The Little Wedding Island. Jaimie Admans

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.’

      She suddenly seems to realise she’s said too much because she stops so abruptly that she may as well have clamped a hand over her mouth. She flaps us towards a table set back from the window, a red candle burning in the middle of it, a few rose petals scattered on the tablecloth around it. ‘Sit, sit, let me get the wine!’

      She rushes out of the room and I look at Rohan who is looking at the empty doorway with a raised eyebrow.

      I go to sit down but his hand is on the back of my chair before I have a chance. ‘Uh-uh. I promised I’d pull a chair out for you, didn’t I?’

      I laugh as he does just that and I sit in the chair. ‘You try spreading a napkin across my lap for me and I’m going to wallop you.’

      He laughs as he walks around the tiny table and sits opposite me, his back to the window. ‘So, we know they have a wedding photographer here…’

      ‘Why are they being so secretive?’ I say. ‘We know it’s an island for weddings. We know about the church, we know they offer wedding packages, there’s even a signpost for weddings at the top of the steps up from the dock. Why does she act as if mentioning a photographer is like accidentally letting slip the whereabouts of MI5’s secret headquarters?’

      ‘Maybe it’s exactly that. Maybe it’s, like, a mafia-run island for gang weddings or something?’

      ‘Yeah. That elderly couple on the beach, that woman weeding her garden, bouncy Clara… They’re all straight out of the mob, aren’t they?’

      He grins as Clara comes back in with a bottle and two glasses. She sets one down in front of each of us and fills them with red wine. ‘Won’t be a tick with dinner!’

      It’s only then I realise that, as well as only two glasses, there are only two chairs and only room for two people on this tiny table. ‘Aren’t you joining us?’

      ‘Oh, I had my tea ages ago. I just wanted to make sure you both had something hearty in your stomachs after such a long trip.’

      As she leaves again, Rohan beckons me closer and whispers, ‘Do you think she means literal heart? Of her husband? Who’s chopped up in the freezer?’

      I couldn’t stop the burst of laughter if I wanted to. ‘Oh, stop it.’

      ‘Yeah, you’re right. She’s probably defrosted him ready to cook. He’ll be in the fridge by now.’

      It makes me laugh even more and I lean back in my chair and our legs bump into each other because neither of us has space to move away.

      ‘Sorry,’ Rohan mumbles. ‘I think doll’s houses have bigger tables than this.’

      ‘No worries,’ I say, because there are worse things than eating dinner with a gorgeous man’s leg against yours. I just hope my jeans are thick enough not to give away how long it’s been since I shaved my legs.

      ‘Dinner is served!’ Clara trills, appearing with two plates and setting them down in front of us. ‘A lovely stew, cooked with all locally sourced products.’

      Rohan nudges my leg with his and I have to stifle more laughter.

      ‘Enjoy, dears! I’ll be back with a wine refill shortly, and if you play your cards right, there might be a slice of chocolate cake for afters!’

      ‘You’re spoiling us, Clara,’ Rohan says, giving her his widest smile.

      Instead of melting on the spot like I expected her to, she fixes him with a firm stare. ‘I get the feeling you’re someone who deserves a little spoiling, Mr Carter.’ In the blink of an eye, she’s back to her cheerful self, calling ‘toodle-oo’ as she closes the door behind her.

      ‘Well, that was creepy.’

      ‘That was sweet. I think she meant she knew you felt ill earlier and wanted to