Page 87 of A Very Happy Easter

“At least I kept my boxers on. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Just get the door, and I’ll make coffee.”

Coffee for five, it turned out. Our landlord and two friends had shown up to install storm shutters, and I didn’t even get to drink my cappuccino because Polly called in tears.

“Did you see the news? There’s a freaking hurricane coming, and it isn’t even hurricane season. There’s a curse on this freaking island.”

“I thought it was just a storm?”

“Storm, hurricane, po-tay-to, po-tah-to.”

“So what’s happening? Are people evacuating?”

“Who knows? Constance says that even if the world comes to an end, she’s getting married on Friday, so I don’t think so.”

Great. “Can I talk to her?”

“She’s crying into a tuna-and-pickle omelette at the moment. William’s on the phone to a friend in the Met Office.”

“Did you call a lawyer for Spencer?”

“Are you kidding me? He live-streamed himself groping a stripper. I wrote a press release about our breakup, cancelled our engagement party, and called my lawyer to handle the rest. Are you coming over to talk sense into Constance?”

A sigh escaped. “I can try.”

Twenty-Five

“I take you to all the best places,” I quipped.

“A closet in a hurricane does have a certain ambience.”

Three days had passed since the storm warning. Half the guests had flown home, although several were still stranded at the airport on Ilha Grande because every seat on every flight had been booked before the runway closed yesterday evening. My parents were losing their minds. Papa had offered to send a private jet, but Heath and I decided to tough out the situation. As things stood, Sasurra was going to get clipped by the edge of a Category One hurricane, and our landlord assured us that Casa Santo had stood up to worse in the past. The windows were covered. We were twenty-three feet above sea level. My nightlight glowed in the corner, and we had enough food and water to last two weeks, and the building was sheltered in a dip between hills. And quite frankly, sitting out a hurricane was still a more attractive option than going back to London when Neil was walking around loose.

The staff at Mandarin Bay were prepared too, and Constance had refused to leave without a ring on her finger. Bringing the wedding forward wasn’t an option—everyone was too busy with disaster prep.

So, here we were, and honestly, there was no person I’d rather be stuck in a closet with. I nestled between Heath’s legs, and his arms wrapped loosely around me as I leaned back against his chest. Every so often, he kissed my hair and reassured me we’d be fine. And we would. We had ready-to-eat snacks, cushions, and battery-powered lights, with a backup generator waiting in the garage if we needed it. The mains electricity was still on for now.

“At least we get to skip Polly and Spencer’s engagement party.”

“I’m kind of disappointed—the prospect of a ‘chocolate waterfall’ was intriguing.”

“She’s repurposing it for a photo shoot, so you’ll still get to see it.”

“A photo shoot?”

“She’s planning to stand under it in a bikini.”

“Better put the eye-bleach on standby.”

Spencer was still in jail. Apparently, Judge Morgan was worried he’d try to flee the country if they let him out on bail, so he was stuck on Ilha Grande until the trial in three weeks. He’d been charged with sexual assault, vandalism, and assault on a police officer. Heath said Spencer figured the strippers were fair game since he’d paid for them, but a happy ending definitely wasn’t included in the fee.

“Polly swears it’ll be very tasteful.”

I couldn’t see Heath’s face, but I just knew he was rolling his eyes.

“So, what else do we have lined up for the summer? Jello-wrestling? Tsunami surfing? Forever Rogue is running her first race at Newbury next week, in case you fancy doing something relatively normal.”

“Who else is going to be there? Uncle Dennis?”

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