Harper blinked, staring up at the house.

No, not house.

Mansion.

She skirted around the stone steps, taking in the charming English manor. When Lawson had said that his parents had a place just outside London, she'd been picturing a fairytale cottage. Maybe with a stream, and a hand-painted mailbox, and colorful knitted tea cozies.

Certainly not this.

Guests milled about the lawn, dressed in a pastel bouquet of buttercup yellow, rose pink, and hyacinth purple. Champagne glasses clinked. Violin music floated up from a white tent, wrapping around flower trellises and the hedges in a maze. A maze. Who had one of those in their back gardens?

Harper swallowed. Well. At least Diana had been right about the hat.

She reached up, adjusting the fascinator self-consciously. Her stepmother had chosen her outfit today — a white floaty dress, wedges, and a white organza headpiece — and Harper had thought she was joking until about an hour ago. Now, she was grateful that Diana had insisted she change before they leave.

Her father squeezed her shoulder.

"Alright, poppet?" David asked.

Harper dropped her hand. "We look ridiculous."

"I know." David winked. "You get used to it, though."

He adjusted his tie. David Lane was dressed in a black suit, his salt-and-pepper curls neatly styled with gel. His hair was cropped short these days, less "I'm-a-drummer-in-an-eighties-rock-band" and more "I'm-a-banker-in-Canary-Wharf." Oddly, it suited him.

Harper eyed a passing tray of food. "Is that bruschetta?"

"Probably," David said. "Don't eat it, though."

"Why not?"

Her father pulled a face. "Fancy canapes like those always have a twist. Fish eggs, or anchovy paste, or chicken lung pâté."

"Chicken lung pâté?"

David waved her off. "I've seen worse."

"You know what I could go for?" Harper asked.

David's smile turned mischievous.

"Three-way chili," they said together.

Harper adjusted her camera bag, leaning against a pillar. The May sunshine had warmed the stone, and she tipped her head back, reveling in the unexpected heat.

"Do you ever miss it?" she asked. "Ohio?"

David nodded. "All the time."

"Would you ever move back?"

"No." Her father's eyes strayed across the garden. Caught on Diana, who was crouching down, speaking to a young girl in a frilly pink dress. "Not when I have the best reason in the world to stay." He cleared his throat. "Are you and Griff all set for your trip?"

Harper nodded. "We'll leave on Friday night."

They were driving out to the wedding venue a week before the big day, greeting guests as they trickled in. Diana had been planning to go herself, but she'd had to reschedule an interview on Channel 4 for her latest book, The Organizer's Bible. David was at a conference, so Harper and Griffin had volunteered.

Well, Harper had volunteered them both.

Same thing, really.

"I love Griffin," David said. "I really do. But please make sure that he doesn't explode anything. Diana's already on the verge of a breakdown."

Harper sighed. "I can't promise anything."

"Okay." David patted her hand. "Don't let him explode anything expensive, uninsured, or dangerous."

Her lips twitched. "Deal."

Heels clicked on the stone steps. They both watched as Diana picked her way delicately up towards them, looking unfairly like a Grecian goddess in her gold dress and sandals. Harper sighed. Griffin really had won the genetic lottery.

Diana flicked Harper's bulky black camera bag. "This really doesn't go with the outfit, darling. Is there really no way that your things would fit in a purse? Perhaps even a large Strathberry handbag?"

"Afraid not," Harper said.

Diana's eyes narrowed. "A stylish tote bag?"

"Nope."

"Could you just carry them?"

"No."

"What about—?"

"Oh, look," David said loudly. "Is that bruschetta?"

Diana spun around. "Where?"

Harper shot her father a grateful look. Diana and Griffin were both like a dog with a bone when it came to projects: they sunk in their teeth and refused to let go. And Harper's fashion sense had become the latest project.

Harper stretched up on her toes, giving her father a quick peck on the cheek.

"You two have fun," she said. "I'll see you later."

Harper made it halfway down the steps before David called out.

"Stay away from boys!"

"David," Diana hissed, whacking her fiancé with a clutch. "Stop it. You'll embarrass her."

Harper hid a smile. They really were good together.

The next hour passed in a blur. Harper lost count of the flowers that she photographed: snow-white calla lilies and poisonous azaleas, flashy orchids and unassuming tulips... She was grateful that Lawson had given her a run-down of each flower. There had to be at least two dozen varieties at the event.

Harper photographed people, too: socialites dripping in expensive-looking diamonds, and B-list actors she'd seen in toothpaste commercials. She even snapped a picture of Haz by the cupcake tower, although Haz flipped her off as the camera flashed.

"Delete that, Lane!" he called.

Harper waved at him cheerfully.

She found Alisdair by a stone fountain, admiring a riot of roses. A middle-aged woman in a monstrous green hat stood next to him, jabbering at lightning pace. Her tone was condescending, and it took Harper a moment to realize that the woman was lecturing Alisdair about turmeric lattes.

"Those lattes," the woman was saying, "are everything that's wrong with your generation. You expect to work shorter hours for more pay, and then you use it to buy silly things like yellow milk." She adjusted her green hat. "Wouldn't you agree?"

Alisdair gave her a lazy smile. "Oh, I agree that millennials are lazy Rebecca, but have you considered that we're all nihilistic products of capitalism seeking eudaimonia?"

Harper blinked.

The woman blinked.

"Well, I—" The woman cleared her throat. "That is to say, I—"

"I'm simply saying," Alisdair said mildly, "that the current economic climate obfuscates the situation."

Alisdair leaned closer to the roses, examining some of the petals. His movements were relaxed. Unbothered. Harper got the sense that he enjoyed running vernacular circles around unsuspecting middle-aged women.

"So whilst millennials might be lazy," Alisdair continued, "you can't deny that the establishment must be partially blamed for— Ah." He broke off, grinning widely at her. "Harper Lane. Charming hat."

"Thank-you." She held up her camera. "Smile."

They posed good-naturedly as Harper snapped a photo. The woman looked relieved to have been spared a response.

Not for long, though.

Harper turned to Alisdair. "Have you seen Moira? I feel like I should introduce myself properly."

"Over there." He gestured to the maze. "With Lawson."

"Thank-you."

Alisdair turned back to the woman with the green hat, an amused gleam in his eye. Harper hastily took her leave. No need to stick around for the verbal carnage that was about to occur.

She backtracked towards the maze of hedges, skirting around white tables and planters. Lawson was leaning against a pillar, holding a glass of champagne. His dark hair was rumpled, and his white shirtsleeves were rolled up to the elbow; the veins in his forearms flexed as he raised the glass to his lips.

A petite brunette woman stood next to him, dressed in an immaculate salmon suit. She was speaking animatedly with a sour-faced man, waving her hands about. A pair of dirty gardening gloves peeked out of her pocket.

Moira.

Harper had met Lawson's mother only briefly — no more than thirty seconds, when she was waiting for Lawson that morning — but it was definitely her.

Harper took a purposeful step forward just as Lawson looked up. Their eyes locked. A muscle jumped in his jaw, and Lawson muttered something to his mother — an excuse, maybe — before starting in her direction.

"Ohio," Lawson said.

He took her wrist, tugging her gently sideways. Harper frowned.

"Where are we going?"

"The maze," Lawson said.

Harper twisted, straining her neck in search of Moira. "I wanted to introduce myself."

"I'm sure you did," Lawson said cheerfully.

"Lawson!"

She kicked at his ankles. Lawson whistled a pop song, sounding frustratingly unconcerned. He guided her through the maze — two left turns, a right, a hard left at a stone bench — and Harper yanked her hand free.

She crossed her arms. "You're being ridiculous. This is so unprofessional."

"I agree," Lawson said, squinting down at a lopsided hedge. "Perhaps the gardener was drunk." He patted the hedge. "Appalling workmanship, really."

Irritation pricked at her. "Do you ever take anything seriously?"

Lawson thought. "Cricket."

Harper blew out a breath. She was about to cut her losses and charge in the direction they'd come from when a thought occurred to her. "Hang on. Why don't you want me to meet your mother?"

Lawson ran a hand through his hair. "I never said that."

"You didn't have to," Harper said. "You never gave me your Mom's number. You've handled all contact with me before the gardening party yourself, and now we're hiding in a hedge maze." Her pulse was thrumming in her chest. "It doesn't take a rocket scientist to work out what's happening."

Lawson dropped his hand. "I wouldn't say we're hiding."

"What?"

"In the hedge maze," Lawson clarified. "Consider it more of an impromptu tour."

For a moment, Harper merely stared at him. Then she growled a word — a word that she rarely said, and Diana definitely wouldn't have approved of — and turned in the opposite direction. "I give up."

"Wait!" Footsteps sounded behind her. "Ohio!"

She cursed again. "Which way did we come from?"

"That way."

Lawson pointed left. Harper raised an eyebrow.

"Are you sure?"

"This is my house," Lawson said. "Of course I'm sure." Harper must have still looked skeptical because he rubbed his jaw. "Okay, I'm about eighty per cent sure."

"And the other twenty?"

"There is a small possibility we're lost," Lawson admitted.

Harper cursed again. Loudly, and creatively this time. She suddenly wished that she'd listened to Diana's advice about wearing a Stathberry bag because then she'd have something to hit Lawson with.

She started to the right. "I can't believe it."

Lawson jogged beside her. "What?"

"That we're lost," Harper said, her teeth gritted. "I'm at an English manor trapped in a maze with a man that's—"

"Unbelievably handsome?"

"—incredibly irritating and I'm wearing a fascinator. A fascinator, Lawson." She shot him a look. "I didn't even know what that was before this morning. And I'm meant to be taking pictures! I haven't even gotten round to the black roses yet, and I've heard rumours that—" Harper stopped abruptly, her stomach dropping. "Oh, no."

Lawson paused. "What?"

Harper's mouth went dry.

Please, God, no. Not now. Why did this keep happening to her?

Jake Parker was walking towards them. There was no logical way that Harper could know that, except that she recognized the odd thump-thwack of his footsteps, like someone was kicking a soccer ball. And that cologne. She'd recognize that salt-and-sandalwood anywhere, even years later.

There was only one solution.

She pushed Lawson into a hedge, diving after him.

"What the hell are you doing?" Lawson demanded. "You can't just—"

Harper clapped a hand over his mouth. "Shhh."

His lips moved against her hand. "Ohio—"

"Jake."

"No," Lawson said patiently. "I'm Lawson, remember?"

"No, I mean that's Jake," Harper hissed. "Coming towards us."

Lawson twisted to get a glimpse. "Parker?"

"Don't look!"

Lord above. It was like trying to tell a toddler to stay put, Harper reflected in exasperation. Hadn't Lawson ever watched James Bond before? Didn't he know how espionage worked? The footsteps drew closer, and her pulse kicked up.

Lawson shook his head. "I didn't realize he was coming today, Harper. I swear."

"Oh, god," she groaned. "I really can't face him."

"It's okay," Lawson murmured. "Doubt he'll recognize you, anyway. Parker will just assume that you're—"

Lawson cut off abruptly. He was still pinned beneath her, his green eyes the colour of spring moss. She could feel the heat of his body radiating through his shirt, feel the rapid thump-thump of his heart. Harper frowned. What had he been about to say? What would Jake have assumed about—?

It hit her all at once.

Oh. Oh.

Heat flooded her face. "Finish that thought."

A pulse jumped in Lawson's throat. "I'd rather not."

"One of your conquests, right?" Harper pressed, her throat dry. "That's what you were going to say?"

He looked away. "That wasn't how I was going to phrase it."

The footsteps turned the corner. Harper swallowed hard.

"Lawson?" she murmured.

His brow furrowed. "What?"

"You're a genius," she said.

And before Harper could overthink it, she leaned in and kissed him.

Hello lovely readers,

Please don't kill me for that cliffhanger ;)

Question of the Day: what's your favourite type of flower? I'm a classic red rose kind of girl!

Affectionately,

J.K.