The Little Wedding Island: the perfect holiday beach read for 2018

I grin at him and step back to give him space to get up. Honestly, the charm is far from gone.

He moves slowly to his feet but he’s swaying on the spot. He takes one step and wobbles, and my hand instantly goes to his arm to steady him. Both his hands lock around my arm and his eyes close. I stay silent as he stands still, clinging on to me as he gets his bearings.

‘You okay?’

‘Mm.’ He takes shallow, short breaths, and I can’t help looking at him. He’s tall and solid, and his hands on my arm are strong. His dark blond hair was probably neatly styled earlier but now it’s blown out in every direction and he probably thinks it looks a mess, but it looks ridiculously sexy.

‘Sorry, bad vertigo. Maybe I was overly optimistic about that cure.’

I can’t help smiling again. ‘Thought you might be.’

His blue eyes open and lock onto mine. ‘Nah. I still maintain this is the best boat trip I’ve ever had.’

‘So is this normal?’

‘Yeah. And you don’t have to look so worried. I’m fine, it’s just that motion sickness doesn’t disappear the minute you get off the boat, you need time to adjust. A good night’s sleep and I’ll be fine. Then I can die of humiliation for embarrassing myself in front of you instead of feeling like I’m going to puke until I die from disembowelment.’

‘What a lovely mental image.’

He beams at me. ‘And you say I don’t know how to charm a girl.’

When he lets go of my arm, I slip the strap of his bag over my shoulder and grab the handle of my own suitcase too.

‘You don’t have to—’

‘It’s no problem,’ I say, cutting him off. ‘Those steps look pretty steep and you don’t look like all your internal organs are in their right places yet. I’ll take your bag, you worry about getting yourself to the top.’

He looks like he wants to protest but I start up the steps without giving him a chance. The luggage is heavy enough that it’d probably overbalance him and he doesn’t look like he needs any more trouble with his balance today.

When I look back to make sure he’s following, he’s bent over with his hands on the step above him and his head down, and the urge to take care of him returns with a vengeance. I go back and hold my hand out. ‘Can I pull you up?’

His cheeks are flushed when he looks up and starts to protest again but I cut him off again. ‘Look, if you fall down these steps and break a leg, you’re not going to feel any better, are you?’

He pushes himself upright with a groan. ‘Just you wait – if you’re staying on this island too, you will never need to pull a chair out or open a door for the duration of your stay, I promise.’

The butterflies in my stomach get a bit overexcited at the implication that I’m going to see him again. That we might need to sit near each other or go through doors together.

The space where our palms touch is almost burning as he slides his hand into mine and lets me haul him up a step at a time, and I’m glad I’ve still got his coat on so he can’t see the nervous sweat I’ve broken out in because I can’t remember the last time my stomach felt this fluttery.

Chapter Three

The island laid out in front of us is smaller than it looked from the sea. To our right is the hill with the church on it, but even from here, it’s still disguised by trees. The rest of the land is made up of wide tarmac paths between masses of greenery with low-growing white flowers blooming on tall stems. There are gorgeous little cottages dotted around, a row of shops near the base of the hill to the church, and that’s about it. The paths snake right across the island, running between each cottage and to the edges of the cliff where you can probably get down to the beach, like a higgledy-piggledy picturesque postcard.

‘It’s beautiful.’

‘It’s a tourist trap,’ Rohan says. ‘But, admittedly, I’ve seen uglier tourist traps.’

In front of us, there’s a rickety signpost with two arrows on it: ‘weddings’ to the right, and ‘accommodation’ to the left.

Rohan peers at it. ‘I don’t know how we’d have found our way around without that.’

There’s a woman pottering around in the garden of the nearest cottage and she waves at us. ‘Welcome to The Little Wedding Island!’ she calls over. ‘The B&B’s that way.’

‘Thanks!’ I shout.

‘How does she know we want the B&B?’ he hisses in my ear. ‘See, I told you they’re watching us.’

I try not to think about the shiver his mouth at my ear sends down my spine. ‘We’re obviously tourists and we’ve obviously just got off the boat. What else are we going to want?’

He mutters something unintelligible.

‘What was that? Yes, Bonnie, you’re quite right or something along those lines?’

He grunts but I know he’s joking.

The B&B isn’t far from where we’re standing, down a narrow path between the white-flowered plants. It’s much bigger than the cottages in this part of the island. There’s a wooden sign at the front that says ‘Edelweiss Island Bed and Breakfast’, and it has three storeys and multiple windows looking down at us. It makes me wonder how busy they get during wedding season. What if a bridal party of fifty guests turn up? Will they all fit in the one B&B? Or do people have to stay on the mainland and only travel out to the wedding?

I tried to do some research before I left the office, but no one seems to have any figures on how many weddings are actually held here. We know they offer one-stop wedding packages but no one seems to know what’s included. There was nothing online about the island, no contact number, no booking form, no pictures, no price brochures or comments from visitors. If they’ve invented the story of no divorces to drum up business, it seems an odd way to go about it. How can you drum up business for a place that doesn’t want to be found?

When we reach the door, Rohan darts in front of me and wraps his hand around the door handle. ‘Told you I’d open a door for you,’ he says with a wink.

I can’t help smiling at him as he holds it open and lets me go through.

‘Helloooo, my dears!’ a woman cries, making me jump. ‘Oh, what a chivalrous gentleman!’

Rohan nudges my shoulder as he closes the door behind us both. ‘See? I can be a chivalrous gentleman when you’re not carrying my luggage for me.’

The woman jumps up from the table she’s sitting at, and I get the feeling she was waiting for us. Maybe he’s right. Maybe they are all watching us.

‘What a lovely couple you are,’ she squeals, clasping her hands together and holding them to her chest.

‘Oh, we’re not a couple,’ I say in surprise. ‘We just met on the boat.’

She peers at us. ‘Are you sure?’

What an odd question.

‘Quite sure. Do you not think I’d know if I was dating someone this lovely?’ Even though Rohan’s tone is sarcastic, he says it with a smile and the woman fans a hand in front of her face.

‘You carry on like that and you won’t be the only one needing a barf bag,’ I mutter to him, even though something inside me has turned to goo.

‘I’m Clara,’ the woman says, coming over to give our hands a vigorous shake. ‘Welcome to The Little Wedding Island. I’m the owner of the B&B. I’ll be here for anything you need. Now, do come over here and let me get you checked in.’

We both follow her back to the table she was sitting at, and I get the impression it’s a makeshift reception desk, and all manner of diaries and appointment books are lying open and strewn across it. It doesn’t look very private… In fact, it looks like it might be a great way to get some figures for Oliver… Not that I want to go snooping. No, I’ll just ask her outright. I’m sure she’ll be all too happy to tell me how popular the place is.

‘May I enquire about the purpose of your visit?’ she says cheerily. ‘You’re not reporters, are you? We’ve had an influx of them coming in lately. I don’t know what they expect to find here, but they’re all sent swiftly on their way.’

Rohan hesitates for just a second too long. ‘No, we’re not reporters.’

I can feel his eyes on me and I give him a sideways glance. ‘No, definitely not reporters.’

I don’t like lying to this woman, but there’s a tone of anger in her voice and I get the feeling she’d kick me straight out if I told her the truth. I mean, it’s not a huge lie. When people say reporters, they generally mean tabloids. I’m on their side here. I work for a magazine whose readers are their target audience. I’ll talk to her privately sometime and explain the truth. ‘We’re just tourists.’

‘Oh good.’ She nearly blinds us with a beaming smile. ‘I apologise for asking but I’ve had it up to here with reporter types telling me how much they can help me and how I should want to appeal to their audience to grow my business.’

I gulp.

‘There, now that’s settled, we can get you checked in,’ she says as she scribbles some notes and turns to Rohan.

‘Ladies first.’ He gestures to me, and backs away with a nod to Clara and a smile that could make chocolate spontaneously start melting.

Past the makeshift reception desk is a corridor that leads to a kitchen, judging by the glorious smell emanating from it, and the walls of the corridor are lined with plaques bearing quotes in swirling calligraphy. I watch Rohan as he wanders off, peering at each one.

‘Miss…’ Clara says, starting to fill out a form. She gives me a knowing smile when she sees where my attention has gone and I blush for no reason.

‘Haskett,’ I say. ‘Bonnie. Just Bonnie is fine.’

‘And how long will you be staying?’

‘Er…’ I stumble into an awkward pause. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t planned it out. I just thought—’

‘An open-ended stay,’ she says. ‘No problem. We see it all the time. People feel drawn to the island and catch the boat without making any further plans. You’re welcome for as long as you want to stay.’

I’m half-touched and half-amused by this odd attitude. In fact, I was wondering if they’d have space for me considering this trip wasn’t booked in advance. ‘Are you not busy?’

‘Not this early in the spring, dear. We’re fully booked at the height of wedding season in the summer, but you and your lovely gentleman friend are early enough to be our only guests for now. We’ve got a bridal party coming in next week so we might have to shimmy the rooms around then, but not to worry, we’ll make it work.’

‘I might start getting big-headed if I hear myself being called a gentleman any more, Clara,’ Rohan says, his footsteps echoing on the wooden floorboards as he comes back into the reception area.

She fans a hand in front of her face, her brown curls bobbing up and down. ‘Ooh, if I was thirty years younger and unmarried, I’d call you far better than that! Can I take your name, please?’

‘Rohan Carter.’

Rohan Carter. Even his name is sexy.

‘And are you booking in for an open-ended stay as well, Mr Carter?’

He looks at me and my knees go weak at the intensity in his light eyes. ‘I think I’d like that,’ he says without dropping his gaze, and I try to focus on staying upright. You read about knees going weak at just a glance in romance books, but it’s never, ever happened to me in real life before.

‘Lovely. I’ll put you in room six, Bonnie, and you’re in room seven, Mr Carter, both on the third floor. The bridal suite and the honeymoon suite are our only other bedrooms on that floor and both are unoccupied until next week so you’ll have plenty of privacy and the best views on the island, apart from at the church, and you aren’t going to see them from there unless you’re getting married!’

She chortles as she picks up the keys and bustles past us.

A little seed of dread starts growing in my stomach, the kind of seed that grows into a big plant known as ‘You’re going to be personally responsible for the entire staff losing their jobs and the end of Two Gold Rings magazine after more than two decades’. I try to stamp it down. Surely they’ll understand that an article in Two Gold Rings will be good for them? They’re wedding people and I’m a wedding person. They’ll be keen to reveal their secrets to me. Surely they will.

We follow Clara up two flights of stairs that are covered by blue and pink floral carpet that looks like it’s recently escaped from the Seventies, until she stops on a landing with clashing orange and pink flowery carpeting that looks like it lived through the Sixties – the Eighteen-Sixties. She hands us a key each. ‘Here we go, dears, rooms six and seven. Now, you must allow me to invite you both for dinner tonight. As you’re my only guests, it would be an honour to welcome you to our little island in the best way I know how. Do say you’ll join me at eight o’clock this evening?’

I look over at Rohan, who still looks pale and like his stomach is turning at the mere thought of food. He manages to put on a smile for Clara. ‘I’m in if Bonnie’s in.’

‘How could we refuse such a kind offer?’ I say to her. ‘Thanks, we’ll be there.’

She pats me on the arm. ‘Rightio. I’m downstairs if you need me. You can just yell and I’ll come running as fast as my arthritic hip will carry me. I’ll leave you two to get settled in.’ She waggles her eyebrows as she leaves, and I wonder what and why she thinks there’s anything going on between us, and what exactly ‘settling in’ is supposed to be an innuendo for.

‘Well, I suppose we should…’ I wave the key towards the door of my room.

‘Yeah. I can’t wait to see what the rooms are like. If I didn’t already have a headache, this carpeting would’ve given me one.’

I unlock the door of room six and push it open, trying to think about something other than Rohan next to me, turning the key in his lock.

Inside, the room is small. There’s a dark brown plain carpet, a double bed, and a wardrobe and dressing table. All of them look like they’ve been here for a century too long. There are vases of artificial flowers and bowls of potpourri on every available surface, ornaments of children playing and dead-eyed animals, and framed pictures of couples kissing hung on the walls all round the room.

I dump my bag on the bed and before I have a chance to get any further, there’s a knock on the open door and Rohan’s standing in the doorway.

‘So, is this “charmingly romantic” or just an old lady who hasn’t found the way to the tip yet with all her junk?’

I can’t help snorting at him. ‘Aw, she’s got to put her own stamp on the place, bless her. It’s cute and kitschy.’

‘There are people on the mainland who’d pay a fortune for this stuff.’

‘Antiques dealers?’

‘Scrap disposal merchants.’

It makes me laugh again and he backs out onto the landing and beckons me over with his finger. ‘Look at that,’ he says when I join him on the landing. He’s pointing to another door with a little metal sign on it that says ‘bridal suite’, and then his finger moves towards a staircase in the corner with a sign that says ‘honeymoon suite’.

‘I’d love to see what counts as a honeymoon suite in this place. Can you imagine? It’s probably got bright red carpet and pink walls and rose petals everywhere. There’s probably even a waterbed that will spring a leak halfway through the night and gradually drown your downstairs neighbour. That bloke at the harbour did say it was overpriced here. Do you think they charge extra to keep cockroaches to a minimum in the honeymoon suite?’

‘There are no cockroaches.’

‘Let’s meet in the morning and reassess that assumption.’

I laugh nervously because even though it’s a joke, the idea of meeting him in the morning for any reason is not an unwelcome one. Even if it’s to discuss cockroaches or lack thereof.

‘Well, I suppose we’d better…’ he says, trailing off, and I tell myself I’m imagining that he sounds as disappointed as I am at the thought of not spending more time with him.

‘Hang on, I’m still wearing your coat.’ I shrug it off my shoulders. ‘Thank you so much for the loan of it. You must’ve been freezing coming up here in only a T-shirt.’ I refuse to let my eyes wander to the way that dark T-shirt clings around his bicep muscles.

‘No, not at all. Look at me, I’m all sweaty. I’m still too hot.’

Oh, you can say that again.

I bundle the coat in my arms and hand it back to him, trying to ignore the dash of heat as his arm brushes against mine.

‘Well, thank you for your babysitting-the-seasick services, ma’am,’ he says, tipping an imaginary hat in my direction.

‘My pleasure. Thank you for not throwing up on me.’

‘Ah, I’m a chivalrous gentleman. Clara said so. Chivalrous gentlemen don’t throw up on people.’

I want to laugh but I try to keep it serious. ‘Are you going to be okay now?’

‘Yeah. There’s nothing I can do to get myself out of here any quicker, and that guy on the dock didn’t exactly fill me with hope, so I’m going to go and lie down and have a nap.’ He glances at me. ‘God, that’s really rock ’n’ roll, isn’t it? You must be looking at me and thinking, “Look at this fun and exuberant young guy and what an exciting thrill ride of a life he leads.”’

It makes me laugh again. ‘Actually I was thinking a nap sounds perfect.’

‘Well, I’d ask you to join me, but that would be overstepping the mark. So…’ He leans around the doorframe and peeks into my room. ‘Look, our headboards are in the same place on the adjoining wall, so it’ll be almost like we’re napping together. Look at how young and vibrant we are with our afternoon naps. I don’t suppose you brought a bingo game and a knitting pattern, did you? We could really show some pensioners how to have a good time.’

I’m trying to suppress laughter because all I’ve done today is laugh at him and it’s got to be bordering on abnormal by now. He must think I’ve got a massive crush on him, or that I’m really nervous, or that he’s the funniest guy in the world, or d) all of the above. All it does is make my face contort as I try to hold back the laughter, which is about as successful as trying to stifle a yawn.

‘So I’ll see you for dinner tonight?’ he says.

‘Yeah. How nice is that? That’s so sweet of her to do that.’

‘Yeah, right. You check it for rat poison, I’ll run through the bill to see how much she’s charged us for it.’

‘Oh, stop being horrible,’ I say, whacking the coat he’s still holding, ostensibly whacking him. ‘She was very sweet. She’s probably lonely if she hasn’t got any guests in.’

‘Her husband’s probably chopped up in the freezer ready to go in stews she serves the guests.’

I can’t stop myself laughing again and I have to walk away before I make his ego any bigger.

‘Bonnie?’

I turn back to look at him and he meets my eyes, sudden seriousness in his. ‘I’m really looking forward to it.’ Then he smirks. ‘Even if it’s stew with unidentified meat.’

Oh my God, this guy. I close the door behind me and lean against it, trying to breathe without laughing at something he’s said. The butterflies in my stomach are more like 747s, and I cannot stop smiling. He’s kind, and sweet, and hilarious. He loves his mum, he’s chivalrous, I’m sure he’s single, and he seems to like me too.

Could The Little Wedding Island somehow have found my Mr Right and thrown us together on the same boat with a twist of fate?

Chapter Four

Dinner with a gorgeous man wasn’t part of my plan when I packed for this trip, and every item of clothing I own that even resembles sexy is hanging in my wardrobe at home. The little black dress I wear for dates, with the neckline that’s got just the right amount of plunge, is there too. Not that this is a date. Of course it’s not. It’s just a lonely woman inviting her two guests to eat with her.

I’ve not been lucky in love and there’s no way I’m lucky enough for Rohan to be as perfect as he seems. He’s probably got at least one girlfriend, psychopathic tendencies, or an unhealthy fascination with spiders. All three would be just my luck.

There’s a knock on my door as I pull my tightest black top over my head. Paired with skinny jeans, it’s the closest thing I can do to sexy with only a suitcase full of crumpled clothing.

‘Hi.’ Rohan’s leaning against the doorframe and his face breaks into a grin as I pull the door open. ‘May I escort you to dinner?’

I go all blushy again in an instant. No matter how much I’ve spent the past couple of hours telling myself to remain cool and aloof, my resolve crumbles at the sight of him.

He’s showered and changed, his dark blond hair is pushed back from his face and messily styled enough that it looks done but I still want to run my hands through it, and he’s dressed in jeans and a button-down navy shirt, which somehow makes his eyes look even bluer than they did earlier.

‘I’d like that,’ I say, not quite trusting my voice to remain steady.

He smells of shampoo and aftershave as I slip my hand through the arm he holds out. The butterflies in my stomach have gone from fluttering to zooming around at the speed of light.

Of course, the staircases are so narrow that I only get to hold his arm for a couple of steps before we have to break apart and go down single file.

‘So, how are you?’ I ask. ‘You look better. Did you get any sleep?’

‘Honestly, no…’ He sounds like he’s going to say something else but stops himself. ‘You?’

‘Not really.’ How can I tell him that I couldn’t sleep a wink because I couldn’t stop thinking about him? That I laid on the bed and the only thing I could picture was him lying on the bed next door?

‘I had a shower and a lie-down. I might even be somewhere close to hungry now. Thanks again for earlier. I didn’t mean to be so pathetic.’

‘Don’t be daft. I’ve never been seasick but it doesn’t look like it’d be much fun. You don’t have to apologise for that,’ I say, feeling a bit seasick myself from the butterflies fluttering inside me. I don’t know the first thing about this man – he could be a mass murderer for all I know, and worse, he’s not a fan of weddings, which definitely makes him not my type. And yet, when I glance back at him and he smiles, his eyes twinkling mischievously, it doesn’t seem to matter.

Clara’s waiting at the bottom of the stairs and she beams when she sees us. Well, more specifically when she sees Rohan. He’s definitely charmed the socks off her. Probably some other undergarments too.

‘Hello, my dears!’ she squeals. ‘Oh, you do make such a lovely couple. Are you sure you’re not together?’

‘Quite sure,’ I say, trying not to laugh. What does she think we’re doing? Romantic amnesia? Some form of role-playing game?

‘Bonnie deserves better than a cynical old grump like me,’ Rohan says, making me blush again. He’s got a way of making everything sound like a compliment whether it is or not.

‘Oh, now hush you, I’m sure that’s not true at all, and if it is, then it just means you haven’t met the right woman yet. Love will change even the grumpiest cynic.’

Yes! I like Clara. Clara is my kind of person.

Rohan mutters something under his breath.

‘This way, dears. Dinner’s nearly ready and I’ve got a table all set up in the dining room for you.’

She ushers us down the little corridor, past the door of the kitchen, and into a huge dining room. ‘We often hold wedding receptions here.’

The room is amazing. It’s huge, with wide windows and a high ceiling painted with a rose pattern. There’s a log fire crackling away in an open hearth, filling the room with warmth and a burning wood smell, and a bay window that I immediately go over to. The sun has almost set, and the lights in the room are low so I can see out with no reflections, and the view is spectacular. We’re high up on the island, and below I can see a pathway down to a sandy beach. The tide has come in now and I can hear the waves lapping at the shore. Beyond that, there is nothing but ocean. There’s no other land in sight, not even a lighthouse or a ship on the horizon.

‘I’ve lived here for twenty-five years and I never get tired of that view,’ Clara says. ‘You should see some of the wedding photos we take here. We have a world-class photographer on the island, and even he says that you can travel abroad to get married but you rarely find a view more spectacular than this one to shoot your wedding photos.’