The Little Wedding Island. Jaimie Admans

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