The Rock Star's Wedding

by Demelza Carlton

  "My key's to the same room number as yours. Looks like we're sharing. At least your ex won't be likely to try and sneak in with me in here." Springs creaked as Jay threw himself on the other bed. His bed.

  Bloody hell. Xan peered blearily at him. If she had to share a room, better Jay than Jerome. "I'm not sleeping with you," she repeated.

  "Yeah, yeah. So you keep saying. Bet you're out before I am, though. I hope you don't snore."

  Xan struggled to get under the sheets so she could pull one over her head. "You better not, either."

  She vaguely heard Jay say something in response, but she wasn't listening any more. The cider pulled her under into welcome sleep. It'd serve him right if she snored, too.

  ELEVEN

  Xan awoke in an unfamiliar bed, shrouded in crisp white sheets that screamed hotel room. Definitely not her unit, where she only used the blue sheets she'd bought in town. She lifted her head to look around, and that's when the tides turned – from drowsy calm to pounding surf, beating at the inside of her head. Nope. Just...nope. She subsided onto the pillow.

  Something on the bedside table caught her eye – a scrap of paper. Xan groped for it and held the note in front of her eyes.

  Jay Felix's Fuck That Hangover Cure, she read.

  1. Take the pills and drink the water. All of it.

  2. When the pills kick in, take a shower or if you're feeling up to it, join me for a swim.

  3. Room service said they're working on Step 3.

  What pills, she wondered, risking a glance at the nightstand. He'd left her two tablets, still in their plastic and foil blisters, and a bottle of water. They turned out to be pain relief, the sort sold over the counter in the supermarket, which was safe enough, Xan decided, downing them with a gulp of water.

  She sipped the rest of the bottle slowly, feeling distinctly seedy, but not like she was going to be sick. And as for joining Jay for his morning swim...no bloody way was she swimming naked with him in the hotel pool. She'd shut herself in the shower and lock the door so he couldn't walk in. He might like wandering around with everything hanging out, but she had higher standards.

  Her headache ebbed away slowly, until the weak sunlight filtering through the blinds no longer seared her eyes. When Xan felt halfway human again, she heaved herself out of bed, grabbed her overnight bag from the dresser, and headed for the bathroom.

  She stood under the spray for ages, luxuriating in the unlimited, high-pressure, hot water, so unlike the eco-friendly facilities back at the resort. Well, those in the staff accommodation, at least – she knew the villas had much better bathrooms than this one, though the main hotel rooms were probably on a par with this. No surprises there, seeing as Steve had refurbished these rooms with the same contractors that Meier had used for the island. Yet another small town thing.

  Reluctantly, she shut off the water and towelled herself dry. Just as she hung up the towel, she heard a door slam. Jay returning, she guessed, hurrying to dress in case he burst into the bathroom. She had locked the door, but it wasn't exactly a super-secure deadlock.

  Sure enough, Jay knocked on the door. "You decent in there? Or getting into your bathers so you can join me for a swim? I'm done, but I'll go down again if you want the company. The pool's colder than the lagoon, by the way."

  "I'm always decent," Xan called back, pulling her t-shirt over her head. She reached for the door handle and hesitated. "What about you?" The last thing she needed was to get an eyeful of Jay's nude body first thing in the morning. Watching him swim naked in the lagoon was one thing, but in this hotel room, it'd be much more intimate.

  "Nope!" he replied. "Rock stars are born to be indecent. Goes with the territory."

  Xan took a deep breath, opened the door and strode out, fixing her gaze on the ceiling. "Can you put a towel on or something and let me know when it's safe to look?"

  Jay laughed. "You're not this squeamish most mornings. And yes, I've got a towel round me. Happy now?"

  Xan risked a glance. "You're wearing board shorts! I thought you said you weren't decent?"

  "I'm not. But their pool is colder than the lagoon, like I said, and there's a difference between swimming naked in the lagoon on your own private island and skinnydipping in someone else's hotel pool."

  Maybe Jay did have a little common decency, after all. Not that Xan intended to tell him. "I'd have thought you'd like having a new audience to show off to."

  "Not the audience I had in mind. It's not as much fun unless the audience appreciates your performance." Jay's grin turned wicked.

  "I'm sure all the other hotel guests wouldn't have minded waking up to a naked rock star outside their window," Xan said.

  Jay shrugged. "Probably not. You don't."

  Xan saw red. "How many times have I told you to put something on in the mornings? Maybe I just got sick of wasting my breath."

  "Maybe. Doesn't explain why you still watch me swim, every morning."

  Xan turned away, hoping to hide her flushed face. He could see her through her kitchen window as clearly as she saw him?

  "I'll go see about that room service, then I'd like to take a shower. You'll be done in the bathroom by then, yeah?" Jay tossed over his shoulder before he closed the door behind him.

  Xan sank onto the bed, her head in her hands as her headache returned with a vengeful stab. She knew she shouldn't watch her boss swim his perfectly sculpted body past her window every morning, but it's not like she was peeping through his bedroom window to see him naked. He put everything on very public display in the island's lagoon, where anyone walking past could see him!

  When she got home, she resolved, she'd have her morning coffee at the kitchen table in future, with her back turned firmly to the window.

  She noticed her phone blinking, meaning it had received a message. Sure enough it had – a text message from Jerome, apologising for last night and asking to meet her for breakfast this morning. Not bloody likely. Xan stabbed her finger at the delete button, feeling a peculiar satisfaction as Jerome's words vanished. Good riddance.

  Jay burst back into the room, grinning. "Room service has arrived!" He carried a tray loaded with more food and drink than two people could eat. Definitely more than Xan could eat.

  "I don't want anything," she said. If Jerome's message hadn't made her feel sick, her hangover definitely did.

  Jay set the tray down on the table by the window. Overlooking the pool, damn it, as if to continue mocking her. "You want the rest of my hangover cure, don't you?" he coaxed. "I mean, after dancing on the tables, accepting my marriage proposal and then having wild sex with me all night, you've got to have a hangover."

  "I didn't drink that much, and I've never danced on a table in my life." Xan said. "Cut the bullshit, Jay."

  He sighed. "Well, I tried. Another time, maybe. But my hangover cure's gold, and it only works if you follow all the steps. That means breakfast."

  Her head throbbed. "If I eat anything, I'll only bring it back up," Xan said. "I might manage a black coffee. But that's it."

  "I'll make a bet with you. You try my rock star hangover cure, and if it works, I win."

  "You win what?" Xan asked.

  "If you lose your hangover by the time we check out, you'll dance with me at Angel's wedding."

  "And if I throw up?"

  Jay frowned. "Dunno. What do you want from me, Xan?"

  "If I win, you stop swimming naked past my kitchen window," Xan said. If he removed temptation altogether, she'd never have to look at it.

  He shrugged. "If that's what you want. You won't win, anyway." He lifted a frosty glass jug and poured two tall glasses of something pink and icy, before handing one glass to her. "Deal. Drink up."

  Gingerly, Xan accepted the glass. "What is it?"

  "Iced watermelon juice. The secret cure to all hangovers," Jay said smugly. "Ask the chefs at the resort. It was my standing breakfast order, when I first arrived, and after Phuong...yeah. Then. They're talking about adding it as a pe
rmanent item to the room service menu next season. Calling it the rock star detox or something." He chugged down half his glass, looking expectantly at her over the rim.

  Xan sighed. Oh well, if she was going to be sick anyway, at least she'd get something out of the deal. She took a cautious sip, then a second one. It wasn't half bad.

  Jay wasn't even watching. He threw himself on his bed, remote control in hand, and clicked on the TV to the morning news.

  With his attention elsewhere, Xan poured herself a second glass of juice, feeling her headache finally retreating.

  "See? It works," Jay said softly.

  So he hadn't been ignoring her after all. So much for the end of temptation. "I'm not dancing on a table," she said.

  "The dance floor's fine by me," Jay replied, uncovering the rest of their breakfast tray. "Now, how do you feel about pancakes?"

  Xan eyed the fluffy stack, topped with berries and what looked like maple syrup. To her surprise, her stomach rumbled with hunger. "Optimistic."

  "Good. Because I wanted the eggs." Jay grabbed the other plate, piled high with protein, and proceeded to dig in.

  TWELVE

  Xan drove for ten minutes before Jay piped up from the passenger seat, "This isn't the way to the airport."

  "No," she admitted, watching the speedometer to make sure she didn't go over the limit. "Shou got called to help out with mustering on one of the inland stations. It's that time of year. Pretty much any pilot or aircraft that can fly is out mustering or on fire patrol, because the volunteer fire brigade wants to burn off as much fuel as they can before a bushfire starts by accident. There's already been one firenado. Took out two helicopters, which is why he's been roped into mustering this year. He treats that helicopter the way most men behave around their cars – no one drives but him."

  "Not me," Jay said cheerfully. "I'm happy to let you drive."

  "I thought you'd lost your licence, so you can't drive, even if you wanted to," Xan said.

  "Oh, I can still drive, but I'm not allowed to until March. So until then, I can drink as much as I like and never have to worry about being the designated driver. So drive on, and I think I'll have a beer." Jay reached into the back seat.

  "It's barely ten in the morning!" Xan hissed.

  "Then it's afternoon in Sydney, what with daylight savings and all." Jay popped the cap off the edge of the dashboard. "Still cold, too."

  "Where did you get that?" Xan asked, glancing at the back seat, which held a case of beer that she definitely hadn't loaded in there.

  "A gift from the band last night," Jay said smugly. "One of their mates videoed us jamming together last night and stuck it up on social media. I shared it on my account, and the fangirls all went crazy for it. The guys sold more music overnight than they've sold in the last five years. So they bought a carton of beer to thank me. It's the one you like, the ginger. I figured it's because of you I was there last night, so it's only fair you get the beer. Except this one. And anything else I drink on the drive back, because it's so fucking boring."

  The Cape Leveque Road wasn't boring, especially not if you were the one driving that treacherous ninety-kilometre stretch of red dirt, but the mention of her favourite beer had even Xan tempted to drink in the morning. But she couldn't – this was definitely a road you needed all your wits about you to tackle. Even her low alcohol beer was off limits until they reached the pearl farm. She promised herself a cold one from the restaurant tap, once they reached it.

  But first...the task at hand. Xan turned onto the road marked by a thicket of signs, warning motorists of everything from the speed limits, the fire danger (which seemed permanently stuck on EXTREME of late) and the waste disposal site to dangerous wildlife like cows and crocodiles. She scanned the placards for the most important one: the big one proclaiming which roads were open, and to which vehicles. The resort's fleet of four-wheel-drives could withstand most conditions, but she'd seen this road closed to even her sturdy cars, sometimes for weeks at a time. If anything really brought it home to her how remote the resort was, it was this bloodstained road.

  "It's open," she breathed, relieved. There had been talk of resurfacing this road before the wet season started, but until the council road crews set a definite date, nothing would be done. They usually gave everyone on the Dampier Peninsula plenty of warning, too, so they could get supplies in before the road closure. Admittedly, the last couple of times, she'd been notified only a day or two in advance, but she'd assured the blokes at the council that she didn't mind being the last to know. Not everyone could afford to fly or boat in whatever they wanted, like Romance Island Resort. A message about upcoming roadworks could be sitting in her inbox, unopened, right now.

  After fifteen minutes of bumping along a road so rutted it made her teeth rattle, Xan swore that if there wasn't an email in her inbox, telling her they were grading the road tomorrow, she'd call every person in the council offices until there was. Driving on this was like crossing the world's widest cattle grid, designed to keep elephants out. If she knew the road would be this bad, she'd have waited another day in town until a pilot was available. Anything to get her to the pearl farm and the short jet boat ride to the resort.

  "Oi! You're making my beer froth over!" Jay complained, wiping his hand across a damp patch on his pants.

  Xan ignored him and kept driving. The view in her rear vision mirror was a cloud of red dust, and before her stretched what could easily be mistaken for the road to hell. No, the road through hell, seeing as most of the Dampier Peninsula, the pearl farm included, were as much a part of paradise as Romance Island itself, if a little less luxurious.

  Idly, she wondered if she could drop Jay off at the devil's place along the way, seeing as the beer-drinking rock star at her side was about as far from angelic as a man could get.

  He had cured her hangover this morning, though, she reasoned, and he had behaved like a gentleman, despite having to share a room last night. Hell, he'd even behaved himself at the party last night, which had probably proved quite a challenge for him with his bad-boy reputation.

  Maybe Jay Felix wasn't all bad, then.

  Of course, that's the moment an explosion came from Jay's side of the car, tilting them dangerously sideways.

  "What did you do?" Xan shouted over the ringing in her ears. She was wrong. Jay was the devil's spawn.

  "I finished my beer," Jay replied with dignity. "You blew a tyre. That's why all resort cars carry two spares on the back."

  He was right, Xan realised as her heart sank. She slowed to a stop and turned off the engine.

  This will be easy, she told herself. It's just changing a tyre, and like he said, there are two spares on the back. It couldn't be simpler.

  "So who's changing the tyre? You or me?" Jay asked. "Want to flip a coin for it?"

  Xan stared at him. Somehow, he'd managed to crack open another beer. "No," she decided. "I'm doing it. You stay here and...don't drink any more of the beer, okay?" She climbed out of the car before he had a chance to reply.

  First, she rounded to car to check which tyre it was. She'd never had a flat tyre before, let alone changed one. Sure enough, it was the front one on the passenger side – the one under Jay. Okay, next, she needed a tyre that wasn't busted. That meant one of the ones on the back of the car.

  She surveyed the two round, tyre-shaped boxes bolted to the back door of the four-wheel-drive. Each bore the heart-shaped logo, proclaiming it the property of Romance Island Resort. And each one was secured by a lock on one side. Xan pulled the keys out of her pocket and breathed a sigh of relief as the first little silver key she tried fitted snugly into the passenger side lock. Turning it was another matter, though – the key barely budged. She tried the other key, but it wouldn't go in at all. Okay, she had the right key, but maybe there was some grit or something in the lock. Leaning over, she blew hard into the lock, then took a deep breath and did it again. If this didn't work, she might have to wash it out with some of Jay's beer, she
thought, stifling a laugh. Fortunately, no beer was necessary, as she managed to force the key around in the lock until something clicked.

  Nothing else popped free, though – least of all the tyre compartment. Try as she might, Xan couldn't seem to tug or pry it open. She considered asking Jay to try his muscles on it, but she dismissed the idea almost as soon as she'd thought of it. She didn't need a man for anything. Especially not to do something as simple as opening a box. But she'd like to kick a man in the car for opening a box.

  Figuring it couldn't hurt, Xan kicked the underside of the box. Tentatively at first, then with more viciousness the second time, and she felt it budge. She dug her fingers into the dusty seam she'd persuaded to appear and it widened, then widened again. By dragging on it with all her weight, Xan managed to pull the cover off the tyre, releasing a shower of crusted, dried mud that had glued the compartment shut, only to find it still stuck fast to the car by several hefty bolts. Honestly. You'd think people stole spare tyres off the back of cars, this was so securely fastened.

  Swearing, Xan opened the boot of the car, hoping there'd be a collection of tools to help her, but the back of the car was empty except for some dusty water casks under a stained, threadbare towel. You'd have to be desperate to drink the contents, which might have been sitting in the Kimberley heat for months, if not years, but it was perfectly fine to use in the radiator if you were caught out in the middle of nowhere. And if you had to drink something...you could probably boil this sterile by just leaving it in the sun for a couple of hours. But dodgy water didn't do much to help her with a wheel.

  She tried undoing the bolts with her hands, but they were stuck fast. Gritting her teeth, she looped the towel around one, twisting the flannel until it tightened around the bolt, before she tried again. She felt the tiniest bit of movement, so she twisted the towel tighter still and hung onto the end, adding as much of her weight as she could without falling over. She definitely felt something move that time. Little by little, she loosened that bolt until she could remove it with her fingers. One down, two to go.