Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Sarai gives an impressed nod as she takes in the decor. “Bougie. I love it.”
Sarai isn’t technically my assistant; rather, she’s employed by the hotel. As well as signing a watertight NDA, I agreed to manage the wedding without the involvement of my staff. In fact, the bride and groom, Oliver and Evie, insisted on it. I thought it best not to mention that I don’t actually have a staff, thanks to a recent . . . restructure. Yes, let’s go with that.
“We’re just waiting for the florist.” I gesture to the wedding dais as I pull the silver chain away from my neck and stealthily use my thumb to wipe away a trickle of perspiration.
“The flowers arrived ages ago. They’re in one of the kitchen’s cold rooms.”
“Oh. Why didn’t you say?”
“I did.” Sarai frowns and points to her face. “Didn’t you just hear the words come out of my mouth?”
Not for the first time since I arrived, I find myself thinking Sarai and Ronny, my next-door neighbor, would get along like a house on fire. They’d probably run rings around me.
“Why didn’t you tell me when they arrived?”
She shrugs. “You weren’t around.”
Sarai definitely isn’t cut out for the service industry.
“Well, I might go and take a look.” Because a few minutes in a large, cold box sounds so tempting right now.
“But you can’t leave. The bride and groom are on their way here.”
“Already?” As I pivot to face her, the heady scent of frangipani travels on a passing breeze. “They’re not enjoying the resort’s welcoming signature cocktail?”
“They don’t look like they’re in the cocktail kind of mood.”
“What do you mean?”
“That they don’t look like I thought they would.”
I frown. Evie and Oliver are such a good-looking couple. They’re exactly the kind of people you expect to find sipping cocktails in a six-star hotel. And this is such a perfect place to get married. The resort is so achingly stylish—think dramatic hues and dark volcanic stone, private pools and terraces with endless views of azure sea and sky. It has every amenity a wealthy guest could expect, but what makes it ideal for this wedding is the level of privacy offered. Not only because we’re on an island with very limited access but because the resort also sits high on a cliff.
I get their need for privacy because their wedding plans have been the talk of London for months. The press made its desperation to discover the details so obvious.
“What I mean is they don’t look happy,” Sarai adds.
My stomach sinks. The couple seemed so in love. But then, I thought the same about the Myers-Smith wedding until I—and the bridesmaids—stumbled in on the bride and the best man in a compromising position.
But this couple is different. There’s no need to fret about their wedding not going ahead.
Is there?
“Maybe they’re just hangry—I mean, hungry,” I say. “It’s a long flight from the UK, and in-flight meals aren’t great.” Though I suppose they weren’t flying economy.
“The food served on a private jet is bussin’.”
“Is it?” I suppose that means good. And of course they’d fly private.
“Five stars and personal chefs all the way.”
“Yes, you’re probably right.”
“No probably about it. I flew back to the States with F—with Mr. DeWitt after the holidays. Like I said, the food was bussin’.”
I give her an uncool thumbs-up, not sure what else to say. The resort is part of the DeWitt chain of hotels. But Sarai can’t be more than twenty. So Mr. DeWitt must be . . . the grandson, maybe?
“They’ve been here before, you know? The bride and groom.”
“Yes, Evie said.”
“That’s why I said they don’t look happy like they usually do.”
“Getting married can be stressful,” I reply. “And who knows—maybe their flight was turbulent. Or their helicopter connection unpleasant.”
“Or maybe they’ve changed their minds.”
Under my iPad, I cross my fingers and send a silent plea to the heavens. This wedding must go ahead.
“Mr. DeWitt did mention they’re under a lot of pressure, that they’re living in a hotel because they’re having the private apartments of their country home refurbished.”
“He said that, did he?”
“Yeah. Do you know they own a safari park?” she adds, clearly enjoying her insider knowledge.
“Yes, I did know that.” Thanks to an online article I read before I got to meet them. It detailed how they met, and then I watched the viral Pulse Tok video of Evie hightailing it out of her first wedding ceremony. Poor love, she’s so sweet and kind, I felt awful for watching it. But I was scoping them out, I suppose, while hoping they wouldn’t do the same. And they mustn’t have, or else I wouldn’t be standing here today. “How old is Mr. DeWitt, Sarai?”
“I don’t know.” She gives a flick of her shoulder. “Younger than my dad. But I’ll tell you something,” she says, pressing her forefinger and thumb together. “The man is fire.”