The Unexpected Honeymoon. Barbara Wallace

the cotton sock taste, but helped.

      “Speaking of your stay, Señorita...” Reaching into his breast pocket, he removed a neatly creased sheet of paper. “I had some questions about your itinerary, now that your original plans have...”

      “Bitten the dust?” Larissa supplied. “And please, call me Larissa. Formality seems a little silly at this point, don’t you think?”

      A hint of a smile played at the corner of his mouth. “Very well, Larissa. According to our records, you booked a number of activities for while you’re staying with us.”

      Larissa remembered. The wedding coordinator made everything sound so wonderful over the phone. Unable to pick one or two, she selected everything. You only get one honeymoon, she’d rationalized. Why not make it as romantic as possible?

      “I’m assuming you are no longer interested.”

      “You assume correct.” Moonlight dinner cruises and couples massages weren’t exactly solo activities. “The only activity on my schedule this week is following the angle of the sun.” And hopefully figuring out what caused her perfect engagement to implode so spectacularly. See, Tom, I am capable of introspection.

      Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the manager looking at his paper. “What? Is there a problem?”

      “Not at all. I’ll make sure all your previous events are canceled. Although you realize, by canceling at such short notice, you are respon—”

      “Wait, wait, wait. Short notice? I canceled everything weeks ago.”

      He frowned. “Not according to our records.”

      “Well, your records are wrong.” It would take more than a couple bottles of wine to erase that phone call from her memory. “What did you think I was going to do? Marry myself?”

      “I assumed you didn’t realize the wedding was off last night.”

      A logical assumption. Wrong, but logical. “I spoke to your wedding planner six weeks ago.”

      “Six weeks.” He inhaled deeply. “Are you sure you spoke directly with Maria del Olma?”

      “Positive, and she assured me canceling wouldn’t be a problem.”

      Except apparently it was, if his quivering jaw muscle was any indication. “It appears there’s been a miscommunication. Maria never noted the cancellation in your records.”

      “Well, I’m noting it now.”

      “I don’t suppose you have written confirmation.”

      Larissa started to say yes, only to snap her mouth shut. Come to think of it, Maria didn’t send any follow-up. Normally, Larissa would request a letter for her files, but she’d been so upset she must have let it go. Plus, Delilah was getting married, and Chloe was having relationship drama. Following up slipped her mind.

      Could she start this whole trip over? Please?

      Turning on her heel, she stomped onto the terrace. Sunshine and brightness be damned; she needed fresh air. In keeping with the morning’s theme, she bumped into the lounge chair, stubbing her toe on a piece of plastic. Her missing sunglasses skidded across the floor. Score one positive. She shoved them on her face as she limped toward the railing.

      At least the view remained as beautiful as she remembered. Unlike in New York where activity reigned 24/7, the day had yet to get started. The lagoon’s surface was an aqua-green mirror, the only sign of visible life a solitary egret stalking the opposite shore. Occasionally the leaves in the upper canopy would rustle as an unseen bird, or monkey maybe, alighted from a branch. After four years of city living, Larissa forgot such serenity existed.

      She remembered when she decided to get married at La Joya. The photos online looked so gorgeous, she’d fallen in love at first sight. What could be more romantic than getting married in paradise? Delilah and Chloe always teased her when she said stuff like that. You think everything’s romantic, Delilah would say. Then they’d joked and call her a Bridezilla because she changed the venue three times.

      She loved her friends, but they didn’t understand her any more than Tom did. She’d been planning her wedding day since she was six years old, and spied on her first dress fitting through the crack in her grandmother’s accordion doors. When the bride stepped out of the fitting room all white and sparkly, it was like a princess in real life. So pretty, so...special. Standing there, surrounded by faded yellow wallpaper, she glowed. They all did. All the brides, all the prom queens. Delilah did, too, when she married Simon. So much so, it took her breath away. All Larissa wanted was to glow like that. To have one day where she was the princess.

      And she’d come so close. She could still remember how excited she’d been when Tom proposed. Handsome, successful, stable Tom Wainwright wanted her. All those years dreaming a man would fall in love with her, and whisk her off into the sunset and finally her dream had come true. Or so she’d thought.

      A soft cough reminded her she wasn’t alone. Señor Chavez had moved to her elbow. “I’m told our former wedding coordinator was quite distracted toward the end of her tenure with us. Her abrupt departure has caused more than a few loose ends.”

      “Let me guess. She left six weeks ago.”

      “I’m afraid so.”

      Figures. How much did Larissa want to bet she took off shortly after their phone conversation?

      “I’ll personally take care of canceling all your obligations. However, there is one problem.”

      Say no more. Larissa made her living typing advertising sales contracts. An agreement was an agreement. Without evidence she actually spoke with Maria del Olma, it was her word against the computer system. “You’re telling me I’m liable for the expense. How much?” She tried to remember the terms of their agreement. Technically, she gave them fewer than twenty-four hours. Which meant...

      There was a pause. “The entire amount.”

      Oh for crying out loud. “Seriously? The whole thing?”

      “I am afraid so.”

      “Even though you guys are the ones who made the mistake.” She shook her head. If she ever found Maria del Olma, she would slap the woman. No way Tom would pony up any of his share, either. She could hear him now. This was your obsession, Larissa, not mine.

      “You know this is completely unfair, don’t you?”

      “I’m sorry.”

      “You can’t take something off the bill?” After all, it was his staff member’s error.

      “Please?” she asked, lowering her glasses. She could tell from his expression, he was struggling with a response, the need to recoup costs clashing with his desire to make the guest happy. Might as well throw a little hangdog-inspired guilt in to tilt the scales in her favor. “What if I pay half?”

      He sighed. “Best I can do is reduce the cost by thirty percent.”

      “Only thirty?” This was so not helping her headache. “What about the fact that I brought in business? Didn’t you say those people signed a contract?” In her opinion, she deserved half off for that alone.

      A shadow crossed the railing as he appeared at her elbow. Looking right, she saw him studying her with an arched brow. “I thought you didn’t remember last night.”

      “I remember the reason for the Cabernet.” In fact, she was pretty sure she toasted the couple’s health and happiness once or twice.

      “The Steinbergs are the reason I’m willing to go as high as thirty.”

      “Oh.”

      “You have to understand, space was blocked off, food has been specially prepared. The bridal cake alone...”

      “No need to explain. I get it.” She’d heard the sales department