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

‘That’s horrible. That’s not—’

      He drops his head into his hands and groans. ‘Sorry. I could’ve held back a bit there. You’ll have to forgive me, my head’s pounding and the world’s spinning, and I think several donkeys have had a kick at my stomach. I don’t usually get quite that ranty with complete strangers. I just hate weddings.’

      Another one. How many people can you find in one week who hate weddings? ‘You’re not here to get married then?’

      He laughs, a bitter sharp sound. ‘Oh, trust me, marriage is not something I’ll be subjecting myself to, ever.’

      Even though I don’t agree with his cynicism, and if we were having this conversation anywhere else, I’d have got up and walked away by now, I still don’t want to get up off this wall. This is the kind of conversation that crabby old men corner you with at weddings. They tell you to write about how much their wife got in the divorce or how much their solicitor charged.

      It’s probably just how sick he feels. Everyone’s a bit harsh when they feel rubbish, and he’s still as pale as a freshly bleached bedsheet and I still want to put my hand on his forehead and see if he feels as hot as he looks. In temperature and sexiness.

      There’s a couple walking hand in hand along the sandy beach to our right, and they look at us for a moment before waving.

      I give them a wave back and my brightest grin. Rohan gives them a tight smile. ‘Thought we were being watched,’ he says through gritted teeth.

      ‘Oh, they’re just out for a walk, bless them.’

      ‘You didn’t spot them hiding behind one of the rocks just now then?’

      ‘No.’ I look at him in surprise. ‘I doubt they were hiding. They were probably looking at rock pools or something. Or the dead jellyfish that angry man mentioned.’

      He laughs. ‘They have binoculars.’

      ‘So they’re bird-watching. They probably think we’re sitting here waiting for the boat and wondering if they should tell us it’s already left.’

      ‘Oh, I think this is the kind of island where the locals know exactly who is on it and exactly what they’re doing at all times. I’m sure they’re well aware that we’ve only just arrived.’

      ‘Well, I think you’re a cynical old grump.’

      He starts laughing. ‘I’ll take the cynical grump bit but I’m thirty-six, you don’t get to call me old yet!’

      I laugh too, my shoulder pressing against his, heat spreading outwards from the point of contact, another little shiver going through me. He’s only two years older than me. Could he get any more perfect?

      ‘Are you feeling any better?’ I ask when I realise that it’s probably weird to just sit here leaning against him.

      ‘Yeah, I am actually. I think talking to you should officially be classed as a cure for seasickness.’

      ‘And I think you should get a refund on your lessons at charm school,’ I say, even though I’m pretty sure Dulux do paint in the same shade of red as my cheeks.

      ‘Not being charming, just being honest,’ he says as I get to my feet. ‘Besides, I can imagine how much of a state I look at the moment. I think I’d have to try a bit harder than that to charm the socks off you.’

      ‘When it comes to most guys being charming, socks are not the item of clothing they want to charm off.’

      ‘Well, you can rest assured that I’m not interested in charming anything off you, including but not limited to socks, and I think it’s safe to say that the charm is gone when I’ve spent the afternoon retching into a bag in front of you.’

      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.