Images of the night before fill my head. After our shag on the chaise, I’d made a move to put on my clothes, but he’d pulled me into the shower, saying the least he could do was wash me. Washing had become grinding and then another shag—that time in bed with him taking me from behind. It had been gentle, unrushed, and devastatingly good.
My early morning wood stiffens, but I resist the impulse to wake him. I have work to do this morning, and I know very well this was just a shag for him. My face warms. A good shag, though. Fantastic.
I slide out of bed and then move quietly around the room, gathering my clothes and putting them on. With my shoes in my hand, I sneak one last look at him. His hair has flopped over his brow and his face looks younger in sleep. One hand lies palm up, curiously innocent, and I resist the impulse to put my hand on his. I tiptoe over to the desk and, using the hotel stationery, I write him a quick note and prop it up against the lamp on the bedside table.
I think there’s more of the banker in you than you know. Please resist the impulse to steal any of the fixtures in this room.
I blow him a kiss and leave the room, the door clicking softly behind me.
Chapter
Two
Wedding Two
The Caribbean
Joe
Candles gutter on the tables, a tropical, flower-scented breeze blows through the open doors, and the band plays “My Heart Will Go On” while couples circulate on the dance floor.
I dodge the dancers, looking around until I find my quarry. The bride and groom are sitting at the bar entwined together. “Can I have a word?” I venture.
Louis the bridegroom croons the words to the song to Helena, making me slightly uneasy. Isn’t this actually a song about someone shoving their beloved off a wardrobe door and then watching them drown? I shrug. Not my business.
“Hello?” I try again. “Louis, we have a slight emergency.”
They reluctantly pull apart to look at me.
“What?” he snaps. He’s been a tosser throughout the entire proceedings, so his attitude doesn’t surprise me. “What the hell do you want now, Joe?”
“Louis,” Helena says chidingly. Her fond smile says she thinks he’s being unbearably charming.
I raise my eyebrow. “You have a teeny-tiny problem.”
“What is it now?” He grimaces. “Jesus, Joe, maybe I should go into wedding planning if I’m going to be doing all the work.”
My hold on my temper is slipping. Go to the Caribbean, Joe, they said. Come and see us married. We can’t do it without you, Joe. It’ll be fun. They lied.
“I honestly would love to see that,” I snap. “Future brides and grooms really need someone with your personality to oversee their precious day, Louis.” Someone behind me chuckles, but I don’t turn around. “Maybe you could practise by doing something about your own nuptials and, in particular, your ex-girlfriend.”
“Freya?”
“That’s the one,” I say grimly.
“What’s she done now?” Helena has stopped looking at Louis as if he’s the second coming and is now regarding him as something she should use as a model and stick pins into.
“Well, you remember me saying it’s not wise to have exes at weddings? How it never ends well?”
“I do,” she says, directing a gimlet glare at her beloved.
“Fucking hell,” Louis huffs. “Why the drama? The woman’s just having a good time.”
“She certainly is,” I say. “However, she’s having that wonderful time in your suite where she’s currently cutting up your clothes.”
“What the fuck?” His voice is very loud.
“Yep. And either that’s not enough of an outlet for her aggression towards you, or her hatred knows no bounds, because she is now tossing the tattered remains of your clothes over the balcony and into the pool on that side of the hotel. I’ll leave you with that, shall I? You can get some practice in the area of wedding planning. What did you say it was, Louis?” I tap my chin. “Money for old rope, wasn’t it? Whatever that charming little saying means.”
I smile sweetly at him and hear another chuckle behind me. Something about it sounds very familiar, and I can feel someone’s eyes on me. I valiantly resist turning around.
“Jesus Christ,” Helena snaps.
“What should I do, Joe?” Louis asks. I raise my eyebrow, and he looks as contrite as it’s possible for an arsehole to be. “Please, Joe. I’m very sorry.”
I consider the fact that I’ve been paid, and I don’t have to actually do any more for this horrible pair. Then I look at Helena. She’s my bride, though, goddammit.
“Okay,” I say wearily. “Go up and take the clothes away from Edward Scissorhands. I’ll have a chat with the hotel who are getting understandably nervous about your hack happy friend, and then I’ll join you.”
“Thank you,” Helena says and goes back to sipping her drink as calmly as if nothing has happened.
I shake my head in disbelief and turn, only to stand stock still in amazement. “Lachlan,” I gasp.
He’s leaning against the bar, eyes full of humour. He’s obviously been the source of the chuckles I’ve been hearing. He’s wearing jeans and a navy shirt, his dark hair ruffled by the tropical breeze.
“What are you doing here?”
He gives his crooked smile. “Convention for work.”
“Good heavens. Do they know what a bunch of kleptomaniacs they’ve invited onto their premises?”
He throws his head back, laughing. “I saw you earlier,” he says, smiling. “I’ve been waiting for you to finish.”
“You have?” I gape at him.
“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” he says, looking a little awkward.
“Well, unless you get married and can’t organise things on your own, it would be unlikely.”
“Joe,” Louis snaps. “I’m waiting.”
I ignore him and grin at Lachlan. “So, how long are you here for?”
“Until tomorrow.”
“Well, this has a familiar feeling.”
He studies me, his eyes dark and knowing.
“Joe?” Louis snaps.
I spin to face him. “Louis, do you remember ignoring my words of advice? In fact, do you remember the lovely afternoon when you called me a nagging old woman?”
He shuffles his feet. “I thought it would be fine.”
As if on cue, a cascade of clothes comes sailing past us. Freya has obviously moved to the second balcony. Maybe she’s filled in the other pool and is looking for other options. The clothes land in the pool and sink, rather like the subject of the song currently playing. “Recent events are proving that’s fairly wide of the mark.”
He rallies. “Well, I think you’re being paid as our wedding planner. You got an enormous amount of money to do your job so you should get on with it.”
I put my hands on my hips. “And are you married now?”
“Yes, but—”
“But me no buts, Louis. You’re married. Ergo my work is done. I’m the planner. The clue is in the title. Are you expecting that I’m going to stay with you for a few years afterwards and smooth your way through life? Maybe until you’ve had your fifth child. Does that need to go into my job description now? I’m a wedding planner. Not Nanny McPhee.”