Page 10 of The Wedding Cake
Tim nodded, quickly processing these facts. The man seemed kosher, he supposed.
“Respect,” Tim found himself replying calmly as he swiftly downgraded his emotions.
“Back atcha,” Noah replied, then strode off across the sand in his baseball boots, the ghost of a smirk on his face. Tim berated himself. He was being judgemental again.
“Okay,” said Tim once he was sure Noah was out of earshot. “What kind of man approaches a solitary sunbathing woman without an ulterior motive?”
“What?” Piper screamed. “You can’t honestly think he was chatting me up, babe!” She put one hand to her washboard stomach in a fit of laughter, and grabbed her bag with the other hand as they made their own exit from the beach. “He’s gay,” Piper added after a few beats. “I mean he’s gorgeous, and I can’t deny it. But he came over to chat because he recognised me from one of my posts from this morning, that’s all. It’s a savvy thing to do if you’re an influencer. You make an inventory of the biggest hashtags connected to your current location and scroll through those posts. Tah-da: there I was. You never know what kind of money-making opportunities you could be missing if you don’t take the time to check out your local competition. There are amazing collabs just waiting to be discovered.”
“So would that be before or after you shed your—”
“That would be the moment I realised you were right and I put my clothes back on.” Piper kissed Tim on the cheek. “Not that Noah would have batted an eyelid. Like I said, he’s not interested in women in that way. In any case… I was wearing this top and shorts when we were at breakfast. Don’t you remember? Noah must have seen some of the turmeric latte-sipping poses I posted.”
That was strange. Tim could have sworn Piper had been dressed in one of those floaty kaftan numbers when he was sitting opposite her drinking his own (proper) coffee at breakfast. Then again, maybe not. She’d recorded a quick video on the balcony while he was in the shower this morning, too. Maybe she’d been wearing the shorts then? He could hardly keep up with her changes of outfit.
Now Tim felt like a sap. If you didn’t have trust in a relationship, you didn’t have anything. Piper was constantly on the go, out and about. She’d doubtless had a flurry of dating opportunities since they’d got together and never once had she given him reason to doubt her loyalty. But then Tim had batted away a few close encounters too. Such was the way if you had a good physique, above average looks, and an amiable personality. Not that he had ever contemplated anything more than the return of a smile. He knew how blessed he was to be in this relationship and he would do everything he could to make it last forever.
By night,the boutique hotel’s facade and its palm trees were illuminated in neon pink. It was a bit in your face, but Tim supposed there was a certain romance about it. Piper looked a million dollars. There was nothing new about that, but she was more in her element here in Puerto Banus than anywhere he’d ever stepped out with her before. Everything about his girlfriend glowed. Tim noticed the number of males eyeing her up, like he was, but none of them were here to plan their nuptials to this beautiful woman, were they? Therein lay the difference. The fusion of booze, sea air and the seductive setting made him want to pin Piper against the nearest and most secluded palm tree, planting a trail of kisses across her decolletage and along the tender side of her neck, leaving her under no illusion that he was going to show her a very good time behind closed doors.
“Pinch me! I’m in a dream!” Piper twirled around, whisking her damned mobile phone out again, filming every second of her rapture, creating an instant barrier to what could have been a cosy moment.
“Do you really need to document so much of our trip?” he found himself wailing. “Can’t we keep some memories private, just for the two of us? I mean, we are here to plan the wedding, so it’s a bit different from all the other breaks we’ve had.”
Even their intimate dinner for two had been gatecrashed by a couple of Piper’s fans. Stuff like that never happened back in Manchester. It seemed she had a captive audience here on the Costa del Sol. First Noah on the beach, then the Canadian girls in the Argentinian restaurant, who had descended upon their table for group selfies without an invite – much to Piper’s delight.
“Chill out, babe! My Instagram posts have had a record number of impressions today, one of my TikTok videos has gone properly viral with almost a million views, and my follower growth is up ten percent in the past twenty-four hours. That’smassive! I’d be a tool not to capitalise on all the interest while I’m here. Manchester’s not quite as exotic as Puerto Banus, is it?”
For the first time since they’d met, Tim wondered ifhewould always be exotic enough for Piper? He quickly dismissed the thought. It was ridiculous to pit himself against a holiday destination.
Still, something about Puerto Banus, the hotel, and its vibe smothered Tim. So much so that, in the middle of that night, he woke up gasping for breath, as if the air had been sucked out of the room and somebody was trying to suffocate him. Thankfully, Piper had her eye mask on and her ear plugs in so was none-the-wiser about those traumatic and embarrassing few seconds.
The next day, Piper flitted about town for various photoshoots and recces about future potential endorsement opportunities in cafés, clubs, bars, and hotel rooms/balconies/pools, and Tim double-checked their agenda for the next few days over room service cocktails on the terrace. Then it was time to reunite, to head to Marbella. Tim swallowed his nerves as best he could. It wasn’t every day that you took a tour of the place where you would profess your eternal love.
The villa was out of this world. It oozed elegance and seduction; the epitome of a fairy-tale venue. His father would hate it, was his first thought. Perched on Marbella’s Golden Mile, it even commanded its own private beach! As for Tim’s mam, well, she wouldn’t know what to make of it. And she would need a team to lift her and her wheelchair down those higgledy-piggledy stone steps from the villa’s gigantic garden to the sea. Rumour had it that the villa had formerly been owned by someone high profile from the British-American music and TV industry. It was definitely the sort of pad that would come with a troop of housekeepers, cooks, cleaners, chauffeurs, and bodyguards. The kind of place where you’d need a map just to locate your bedroom. Why spend all that money on gold-plated alarm systems, remote control blinds and an infinity pool, when you hadn’t even thought to provide a simple ramp for a wheelchair? Admittedly, there were two lifts in the villa. That was something. But Piper was adamant that she wanted their ceremony to take place on the beach, which kind of eradicated the venue’s interior user-friendliness.
“I want to be able to hear the sea when we say our vows, babe. There’s something so poetic about the Mediterranean.”
“Maybe we can play some wave music in the background? We’d lose the stunning backdrop of the villa otherwise. You heard what the wedding planner dude said; the bougainvillea will be a riot of colour set against the luscious green lawns and the swaying palm fronds, all further contrasting with the aquamarine of the pool and the virginal white of the villa.” Tim imitated the elderly gent’s sales pitch, omitting his irritating ‘chippety-chop, off we pop’ catchphrase. “What could be better? It’ll also mean my mam can see us say I do… without any of the ushers breaking their backs. Which would be nice.”
“I’ll have a think about it but I’ve always dreamed of being barefoot on the sand as we declare our love. And it is my special day – well,our special day– but the bride always comes first. It’s tradition. Anyway, your mum can have all of this to herself, can’t she?” Piper opened her arms out wide, gesturing at the dripping-with-luxury venue. “She’ll enjoy dipping her feet in the pool.”
Tim bit his tongue at Piper’s lack of tact. She truly hadn’t a clue how difficult even something as seemingly simple as that would be, despite having met his mother a handful of times since his swift proposal. He could only hope and pray that his words – and Mervyn Meehan’s – had planted a seed which would grow sunflower-style fast.
After leaving them to have a brief wander around the spacious gardens while he prepped some drinks with the kitchen staff who’d been drafted in for the day from the catering company, Mervyn returned to talk business. He was as much of a sight to behold as the villa. Sort of like an elderly Nicolas Cage with his puppet eyes and long, grey hair. He’d definitely had some work done on the jowls. They were non-existent, a fact which didn’t quite tally with his paunch. Tim didn’t mean to be unkind. This was just his opinion as a fitness instructor.
Contracts were signed and, keen as ever to flash her cash, Piper couldn’t wait to settle the bill already.
And that was when the penny dropped: there was no way anywhere else would beat this drop-dead gorgeous venue. It was everything Piper could dream of and everything she deserved. When Tim had popped the question a few months ago, he hadn’t done so with a list of conditions, had he? He was sure Piper would see reason eventually about not dragging his mum down to the sea and holding the ceremony in the gardens. Perhaps he didn’t care if he married Piper on a mountain or in the grounds of a mansion. But if this swish villa was what his girlfriend wanted, then this was what she’d have.
FREYA
With the new timetables drawn up for the cakery, Freya’s first free morning in a decade arrived before she knew it. She had booked herself onto a sailing course running from January into early February. It felt like the perfect way to start broadening her horizons – literally gazing out at the skyline when time allowed – and the ruggedly handsome crew that would be surrounding her wasn’t a bad prospect either.
Freya might not look very different outwardly, since that fateful date with Lars before Christmas. But inwardly she was filled with effervescence, like the champagne she’d knocked back slightly too much of that night on the beach. Ricky was the first to notice the change, when he’d got the paracetamol and water out the moment she walked through the shop door that very next December morning.
“Spill!” he’d commanded.
“Oh, Ricky! It was wonderful,” Freya had said with a tired smile. “Everything you could wish for in an evening, and so much more.”
