‘Everything is wonderful.’ Anna stiffened as her mother flung her arms around her, pulling her in close. ‘I’m glad you’re here, querida. It’s been too long.’
‘Yes, well...’ Stepping back, Anna attempted to extract both herself and her miraculously unspilt coffee. ‘I’ve been busy, you know. With the book and teaching... What’s happened, Mama?’
‘Happened?’
Anna bit down on her irritation as her mother looked vaguely around the resort. This was how Sancia Garcia operated, floating through the world in a time and space of her own. She’d never seen why her daughters needed to be at school on time, or even why they needed to attend school if the sun was shining, why dinner should be planned and at a set time, the point of timetables. Anna hadn’t yet turned ten when she realised that if they were to be like other families she needed to take charge, to be responsible for both herself and her sister, Rosa. Her chest tightened. Nothing had changed; she was a fool to hope it ever would.
Sancia had even managed to separate from her husband in such a slow, dreamy way it almost seemed unintentional. And she never panicked, which was why her call for help was so out of character. Why Anna had booked the next flight over, leaving her father, her responsibilities, her teaching behind in Oxford. Not that Sancia seemed even slightly stressed now. Anna’s grip tightened even more, the heat from the cup almost scalding her; no doubt as soon as Anna had shown up Sancia had thankfully abdicated all responsibility to her once again. ‘To the hotel, Mama. It doesn’t look like there’s been any upkeep at all for goodness knows how long. How did it get to this stage?’
Sancia shrugged. ‘You know Pedro retired when your abuelo died, then Bonita retired also and they both ran this place like clockwork. It’s been hard to get staff to replace them, people who care, who stay. And everything happens at once, querida, one light breaks then another, then a toilet then the swimming pool filters and I just can’t keep on top of it all.’
‘No wonder bookings are down.’ The real wonder was that anyone had booked to stay here at all. ‘Why didn’t you ask for help before?’
‘You’re so busy, you have your own life, Anna, as does your sister. I didn’t want to worry you. I knew something would turn up and it has. This wedding will fix everything.’ Her mother clasped her hands. ‘The money, the publicity! The glamour! We can restore La Isla Marina to the way it was when I was young, when your grandparents first built the resort.’
The wedding. The magical ingredient on which her mother was banking all her hopes. The wedding she had agreed to host in exactly one month’s time despite the island not being anywhere near ready. It would be bad enough, Anna thought, if this were any normal wedding. Only her mother would blithely take on the exclusive wedding of a supermodel and her millionaire fiancé. These people looked down on five-star luxury, and right now the island would barely scrape two stars.
‘We have a lot of work to do before then. No one is going to want to have their dream wedding here, especially not some Internet sensation who posts every detail of their life online.’ Anna looked behind her, peering through the half-opened door that led into the office. A career spent researching in libraries, a life of compiling footnotes and organising sources meant Anna had some pretty kickass admin skills. Her mother most likely needed budgets, accounting, marketing and day-to-day working rotas as soon as possible and Anna was just the girl to sort that out for her.
Of course there was the little question of fifty-two bungalows needing a lick of paint, a damn good clean and some DIY. Hopefully there was no need for Anna to get her hands dirty; DIY was not her forte. Luckily her sister was handy with a toolkit. ‘When is Rosa getting here?’ Anna’s stomach clenched apprehensively as she waited for her mother to reply. She hadn’t seen her sister in several years either, only in her case there weren’t any weekly phone calls, not even the odd tag on social media. If Sancia had mentioned earlier that she had also begged Rosa to come and help, would Anna have agreed to come too? The truth was she had no idea. Three years was a long time, but she hadn’t forgotten a single one of the bitter words she and her sister had exchanged back then. She wasn’t eager for a repeat performance.
‘As soon as she can. She’s on an important assignment, you know. She said she wouldn’t be able to get here in the next two weeks but she’ll do her best to get here as soon as possible after that.’
Anna compressed her lips. Of course, whatever Rosa chose to do was important as far as their mother was concerned. She was always far more impressed by Rosa’s unconventional approach to life than by Anna’s achievements and qualifications. At twenty-eight she should be too old to be hurt by her mother’s lack of interest in all Anna had worked so hard for. But Anna hadn’t been able to help noticing that her mother’s apartment was filled with framed copies of Rosa’s photos—and she hadn’t seen one copy of her book anywhere.
‘Two weeks?’ Anna looked back over the half of the resort visible from the terrace and swallowed. There was no way they would be able to wait two weeks before starting the practical work. Which meant, unfamiliar as she was with a paintbrush, Anna had little choice. She was going to need to learn—and fast.
* * *
‘First things first,’ Anna muttered. With two cups more of her mother’s excellent coffee buzzing through her veins, she was almost raring to go. First they needed a list. Lists. Lists of repairs, lists of things they needed to make the bungalows suitable for a supermodel’s wedding guests, lists of everything that needed repairing. Which meant inspecting every bungalow, every path, every deckchair and table, the beach bars, the tennis courts... She needed another list of all the lists she needed to make.
She left Sancia in the kitchen checking all the crockery for chips, dents and suspicious stains, glad of the solitude after spending a whole morning alone with her mother for the first time in more years than Anna could remember. The hotel used to be so vibrant; filled with her grandparents, their long-time staff, visitors and guests. Now it was a ghost of its old self, just one cleaner, one groundsman and a cook in residence, a couple of maids journeying over from the mainland. No guests at all. Anna suppressed a shiver. It was too quiet. Maybe she would head over to the mainland today after all, even if she only went to the small village just a few hundred metres away across the narrow strip of sea to have lunch.
The island wasn’t very big, less than a mile from one end to the next, and it didn’t take Anna long to reach the sheltered beach overlooking the mainland. Palms fringed the delicate yellow sand and Anna paused, taking in a deep breath, tasting the salt of sea, the lemon wafting over from the citrus trees. The sea was so blue it almost hurt, a deep turquoise that tugged at her, enticing her closer and closer. She shucked off her shoes, stepping onto the soft sand, wiggling her toes into the warm grains. When had she last been barefooted outside? Holding out her arms, she closed her eyes, feeling the sun penetrating every atom, every cell, warming her straight to her bones. The dark hair and olive skin she had inherited from her mother never really felt warm enough in Oxford; they craved this contact with the Mediterranean sun, even an early May sun better than none.
She took another deep breath, her bones aching as they absorbed the longed-for heat, inhaling the scents that always conjured up the island. For the first time in a long while she felt as if she was home.
She jumped, pulled back to the job at hand as the sound of a vacuum cleaner buzzed through the air. She wasn’t on holiday, she was here to help her mother—and more importantly she was here to forget her troubles. A month away from her classes, from her research, from expectations, might give her overtired mind the reboot it so desperately needed.
Anna pulled out her notebook. She might as well start off by checking the seaworthiness of the boats. The jetty was in the next cove along, situated by the natural rock harbour, which separated the gentle, sheltered mainland-facing beaches from the more rugged sea-facing ones. The wide wooden je
tty housed all the small kayaks and rowing boats kept for guests who wanted to venture out in the safe strip of sea.
Pushing her refreshed feet back into her pumps, Anna followed the narrow path as it wound round the corner and past the trees until, pushing her way through a particularly overgrown fern, she emerged, blinking, onto the boardwalk, her hair falling over her eyes.
What is that? She skidded to a stop, staring at the jetty in disbelief. In addition to several kayaks pulled high onto the pebbly beach and the boats moored tightly to the wooden posts, a white and chrome boat sat proudly in the deeper water. It was large enough to be an ocean-going boat, but this was no practical craft. Every gleaming rail, every white sail, every fitting she could see screamed ‘rich man’s toy’ at her.
An equally gleaming dinghy was tied onto the jetty, a clear sign that someone had come ashore.
The island was private property, but occasionally day-trippers or passing boats did stop—and if they had money to spend were usually welcome. Anna looked around. She hadn’t seen anyone on the main path. ‘Hola!’ she called. ‘Hello. Can I help you?’
No answer.
She hesitated. The sign on the jetty clearly instructed visitors—in six different languages—to head straight along the main path to Reception. Not that there was anyone actually on Reception...
‘Dammit, as if I don’t have enough to do.’ What was her mother thinking? How could she possibly think a staff of four enough to get the island into shape for the season, let alone prepare for the wedding of the year? Sancia’s airy assurances that she had enough seasonal staff ready to start soon rang hollow. They should be here by now, painting, cleaning and making sure the island was in tip-top condition.
Swivelling, Anna looked around, sucking in her breath as she saw a tall, broad figure casually strolling around the nearest bungalow, peering in through the shutters as if he had every right to be there. She thrust her shoulders back, indignation filling her. The signs were quite clear—this was private property. Without stopping to think twice she marched over to the bungalow by the straightest possible route, pushing her way through the overgrown trees and shrubs, barely noticing the branches scratching her skin.
‘Excuse me.’ Her Spanish completely escaped her as she reached hailing distance of the bungalow. ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’
Indignation had carried her within touching distance before common sense reasserted itself and she stopped abruptly, catching her breath as she took in the intruder. This was no over-entitled, overweight businessman out for a gentle sail. This was a pirate. Over six feet of muscled pirate. There wasn’t an inch of fat—no, not a centimetre of fat—on him; his bare torso, exposed by his open white shirt, could have served as the model for Michelangelo’s David. His dark hair was cropped short, his even darker eyes raking her up and down with an arrogance that made her tremble with rage.
Rage and awareness of just how grubby she was, no make-up, a crumpled old T-shirt, hair bundled hastily up. She resisted the urge to straighten her top, to shake out her hair and did her best to ignore the zing that shot straight through her traitorous body as his gaze travelled over her.
‘Doing? I’m wondering if this is a hotel or a film set for a disaster movie,’ he replied in heavily accented English.
‘We haven’t finished preparing for the opening of the season yet,’ she said as loftily as she could, the heat mounting in her cheeks at the contempt in the dark depths of his eyes.
‘Finished? You haven’t even started. I don’t know what kind of scam you’re running here, señorita, but my sister will not be part of it.’
‘Your sister?’
‘Rest assured she will find somewhere else for her wedding.’ He turned, his business clearly done, setting off along the overgrown path leading back to the jetty.
Anna’s brain tried to unscramble the words. The big wedding, the model, the event that had sent her mother into such a spin she had summoned both her daughters to her side, the event her mother was counting on to restore the hotel’s fortunes. The mess the island was in might be down to her mother’s mismanagement, but how could Anna let the idyllic playground of her childhood, her beloved grandparents’ legacy, fade away? Whoever this man was she had to try and persuade him not to give up on the island. ‘You’re the bride’s brother?’
He barely paused. ‘Sí.’
Casting a look around for help and coming up blank, Anna realised with a sinking heart that it was up to her to persuade him not to tell his sister to cancel the booking. Breaking into a light jog, she followed him up the path, breathlessly braking as she reached his side. ‘Look, señor, I know the island is in a bit of a state, but, I promise you, it will be perfect for your sister’s wedding.’
Halting, he turned a scathing look on her. ‘How? You have an army of elves?’
‘No. No army.’ How did one get an army of elves? Maybe some could write her book for her while they were here. ‘We’re a little behind, I admit, but I always meet my deadlines, señor, and this is no different. Give us the opportunity and I promise your sister will have the wedding of her dreams.’
Her words echoed round her head. ‘I always meet my deadlines’, her stomach lurching with the same sickening jolt it always gave when she thought about her agent’s increasingly urgent emails. But she held her head high and met his thoughtful gaze, that same unwanted zing zipping through her body as his attention focussed on her. ‘Please,’ she said again, not too proud to beg, holding her breath while she waited for him to reply. ‘Just give me a chance to prove it to you.’
* * *
Leo stared at the tall woman as she stood imploringly opposite him, hands clasped before her. He’d been surprised when she’d spoken to him in English, her accent so clear cut she could only be a native of that damp island. With her thick mass of dark hair and clear olive skin she looked like some kind of mythological Mediterranean nymph, her eyes, fringed with long dark lashes, the colour of the sea, her lips the pink of a summer sunset.
‘Are you the owner?’ Not that it made any difference. He needed to get back to the boat, phone Valentina and warn her this venue was a no go.
It wasn’t as if his half-sister had no other choices for her wedding. Her fiancé’s mother had offered the couple her Victorian house on Martha’s Vineyard, but his sister had nixed that suggestion in no uncertain terms. ‘She wants to make the wedding all preppy and tasteful,’ she’d complained, scorn in her voice. Valentina’s brand was all about exuberance and she wanted to make sure her wedding reflected that—and what Valentina wanted she usually got. That determination had propelled her from part-time model and socialite to online queen and supermodel. Her willingness to share every instant of her life, complete with the perfect filter and hashtag, was partly what had elevated her above all the other pretty-girl wannabes, but it was hard work and a cool business brain that had turned her into a global brand.
Leo didn’t understand how Valentina could bear to live her life through millions of screens, but he didn’t have to. All he wanted was for her to be happy, to make up for her childhood, for the neglect from his side of her family. Which was why, after he’d heard that a fire had destroyed her previous choice of wedding venue, he offered to head to La Isla Marina and check out why they could accommodate a lavish wedding at such short notice.
It had taken approximately five seconds to reach an answer. The island was completely unsuitable—and yet here he still was. Gaze still fixed on the sea nymph, feet still fixed to the ground, still wondering exactly what shade of pink her plump lips were.
‘No, I’m not the owner, I’m her daughter. Look. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but everything is under control.’
But her eyes couldn’t quite meet his as she said the words. Leo folded his arms and regarded her sardonically, watching the faint blush of colour spread over her cheeks. ‘You’re an experienced wedding planne
r? Or maybe you’re an events co-ordinator? A hotel manager? A plumber and builder? All of the above?’
She blinked. ‘Well, no...’
‘No? What do you do?’
‘I’m a lecturer, I don’t see...’
‘A lecturer? In plumbing?’
Her colour heightened. ‘In European history. I mostly look at history from a feminist perspective...’ She caught his eye and stopped.
‘That will be very useful, I’m sure. I don’t think I need to see any more.’ There was no point in staying, no matter how pretty the help. He turned, ready to leave when his phone buzzed. He pulled it out. Valentina. ‘Hola.’
‘Is it amazing? I wish I could be there with you. I have to fly to Japan tomorrow, and then I’m off to Australia for a week and there’s a shoot booked in here in New York after that so it’s impossible for me to get there before the wedding, but, Leo darling, I am so grateful that you are there making sure everything is perfect. Is it perfect? Just as I remember?’
‘Valentina.’ He tried to interrupt her, but his sister babbled on.
‘This feels right, Leo. It is such a shame about the villa, but I spent such happy summers on La Isla Marina, that has to be a good omen, doesn’t it? It will be like coming home in some ways. Todd won’t know what’s hit him,’ she added. ‘I know the Vineyard is beautiful, but I want this wedding to reflect me, to be as un-New York as possible.’
Leo paused. Valentina was extremely well off now, and she was marrying into serious old New York money, but she had been brought up on the edge of poverty thanks to his father’s nasty habit of discarding his mistresses and their offspring as soon as their demands got too inconvenient. While Leo had been brought up in the solitary, austere luxury of the castillo, she had spent her childhood years in a tiny apartment in the rougher side of the city. Who could blame her for wanting to live the fairy tale she’d been denied? She was the daughter of a conde after all, even if the illustrious Lord refused to acknowledge her.
Her Las Vegas Wedding Page 17
