Customs takes less than a half hour, and soon I’m navigating the terminal in search of the main exit. Sadie’s email said a car would be waiting for me when my flight arrives. She didn’t specify what kind of car, or even who will pick me up. I imagine it’ll be one of Nelson’s employees, maybe in a shiny BMW. Rich investors, whose families own sugar cane plantations, generally tool around in BMWs, don’t they?
A gust of wind threatens to pluck my new straw hat off my head. I clamp my hand over the crown and scan the cars waiting outside the main entrance. A few people, hired drivers, hold signs with last names block-printed on them. My lips twist into a frown when the search for a bold, black SANNARELLI turns up nothing.
“Great.”
A sliver of irritation wiggles through me as I start digging in my messenger bag. I have the name of the resort and could get a taxi or ask about a hotel shuttle. But still, if someone promises to pick you up at the airport—or in this case, promises to arrange for someone else to pick you up—that someone should be there.
A high-pitched squeal of excitement gives a three second warning, and I brace for impact. The scent of coconut and jasmine envelopes me. Sadie locks her arms around me, her squeal continuing as she bounces up and down.
“Carmella! You’re here!”
My frown relaxes into an indulgent smile. I can’t stay irritated at Sadie, not when she’s like this. I twist one hand up to pat her back. Not easy, when her hug has both of my arms clamped to my sides. “Of course I’m here. Wouldn’t be anywhere else.”
“Oh, let me look at you.”
She steps back, holding me at arms’ length to survey me from straw hat to flip-flops, giving me a chance to take my own look at her. Her baby-blue eyes sparkle, and her smooth cheeks hold a healthy blush of color without a single blemish. Her blond hair used to reach her waist, but sometime between April and now, she cut most of it off. The sheared ends brush her collarbones, with a fall of side-swiped bangs framing her face. And she’s still so damn thin—willowy, I think, is the right term. Next to her, I always feel like a total chub, even if I can still fit into a pair of size six Levi’s.
She even manages to make a sundress look glamorous. The ombré patterned fabric swirls lightly around her calves as she loops one arm through mine and tugs me toward a waiting car. Her sandals are encrusted with rhinestones, but nothing is fake about the rock she’s sporting on her left ring finger. I know I’m staring, but Sadie doesn’t seem to notice as her driver opens the back door of a shiny BMW—just as I expected.
Does she need to wear a sling to support her left arm by the end of the day?
Sadie climbs into the back seat with me, and in a moment the driver starts the car and pulls away from the curb. Sadie holds onto my arm, chattering about the fantastic weather and the three beaches owned by the resort just east of Christiansted where we’ll all stay.
“So, what’s the plan for this week?” I interject the question when she pauses for breath.
“Oh, the usual.”
She laughs, and I have to sit on my hands to keep from slapping them over my face. I have no idea what the usual is for Sadie these days, but she elaborates.
“My mom and Nelson’s mom have a big bridal shower planned for Wednesday afternoon, and the bachelorette party will be Thursday night. You’ll have plenty of free time to do some sightseeing. There are historic sites in Christiansted I know you’ll get a kick out of.”
I tear my gaze from the diamond glittering on her left hand. “Uh, I know the town is smaller than Savannah—smaller than the undergraduate population of UGA college town, in fact. But I’m not going to wander around by myself.”
“I bet Nelson’s brother would go with you, if you asked really nicely.”
Oh, that tone. The innuendo. My nascent spirit of adventure just got stomped on by reality. No way would I consider Nelson’s brother an acceptable partner for any activity. True, I haven’t met the guy, but . . .
Instead of rolling my eyes, I look out the window.
“But tomorrow,” Sadie continues, “the seamstresses will be by the hotel with the dresses, so we can do the final fittings.” She slides across the seat, bumping my shoulder with hers. “You’ll love your dress, Carmella. It’s so beachy!” She gasps. “Oh! And we’ll go shopping!”
Ah, yes, her favorite pastime. I can only imagine the credit limit a guy like Nelson Mattingly might have, and I’m sure Sadie has full use of it.
My credit limit, however, is rather humble. “We don’t need to go shopping. I brought―”
“Don’t need to go shopping?” She releases a peal of laughter and slaps my knee with her bedazzled hand. “It’s like you don’t know me at all, honey. But I know you, and you probably didn’t bring enough variety for the week. There are some adorable boutiques we can check out.”
“Well, I didn’t exactly know what to expect.” I shake my head. “I think my credit card would melt if I charged anything at a boutique.” She doesn’t need to know my floppy beach hat is courtesy of her fiancé’s charge-to-the-room allowance in San Juan.
She holds up both hands. “Shut up about your credit card. It’s my treat, okay?”
“Sadie . . .”
“No arguing. Who says I can’t splurge on my best friend and maid of honor?” She buries me in a suffocating hug again.
I don’t think she’s drunk. High on pheromones, maybe.
She pulls back. “You haven’t been eating any chocolate, have you?”
I raise my right hand, three fingers pointing skyward in the Girl Scout Salute. “Not a single Snickers bar.”
Technically, that one spoonful of ice cream yesterday wasn’t really chocolate. The thought of the ice cream reminds me of Ryan, of everything he said last night. Guilt floods me for some inexplicable reason.
“Sadie, you might want to know―”
She twists to face me, hands clamping around my cheeks. “You met someone!”
“What?”
“I can tell. You’ve got that same look in your eyes as when that guy from your English class asked you out. Remember, the one you were crushing on all through sophomore year?”
To be honest, the guy’s name escapes me. Probably because after our one date, we never spoke again, and it’s been eight years. “Uh, sure. But I didn’t meet anybody.” Well, technically . . . “Sadie, listen―”
“Is he hot?” She squeezes my cheeks between her hands.
I try to pull away. “It’s not what you think. I―”
“Did you invite him to the wedding?”
“What? No!” Finally, my face slips free. “Sadie, no, listen.”
She flops back against the seat, sighing. “Oh, you always do this. It’s a good thing Joshua’s itching to meet you.”
I rub my sore cheeks. “Who’s Joshua?”
“Nelson’s brother. The best man?”
Of course he is. I was already supposed to know that, apparently.
“I think you’ll like him.”
She needs to know about Ryan. “There’s something I really have to tell you.”
“Later,” she says, waving the whole topic away. Leaning toward her window, she claps her hands. “We’re here!”
The BMW pulls up in front of the luxury hotel where the wedding guests and attendants will be staying for the next week or so. For a few minutes, all thoughts of San Juan and Ryan vacate the premises as I stare at the stucco facade, the huge palm trees flanking the entrance, the carefully planned cobbles in the sidewalk. The national flag of St. Croix flutters from a pole on the roof of the main building, and as Sadie’s driver opens my door, traditional Caribbean music from hidden speakers fills the humid air. The scents of the ocean, orchids, and something reminiscent of coconut oil waft together, adding to the tropical ambiance. Over the noise and bustle
of passenger cars and shuttle busses loading and unloading at the main entrance, rings the orchestra of seagulls, warblers, and finches.
Sadie tugs me out of the back seat and leads me into the hotel lobby. Though not as ornate and polished as the one in San Juan, the island atmosphere is heavy with potted palms, conch shells, and huge woven straw mats beneath wide, cushioned wicker chairs. Instead of seeing the concierge to check in, Sadie pulls me through the vaulted lounge area to the bank of glass doors leading to the pool deck. I point at the front desk, mouth slacked open in confusion.
“Nelson’s friends with the resort owner. It’s sort of the off-season, so we were able to book enough rooms on short notice,” she explains. “Remember, Nelson’s covered all the expenses, so we just have to stop and get your room key later. The bell hop will take care of your bag. Y’all just need to have a good time.”
With a brilliant smile, she pushes through one of the glass doors, lifting her hand to wave to someone across the pool deck. A tall, broad-shouldered man gets up from a chair near an umbrella table, not bothering to set down a glass dripping with condensation and filled with what I think is a mojito.
Nelson Mattingly, without a doubt.
As Sadie drags me closer, his features are easier to make out. His dark hair looks black, swept back from his forehead with some sort of styling product. He sports a close-clipped goatee, which lends kind of a pirate-y look to his squarely cut jaw.
Surprising. Sadie never really cared for guys with facial hair. Ryan’s always clean-shaven.
The fingers holding the drink are well manicured, and gold cuff-links sparkle at his wrists, matching the pin on his lapel. He’s dressed like he’s going to a business meeting, and despite the humidity, he appears cool and collected in his three-piece designer suit. It fits his frame perfectly, with tailored lines that accentuate his height and the width of his shoulders. In a board room, such attire probably intimidates and conveys an aura of power and control.
What does it mean to wear that sort of get-up while lounging poolside at a luxury resort?
Suspicion flares again. So this is the guy who swept my best friend off her feet mere days after she broke it off with Ryan. His aloof expression makes me wonder at the sincerity of his intentions toward her. But when he looks at Sadie, all the formality in his face melts away, replaced with plain adoration as he tucks his free hand around her waist to pull her close.
Well, I’ll be damned. He’s actually in love with her.
Sadie presses against him, one hand on his chest. “Nelson,” she says, resting her head on his shoulder and giving me a contented smile. “This is Carmella.”
Gripping the strap of my messenger bag, I nod as if confirming the introduction. Manners rear their heads. “I wanted to say thank you for taking care of all the travel expenses. It’s really . . .” Nice of him? That seems too small a thing. Ostentatiously generous? Almost philanthropic? Without him footing the bill, I would have flown coach and probably would have to bunk in a broom closet.
He gives his drink to Sadie and steps toward me, gathering both my hands. “It’s such a delight to finally meet you, Carmella.” A light British accent clips his words. “May I call you Carmella right away?”
“Uh, sure.” What else would he call me?
His eyes, a darker blue than Sadie’s, stand out in his heavily tanned face and actually twinkle with high spirits. “Wonderful! Sadie’s told me so much about you. How splendid that you were able to come all this way for her.”
I didn’t exactly get a choice, but he doesn’t need to be told that. I manage a nervous laugh as he squeezes my hands, leaning in to peck each of my cheeks. His goatee tickles, and I fight a grimace.
He releases me, returning to Sadie’s side. As far as I can tell, she hasn’t taken a sip of his drink. Curious. Sadie thinks nothing of sampling people’s drinks. Ryan hadn’t enjoyed a full bottle of beer since they started dating.
“You’ll want to settle in, I think,” Nelson says with a lingering glance at Sadie. “Everyone’s meeting for dinner tonight at . . . What time was it, love?”
“Seven.” She rises on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, then grabs for my hand again. “Let’s get your key and go up to your room.”
I nod, lifting one hand at Nelson as Sadie spins me away. “Nice to meet you!”
Chapter 9
The Other Side of the Story, Sort Of
Once we reach my beachfront room on the second floor corridor, Sadie describes the amenities while she whirls around, unpacking my suitcase and evaluating my wardrobe. I let her ramble on about the beach, snorkeling, and sea kayaking, and remain silent when she interjects comments about the clothes I brought. In the end, everything meets with her approval, but she insists on taking me shopping tomorrow to pick up a few odds and ends.
“The blue capris with that white tank top will be perfect for dinner tonight. It’s at the beachside pavilion.” She lays the outfit out on the bed for me and nods in satisfaction, stepping back with her hands on her hips. “You’ll probably want to grab a shower. I have a coral necklace that will match the capris. I’ll come get you for dinner and bring it with me.”
I hate to burst her bubbly mood, but I probably won’t get many chances to talk with her alone. And the sooner I tell her about Ryan, the better. Determined not to let her escape, as she’s figuratively done in every phone and text conversation we’ve had in the past month, I turn to the door and slide the deadbolt home, then slap the bar guard over the door plate. For good measure, I lean against the door and plant my feet. Sadie will have to bodily move me if she wants to get out of this room.
“Sadie. I have to talk to you. It’s important.”
Her pleasant expression falls into worried lines. She lowers down to the foot of the bed, careful not to wrinkle the capris she’s chosen for me to wear tonight. “It must be important if you need to lock me in. What’s the matter, honey?”
Expectant silence fills the room. I try to find the right words. But there aren’t any. There’s no good way to tell her. “I met Ryan on the plane to San Juan.”
She turns her head to one side, eyebrows lowered. “Did you?”
Okay, she’s not freaking out yet. “Yeah. Actually, our seats were together on the plane.”
Her eyebrows shoot up.
I plunge ahead. “And we were at the same hotel. He was attending a conference.”
She exhales sharply, then stands and crosses to the balcony door. “Did you talk at all?”
“Well, yeah. He had some down time yesterday, so we went sightseeing and had dinner.” I fold my arms and contemplate her back as she props her hands on her hips again. “Sadie?”
“Did he tell you anything?”
Her careful tone puts me on edge. “About the two of you? Yeah.”
Every time I’ve tried to bring up the break up, she’s gotten defensive. Is she trying to show me she’s in control?
“What did he say?”
“That . . .” I swallow and take a couple steps toward the center of the room. “He said it was pretty mutual. That you’d been fighting a lot and neither of you was really happy anymore.”
Sadie finally turns around. “Well, that’s true, at least. Did he tell you anything else?”
I shake my head. I should tell her about last night, about the strange way he acted on the beach. But I can’t bring myself to mention it. Instead, I hurry toward her and reach for her hands. “Sadie, why didn’t you call me? I mean, as far as I knew, everything was fine. You guys had just gotten engaged, for God’s sake!”
She gives a closed-lip smile and wags my arms back and forth. “Well, you’ve never exactly been Captain Obvious.”
“Sadie, this is serious.” I back away from her and start pacing. “You’re my best friend. If things were getting bad with Ryan, there’s no g
ood reason you shouldn’t tell me about it. Instead, you both kept it a total secret and went out of your way to make me think everything was fine. And the next thing I know, you’re running off to the Caribbean with half of what you and Ryan saved to pay for your honeymoon, and then you tell me you’re getting married to a total stranger!”
“It’s not what you think.”
I spin and fling my arms wide. “What the hell am I supposed to think, Sadie?”
Hurt flashes in her eyes, and I cover my face with my hands. I didn’t mean to yell at her, or to make this about me. If they didn’t want me to know, well, what am I supposed to do about it? I sit on the end of the bed and flop back with a sigh.
The mattress shifts as Sadie eases down beside me. “Carmella, honey.”
“I’m sorry. That was out of line.”
I lay one forearm across my eyes. Her fingers pull at my hair, fanning it on the bedspread, as she lets me get my mental bearings.
It hits me all of a sudden.
“Wait a minute.” I sit up and face Sadie, index finger raised. “You planned this.”
She cocks her head to the side with an amused half-grin. “Planned what?”
“Planned for me to run into Ryan on that flight.” I slide backward off the end of the bed, finger waving in the air. “You didn’t have to book me a flight with a two-day stopover in San Juan. There are direct flights available from Atlanta to St. Croix. Hell, there are direct flights here from Savannah.” I turn and take a few steps away before facing her again. “And you’ve only been on your little adventure here for a month and a half. Ryan’s conference had to have been scheduled before you left, travel plans included. You knew what flight he’d be on and which hotel he’d be staying at in Puerto Rico.”
Better Than Chocolate (Sweet Somethings Book 1) Page 7