The Wedding Fling

She switched off her phone and slipped it into her bag, with no intention of turning it back on anytime soon.

As she wheeled her case down the hall, all was quiet, the elevator empty, the lobby peaceful. No small mercy, the press not having discovered she was staying here. She hiked her dress up to her shins and marched barefoot past Reception, through the door the stony-faced porter held, and into the cool spring air. She knew which long black Town Car was hers by the driver leaning on the hood, flipping through Variety.

“Hector.”

His brows rose and he stood, taking in her getup. “Good morning, Leigh. You’re early. Very early.” His familiar deep voice with its musical Haitian accent calmed her. “And you forgot your shoes. And your mother. Change of plans?”

“Change of plans” usually meant Leigh was being harangued by a reporter and needed to end an evening earlier than expected.

“Change of plans,” she agreed, and climbed inside when Hector opened the door. He shut it in his firm, reassuring way and she heard a thump as he stowed her suitcase.

Once behind the wheel, he lowered the glass. He aimed the car toward the exit. “Has your mother got her own ride sorted out?”

“Don’t worry about my mother. If she calls you, tell her I asked to go home, to the apartment. I need some time to think about things.”

“Ah. She being a mother-of-the-bride-zilla?” Hector teased. “You need me to drive you around before we go to the estate? Dramatic entrance?” He squinted at her in the rearview mirror, possibly noticing she had no makeup on, no jewelry, that her hair was still a damp tangle and her face flushed and mottled.

“We’re not going to the estate,” she said, feeling strangely serene. “We’re going to the airport.”

“Oh?”

She nodded, steeled in her decision. “I’m going on my honeymoon. Alone.”

2

WHEN THEY ARRIVED at LAX, Hector brought Leigh her suitcase and she wrestled herself out of her gown and into jeans and a T in the backseat, protected by the tinted windows. She dug her slip-ons from her luggage and glanced at her dress. It looked like the shed skin of some beautiful, mythical creature. She left it in the car.

To camouflage her identity and the tears she could feel brewing, she found and donned her big aviator shades and Giants cap. She swallowed all the rage and sadness and confusion rising in her chest, and forced a smile.

“Thanks, Hector.”

“It’s no trouble. Just my job.”

“My mom’s going to tear you a new one.”

He grinned. “I know.”

“Would you do one more thing for me?”

He nodded, and Leigh slid off her engagement ring and handed it to him. In place of the sadness she’d anticipated, she felt her back straightening, as though fifty pounds of pure dread had fallen from her shoulders.

“Give that to my mom or dad or to Dan, whoever you see first. And the dress. But try to avoid all of them for at least a few hours. Until I’m on a plane.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

She took a deep breath. “Yeah, I’ll be okay. I just need some time away. Thank goodness I’m already booked someplace where nobody’ll recognize me.”

He nodded and slipped her solitaire into his breast pocket. On impulse, Leigh did something she never had before—she hugged her driver. He offered a quick squeeze in return, as warm as professionalism allowed.

“You take care of yourself. I’ll dodge your mother as long as I can.”

She yanked up the suitcase’s retractable handle. “Wish me luck that there’s an earlier flight with room for me on it.”

He held up two sets of crossed fingers. “Enjoy your getaway.”

With a wave, Leigh said goodbye to the last familiar face she’d see for two weeks. She said goodbye to L.A., to the girl she no longer recognized as herself, and strode through the airport’s sliding doors and into the unknown.

THE FLIGHT SHE CAUGHT to New York was insanely overpriced, yet well worth it to feel L.A. dropping away behind her. If any of Leigh’s first-class neighbors recognized her, they were kind enough not to let on. It was the calmest six hours she’d passed in weeks, nothing but blue sky and white clouds, totally unlike the storm swirling in her head.

She’d failed to change her second flight, a smaller carrier that had no planes leaving before the one she’d already booked, the following morning. The idea of being alone in another hotel room with only her thoughts for company scared her, so she napped fitfully through the night in the airport.

She arrived in Bridgetown at lunchtime, though, sadly, her luggage did not. No clothes, no cell charger, no toiletries. Abandoned by her own belongings.

With a mighty sigh, she headed for the airport’s exit. As the doors slid open, the warm, scented air of the island enveloped her, the sun caressing her travel-weary body. By the cab stand, a group of three smiling men played steel drums. Just an extra touch to realize tourists’ stereotypical expectations, but it worked. Leigh’s panic faded with the song’s cheerful notes.

She’d be okay. There were plenty of clothes to be purchased here in Barbados, and her sleeping cell phone had enough juice to make a handful of calls.

Speaking of calls. She dug the device from her purse and turned it on with held breath. Alerts for voice and text messages multiplied as the phone roused. Though tempted to view Dan’s and find out if he’d caught on, she ignored them all, tapping out a text for her mom. I’m safe. Won’t be in touch for a while. Don’t worry, and please don’t follow. Sorry for the stress. See you in a couple of weeks. Leigh. As soon as the message was sent, she switched off her phone for good.

Leigh had a few hours before her final flight, and she spent it wandering the shopping district, buying a knock-off designer suitcase to fill with new clothes, then ate a lunch of fried plantains from a street vendor. It was easy to stay distracted here, amid all the colors and smells and sounds. And how lovely it felt, being any old visitor to these cheerful strangers.

At two-thirty a taxi dropped her off outside the city, at an airport on the coast—a tiny terminal with a large antenna, no runway. The roadside billboard proclaimed it Bajan Fantasy Airlines. A long dock led out into the glittering water, where a seaplane—a Cessna on water skis—bobbed lazily in the waves. As far as she knew, this was the only way to get to Harrier Key. She’d picked the resort island for its seclusion, booking one of only four private villas.

She walked through the terminal’s open door and into what reminded her of a bus depot. A dark-skinned woman in a salmon-pink dress stood behind a long counter, and a single passenger lounged in the waiting area, reading a newspaper. Leigh gathered her printed ticket and ID.

The woman greeted her with the gigantic Barbadian smile Leigh had gotten very used to while shopping. “Miss Bailey?”

Anonymity gone, Leigh fell back to earth with a thump. “Yes. That’s me.”

“I knew it! You know how I knew that?” the woman asked brightly, tapping on a keyboard.

“Not the tabloids, I hope.”

She gave her a funny look. “Tabloids? Dear me, no. I know ‘cause you the only woman flyin’ with us this afternoon.”

“Oh. Right.”

More tapping. “And you’re all checked in. How about Mr. Cosenza?”

She flinched. “He won’t be coming.”

“Oh dear.”

“Yes, change of plans.”

“I’m afraid the tickets are non-refundable.”

“That’s fine. Sorry if it’s any extra trouble for you.”

“Not at all. You got twenty minutes before you take off. Help yourself to coffee or tea.” She nodded to a counter with carafes and a jumble of mismatched cups.

“Thanks.”

Leigh filled a rainbow mug and took a seat across from the other passenger. He wore jeans, and a linen shirt with the top few buttons ignored, his tan and the state of his overgrown brown hair telling her his vacation had been going on for some time. He seemed like a man with no place to go, in no rush to get there.

He caught her staring. His eyes were as blue as the water beyond the windows, and Leigh didn’t look away quickly enough to appear polite, so she smiled instead and gave a tiny wave. He smiled in response, then turned back to his paper. Leigh tried to keep her gaze on the ocean, though she stole a glance at her fellow traveler every few seconds.

Something about his ease attracted her. Leigh had been surrounded by L.A. people for so long—a species whose males preened as diligently as its females—that this man’s lack of styling struck her as refreshingly exotic. He was also nothing like Dan, which didn’t hurt. Taller, she suspected, generally bigger, more fair, with those bluest of blue eyes.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Leigh let herself imagine how it might feel to kiss a man who wasn’t Dan. What would he taste like? What would his skin smell like? How would his stubble feel, after she’d spent two years with a studious shaver? The fact that she could wonder such things had her breathing easier. She was hurt, not ruined.

The stranger folded his paper and called to the woman behind the desk. “Just the one, Jackie?”

“Just the one.”

“Right.” He turned to Leigh. “You ready to go?”

She blinked. “Go, like, take off?”

“Unless you feel like swimming.”

“No, I’m ready.” She drained her cup and rose to place it on the coffee counter. She looked to the man as she picked up her suitcase. “You do this a lot? Do you work on one of the islands?”

Another smile, one that gave him a dimple. “I do.”

Jackie broke in. “He’s your pilot, dear.”

“Oooh.” Leigh offered a dopey grin. “Sorry. I thought you were a passenger.”

“Only if you feel like doing the flying. In which case I’ll happily take a nap.”

She laughed. “No, no, you do the flying.”

“Okay then.” He gave Jackie a salute and headed for the rear door, Leigh following him into the sunshine.

“You’re American,” she said.

“Guilty.”

“Where are you from?”

“In some former life I recall living in New York City.” If he’d ever had a jarring city accent it was gone now, and his voice matched his looks. He was easy on both the eyes and ears.

“Wow. You’ve made quite a lifestyle change.”

He stopped short a few paces from the building and turned, crossing his arms over his chest, seeming suddenly taller. “Before I let you board, we have a little issue to clear up.”

Apprehension tightened her middle. “Oh?”

“You’ve put me in a tricky spot.”

“Did I? I’m paying for both tickets.”

He shook his head, his smile more mischievous than warm, shifting all the flattering assumptions she’d too hastily made about him. “Your mother left about ten messages demanding I don’t take you off this island.”

Leigh frowned, feeling a touch of panic.

He leaned closer. “Bit of an awkward position for me. I’m sure you can appreciate that.”

Her attention jumped everywhere, from his face to the plane to the water. “Can I bribe you?”

He straightened, expression brightening. “Sure. Knock yourself out.”

She rifled through her purse, hiding her irritation. “A hundred?”

He accepted the colorful Barbadian bill and pocketed it.

Leigh released a breath, as relieved as she was annoyed. Her shopping trip had taught her that prices here were highly negotiable, a bit of island culture she might need to get savvier at, lest the locals fleece her at every opportunity. This latest swindle set her back about fifty American dollars, but no price was too high, not in exchange for getting her where she needed to be.

“So we can go?”

“We can.” He led her down the long aluminum dock. The plane was small, its bottom half painted a cheerful aqua, top half gleaming white and emblazoned with the name The Passport.

Leigh’s unscrupulous pilot looked over his shoulder. “The rumor mill at the resort said this is your honeymoon.”

“It is.”

“Think you may have forgotten to pack your husband. Or did he get misplaced in transit?”

She smiled to cover the pang she felt. “Change of plans.”

WHEN THEY REACHED the plane, Will took Leigh’s bag and stowed it in the cabin. She traveled light, for a celebrity. He pictured her faceless fiancé back in L.A., sitting on a bed beside a pile of clothes and swimsuits that also hadn’t made the cut. Poor bastard.

Will hopped back down to the dock. “Just you and me, so you have a choice—sit back here or play copilot.”

“Which is better?”

“Tough to beat the view in the cockpit.”

Tough to beat a chance to have her as his captive audience, as well. He might not get many chances like this again, and he was secretly pleased when she said, “Okay. Sure.”

He secured the cabin and she followed him to the front, fumbling her way up the short ladder that connected the float to the cockpit. She settled into the far seat, taking in the console and instruments. When Will buckled himself in and donned sunglasses, she followed suit. She squinted at his license, displayed in a plastic frame mounted above the windshield.

“William Burgess.”

“Captain William Burgess,” he corrected officiously. “But Will is fine.”

“Leigh Bailey.”

He offered his finest pilot’s handshake, decisive and confident, qualities a person ought to value in a man charged with transporting her across sea and sky.

As Will prepped for takeoff, Leigh reached out to touch the panel of a gauge on the console. Scowling, he snatched her hand away and set it firmly on her knee.

“Don’t get handsy,” he said, pulling a cloth from a compartment and buffing away whatever fingerprints Leigh may have left on the glass. He might not dress like a captain, but this plane was more than his meal ticket—it was his baby. And he didn’t let strangers poke and prod and leave smudges on his baby.

Leigh frowned, looking annoyed. “Sorry.”

After a brief safety spiel, Will started The Passport, and soon enough the beaches of Barbados were slipping by from several hundred feet up. He wondered what she was thinking, given her intent gaze. Maybe the same things he always did—all that sand, all that water. All this, all to herself.

He spoke over the drone of the engine. “You didn’t need to bribe me, you know.”

She frowned again.

“It’s your name on the ticket. Doesn’t bother me if your old lady’s got her panties in a twist about what you’re up to.” He flashed her a grin, one that made her cheeks flush from discomfort, he guessed. “Want your money back?”

“Nah. You earned it.” Her casual tone was a put-on, Will could tell.

“Must be nice to be able to take or leave a hundred bucks.”

“I suppose.”

“Nice to be able to take or leave a husband.” It was a mean jab, he knew, but bound to earn him a response, a bit of information about his passenger. Maybe a sound slap, had he not been operating a plane. “So which did you do?” Will prompted. “Take him or leave him?”

“I left him,” she said coolly.

“Good for you. Hope you’ve got a lovely settlement coming to you.” An even lower blow, but Will had accepted a generous offer to collect information on this woman, and he didn’t like the thought of tweezing it out with some sympathetic, smooth-talker act. He’d goad it out of her. At least that way he wouldn’t be exploiting some false confidence.

Her face burned and she turned to glare at him. “That’s a really rude thing to say.”

“Is it?”

“Yes, it’s really rude.”

“Good thing I don’t fly for tips.”

She blinked, clearly incredulous, and shook her head. All that friendliness she’d showed him in the terminal fell away, surely sinking deep beneath the waves below.

“Not too late to swim, if you’re offended by the service.”

“No, thank you. Though I suspect I’ll be sitting in the cabin on the way back.”

“Probably wise. My old man was a cabbie in New York. My gifts of customer service are purely genetic.”

“A very rare and malicious disorder, I’m sure. Thank goodness you’re not contagious.”

He grinned, rather enjoying the dig.

“And since you’re so nosy, you may as well know there’s no settlement, because I didn’t get married.”

Will swallowed. “Duly noted.” He’d expected to feel some kind of triumph at such an informational coup, but he didn’t. It actually felt bad, a nauseous little twist in his gut.

“I was just teasing, you know.” Will met her eyes as much as was possible through two pairs of shades. “Taking the edge off?”

“More like sharpening it.”

“Not my intention.”

“I hope your landing approaches are smoother than your social ones.”

“Sorry.” He didn’t make an effort to sound especially sorry. Nausea notwithstanding, the tactless approach was working. “I’ve never had a runaway Hollywood bride in that seat before.”

She pursed her lips. “Do you know who I am?”

Enough to know some sleazebag back in L.A. will pay good money to hear what you’re up to. “There’s only a few types who vacation at this place, and when they’re women coming from Los Angeles, I can usually narrow it to actress or model or Hollywood wife. And we’ve ruled out wife.”

Leigh held her tongue.

“Not that I need to know,” Will said with a theatrical sigh of disinterest. “I’m just the chauffeur.”

Leigh countered with a haughtiness that struck him as un-practiced. “I have a chauffeur, sometimes, and he’s far better at diplomacy than you.”

“I have no doubt.” Will gave her another searching look. She wasn’t the woman he’d been expecting, and fruitful though it was, she didn’t deserve the antagonism… but he couldn’t deny he liked the way his teasing made her cheeks go pink. Still, he softened his tone. “Don’t take this personally if you can help it, but I didn’t have you pegged as a woman scorned.”

“No?”

He shook his head. “More like an escapee. Thought maybe I was your getaway driver.”

Her lips parted, but no reply followed. Her look said he was right, that she had escaped. From what, Will couldn’t guess, but one thing seemed clear—her flight was no publicity stunt.

He felt another pang in his middle.

Will had designed his life as free from obligations and guilt as humanly possible, expressly to avoid the ugly emotions he felt now. He didn’t want to report on this woman anymore, but at the end of the day, she was nothing to him. He needed the money for things that mattered. Things that mattered far more than a few innocuous tidbits leaked to some slimeball editor thousands of miles away in Hollywood.

Leigh’s hackles seemed to lower. “You are,” she finally said. “You’re my getaway driver.”

She relaxed back into her seat and they were quiet for ten minutes or more.

Will pointed into the distance. “See that?”

Leigh squinted at a dot in the turquoise ocean. “Is that it?”

“Yup. That’s your hideout.”

“Wow. That is private.”

“Eleven square miles of paradise. Nothing but white sand and swaying palms and room service.”

“Sounds heavenly. Though it’s probably nothing exotic to you.”

Will laughed. “Are you kidding? I’ve lived on that tiny speck for seven years now, and I still wake up every day pinching myself.” The second he abandoned the prying, the sourness in his stomach eased.

“You live there?”

He nodded. “Fly people back and forth twice a day for a passable stipend.”

“Wow.”

“You say that a lot, you know.”

“Oh. Yes, I suppose I do.”

“You’re very easy to impress,” Will said as the plane began its descent. “I like that in a woman.”

“Yes. That would be a requisite for a man of your charms.”

He laughed again, then realized he might be in danger of actually liking Leigh Bailey, celebrity runaway bride or not. That didn’t bode well for his gig.

The island grew closer, and Will could make out two of the villas from this angle, two tiny blue swimming pools, two docks poking out into the waves.

“So you are famous, right?” he asked, banking the plane left.

“Not crazy-famous. B-list, I guess. Maybe B plus.”

“What are you famous for?” She’d been in some films he’d never heard of, but that was all he knew about her.

“When I was in high school, outside San Francisco, I was really into dance. And one summer I was fed up over not getting called back for theater auditions, so my mom drove me to L.A. to try out for a movie. And I got it.”

“What kind of movie?”

“About a shy, bookworm girl who goes away for a summer to Miami and meets all these hot-blooded ballroom dancers, and falls in love with this boy. Just another star-crossed teen romance with a dance-off at the end. That’s what I’m most known for. And I did a few romantic comedies and a couple indie films, and got talked into a cosmetics campaign. But nothing hugely amazing.”

“Looking to be the next big thing?”

“Quite the opposite.”

Will’s brow furrowed in surprise, and he hoped she didn’t notice.

“I’d happily wake up tomorrow as a complete nobody.”

“I hate to break it to you, but running away from your wedding’s not gonna do much to keep you out of the spotlight.”

“No kidding.”

“But if you’re looking to be a nobody, you’ve picked the best place on earth to do it.”

“Actually… You let me bribe you into taking me this far. Any chance I can bribe you into keeping your mouth shut to any other passengers or resort staff?”

“Discretion comes standard. In fact, I’ve already forgotten your name, Miss…?”

She smiled grimly, and Will tried to ignore the fresh stab of guilt his lie triggered.

AFTER A SHAKY LANDING, Will climbed out and secured the craft to a long aluminum dock, then offered Leigh a hand as she disembarked.

“Thanks.”

He fetched her suitcase and made a beeline for a huge stucco building with terra-cotta roof tiles and a grand arched entryway. She followed, breathing in the sea-scented island air as the plane’s diesel smell faded. She took in the white sand, blue sky, her pilot’s backside… the latter merely to spite Dan. Not because she still had any lingering curiosity about kissing this galling man. Certainly not. Though Will did retain some appeal. She’d gotten so used to everyone telling her what they thought she wanted to hear, Will’s tactlessness had a strange allure.

He held the door as they reached the reception building, the lobby equal parts posh and primitive with its huge windows and fountain and exotic plants.

He set her suitcase before the unmanned reception counter and tapped a silver bell.

“Thank you,” Leigh said.

Will didn’t leave, and she bit her lip. His proximity made her feel funny. Naked. “Sorry. Am I supposed to tip you?”

He smiled. “I’m driving you to your villa, once you’ve checked in.”

“You do that, too?”

“I do for that unit. It’s not far from my place.”

“Okay.”

“And you may tip me for that, incidentally.”

Leigh’s retort was cut off as a harried young Caribbean woman appeared.

“So sorry to keep you waitin’. Mrs. Cosenza?” Ah, another dagger in the breast.

“Miss Bailey,” Will corrected, tucking his hands in his pockets.

The woman looked to Leigh. “Oh?”

“Yes, just me. It’s under Cosenza, but I… Well, anyhow. Change of plans.” She ought to have that printed on a T-shirt.

The woman got busy typing. “So only one key, then. No problem at all. You’re in the Shearwater Villa.” She procured a plastic card and swiped it across a device before handing it to Leigh. “Let me jus’ get a driver ‘round for you.”

“I’m on it,” Will said.

The woman frowned first at him, then Leigh. “You really want this bum escortin’ you?”

Leigh looked from one to the other.

The woman laughed. “Just kiddin’—you’re in good hands. Terrible vehicle, but very good hands. Now anything you need, you’ll find the phone numbers in the binder waitin’ on your coffee table. You have a lovely visit, miss.”