The Little Wedding Island. Jaimie Admans

      ‘Maybe I’m just doomed to meet guys with weak stomachs.’

      ‘Oi! I don’t have a weak stomach, I just don’t get on very well with boats. Generally I avoid them at all costs, but I couldn’t get out of this trip and I didn’t have time to prepare myself.’

      I press the toes of my shoes alternately against the concrete. I should go – I know that. Now is the time to say it was nice to have met him and leave him in peace when he’s obviously still feeling like death warmed up, but I can’t make the words come out of my mouth.

      ‘You don’t have to stay with the pathetic seasick loser, you know.’ He squints up at me again with a gentle smile. ‘I’m just gonna sit here until I feel marginally less like I’m going to die.’

      ‘I still have your coat,’ I say, even though I could easily take it off and leave it with him.

      ‘Well, considering that was the last boat out today so we’re obviously both staying the night, and I’m told there’s only one B&B on the island, I don’t think you’ll have much trouble finding me to give it back.’

      I know. That’s the problem. I don’t have an excuse to stay with him, but I don’t want to walk away yet. Butterfly wings are beating inside me and my heart is hammering in my chest. I can still feel the imprint of his hand around mine and the smell of his aftershave on his coat is making me decidedly light-headed.

      I sweep his coat under my legs and sit down beside him on the wall. ‘Actually, you still seem really unsteady on your feet. I’d never forgive myself if you toppled over a cliff or something. This island seems really cliff-y.’

      ‘Cliff-y?’ He says with a snort. ‘That’s what my mum calls Cliff Richard when she listens to his music. When all the neighbourhood dogs start yowling, she sticks her head out the window and screams, “Calm down, it’s only Cliff-y!”’

      I can’t remember the last time I laughed so much at someone, especially someone I’ve only known for half an hour.

      When I’ve wiped away tears of laughter and composed myself enough to look up, he’s smiling at me, a wide smile that makes crow’s feet crinkle the corners of his eyes and I have an overwhelming desire to run my fingers across them. He’s funny and he loves his mum. Is he literally the perfect man? His only flaw so far seems to be seasickness, which is really, really far down the list of things you don’t want in a man.

      And I happen to have noticed that he’s not wearing a wedding ring. Of course, you can guarantee he’s got a girlfriend, but for one delicious moment, hope lives inside me.

      ‘I’m Seasick Rohan, by the way.’

      ‘People don’t really call you that, do they?’

      ‘They probably would if I went on more boats.’ He chuckles and holds his hand out for me to shake. ‘Generally just Rohan will do. And that is by far the worst first impression I’ve ever made. I’m really sorry.’

      ‘You don’t have to apologise for being ill,’ I say. ‘And like I said, I once had a guy throw up on my shoes before he’d even introduced himself, so you’re way above the worst of first impressions with me.’

      He smiles like he’s trying not to smile and I’m still shaking his hand even though it clearly doesn’t need any more shaking.

      ‘I’m Bonnie.’

      ‘Oh, how weird. You’re the second Bonnie I’ve come across this week, and the first one was nowhere near as nice as you.’

      I blush at the once again effortless compliment. Does he really mean them or is he just trying to be charming and/or get in my knickers? Or am I becoming as cynical as Oliver and R.C. Art? Can’t a guy just be nice these days?

      His hand squeezes mine gently and I’m not sure if he’s just squeezing it or politely telling me to let go. I extract my fingers from his anyway. It’s gone way beyond a handshake now, but goose bumps tingle up my arm again. It’s just how cold his hand is, I tell myself. Nothing more. And goose bumps are pointless anyway – no way is a gorgeous, hilarious, mum-loving, thirty-something guy really going to be single or interested in me.

      Instead of concentrating on how much I like sitting close to him, I turn away and look at the island instead. There’s not a lot to see from here. Judging by the endless stone steps leading up from the jetty, we’re on the lowest part of the island, and the rest of it towers above us on jagged cliff edges. There’s greenery up top, trees and plants, and there’s definitely a church on a hill, grey bricks showing through the leaves when the wind blows in the right direction.

      ‘So you’ve heard about this church then…’ I venture.

      ‘Yeah,’ he says.

      I’m waiting for him to say ‘my fiancée wants to get married there’ or something – that would be just my luck. There aren’t many men who are gorgeous, kind, funny, and still single left in the world. Maybe if there were, I’d have had better luck in finding a Prince Charming to go with my dream wedding dress.

      His eyes are on the building on the hills above us. ‘Looks like they’ve made it into a shrine. It’s got to be a joke, right? I mean, look at that. Even from down here, you can tell they’ve done everything they can to make it seem like some kind of sacred temple or something.’

      ‘Who?’

      ‘Whoever stands to make the most money out of it.’ He shrugs. ‘Probably all of them. My boss said you can buy wedding dresses and cakes and stuff here, so every business owner on this island benefits from people getting married there.’

      ‘That’s very cynical.’

      ‘I’m sorry, I think I misheard – did you say realistic?’

      I frown at him and he grins. ‘I just think it’s so contrived. We’ve been here for five minutes and I can already guarantee that those weeping willow trees are planted to hide it in plain sight. I bet it’s surrounded by flowers and there’s probably a sickeningly romantic little archway made of roses, so every sucker who comes here falls for the “oh, come and get married in our exclusive magical church” spiel. We promise your marriage will never end in divorce, and if it does, the boat ride over here is so choppy that it’s not like you’d want to come back and complain, is it?’

      I don’t know whether he’s being funny or sarcastic or is just feeling ill. ‘Don’t you think it’s sweet? I’d love to get married in a place like this. Even if it is just a story, I still think it’s romantic.’

      ‘There’s no such thing as romance. There are people who profit from romance and there are guys who want sex. Couple those things and you’ve got a booming industry that thrives on telling women what they want and making men feel inadequate.’

      ‘Maybe at the beginning of a relationship, but not when it comes to weddings. Weddings are a commitment to spend your life with each other, for better or worse.’

      ‘Hah. Weddings are a commitment to spend a fortune and spend the rest of your life making each other miserable.’

      I frown at him again. ‘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