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

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      ‘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. ‘But, admittedly, I’ve seen uglier tourist traps.’

      In front of us, there’s a rickety signpost with two arrows on it: ‘weddings’ to the right, and ‘accommodation’ to the left.

      Rohan peers at it. ‘I don’t know how we’d have found our way around without that.’

      There’s a woman pottering around in the garden of the nearest cottage and she waves at us. ‘Welcome to The Little Wedding Island!’ she calls over. ‘The B&B’s that way.’

      ‘Thanks!’ I shout.

      ‘How does she know we want the B&B?’ he hisses in my ear. ‘See, I told you they’re watching us.’

      I try not to think about the shiver his mouth at my ear sends down my spine. ‘We’re obviously tourists and we’ve obviously just got off the boat. What else are we going to want?’

      He mutters something unintelligible.

      ‘What was that? Yes, Bonnie, you’re quite right or something along those lines?’

      He grunts but I know he’s joking.

      The B&B isn’t far from where we’re standing, down a narrow path between the white-flowered plants. It’s much bigger than the cottages 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!’

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