that her wedding will be the last word in style.” Veronica leaned forward conspiratorially. “Of course, you know what it’s like when they’re getting married. I imagine you’re going through this exact same thing with Elana. First they want this, then they want that—so many decisions, only one wedding.” Veronica laughed, a brittle sound in the cavernous space. “We hope!”

      Mariella nodded, but her mind was rejecting the statement. After all, Elana had barely shown a glimmer of interest in her wedding plans. Weddings aren’t really my thing. Why don’t you surprise me? she’d told Mariella. The sense that it was slightly odd settled uncomfortably around Mariela’s shoulder. It was not something she had any mental space to reflect upon. Elana had always been a law unto herself.

      “Yes, well, we want it to be just right. What would Katherine like?”

      “Initially she was happy with the idea of caviar-topped oysters, but it seems Chester’s become mixed up in a conservation cause,” Veronica said with a hint of distaste. “Apparently caviar is on their hit list.”

      Mariella suppressed an urge to roll her eyes. “Our caviar is the world’s finest, but if it would upset Chester...”

      “Apparently it would,” Veronica was quick to agree. “Which would, in turn, upset Katherine. And...”

      “We can’t have that,” Mariella clipped, beyond grateful when her drink appeared. She ran her finger up the stem of her mimosa. “We always source nonspawning Kumamoto oysters. They’re delicious on their own. We’ll skip the caviar.”

      Veronica winced. “The problem is,” she said with a smile that bordered on apologetic, “Chester II is allergic, and Veronica thinks it might seem disrespectful...”

      “I see,” Mariella said, nodding, moving a hand beneath the table and digging her fingernails into her thigh. “There was an excellent salmon sashimi with wasabi foam and wakame wrap served at the Vanderbilt fund-raiser last month,” she murmured. Harrison had raved about it.

      “Oh. The one at MOMA?”

      Mariella tilted her head in a small show of agreement.

      “That’s more the ticket,” Veronica said with a nod, her lips pursed as if to say that only something good enough for the Vanderbilts would suit her little darling’s wedding.

      How dare this woman bring Mariella to the Polo Club to discuss something as banal as the canapé selection for an event that was months away when Harrison was lying comatose? “I trust the coconut shrimp are safe?” Mariella mentioned the last item on the list, and Veronica nodded.

      “They may come under Chester II’s allergy list, but I do so love a good coconut shrimp. They stay.”

      Mariella nodded. Her mimosa was finished and so, too, she hoped, was this conversation. As if somehow reading her thoughts and sending her a lifeline, Mariella’s phone began to ring.

      “I’m sorry,” she murmured, fishing it from the bag with a tight smile. Gabe’s picture looked back at her. Grateful as ever for her nephew’s innate ability to know exactly what she needed and when, she flicked a gaze at Veronica. “I have to take this.” She stood and moved a little away from the table, unconsciously drawn to the view of the ocean. The bright green of the polo fields was the perfect underscore to the drama of the sea. Her eyes chased the light that bobbed across the waves, following its glittering path all the way to the horizon.

      “Hi, querido.”

      “How’s it going with Bridezilla?”

      Mariella’s response was wry. “I don’t know if she can be called Bridezilla, given that it’s her granddaughter’s wedding.”

      “She wishes it were her own,” Gabe said. “If you’ve ever seen the way she looks at the groom, you’ll know what I mean...”

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