Trouble in Paradise (Romantic Suspense, Completed)

Chapter 2

"Drinks, snacks? Any magazines?"

The oh-so-perky voice of one of the cabin crew grated in my ears as she pushed her trolley down the aisle of the aeroplane, and I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. I wasn't sure who it had been designed for, but it certainly wasn't an adult human. The sun squinted over the horizon, causing an instant headache, and I pulled down the blind.

At least I had the window seat. Kat was squashed into the middle with a guy who looked as if he was more at home on a rugby pitch sitting on the other side. His knees were butted up against the seat in front, and he couldn't move his arms.

"Do you want anything?" Kat asked, gesturing towards the trolley.

I shook my head no. I felt a bit sick.

Today was supposed to be my wedding day. I should have been walking down the aisle in the local church with the love of my life before sitting down to a meal of organic roast beef and locally sourced vegetables, but instead, I was thirty thousand feet up, somewhere over the Netherlands according to the pilot.

Kat, Mum, and I had spent the last couple of days cancelling everything. By the time we'd finished, I felt as though I was drowning at the bottom of a black hole. My dreams had been snatched away from me. I'd spent month after stressful month organising everything, and only the thought of getting married had kept me going. Now the light at the end of the tunnel had been firmly extinguished, the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow stolen by a freaking Leprechaun.

Not only that, I'd poured my life savings into my dream day, and the only thing I had to show for it was a dress that probably didn't even fit any more. With all the ice cream and cake Kat had plied me with since my world fell apart, my clothes were feeling decidedly snug. And now I was on my way to the small seaside town of Fidda Hilal, where Kat had spent the last six months working as a windsurfing instructor.

I'd been so busy with the wedding disaster, I hadn't even had a chance to find out anything about the place. Was it a peaceful retreat? Or the Egyptian equivalent of Benidorm?

"So where are we going, exactly?" I asked Kat.

"We're flying into Sharm el-Sheikh, and Fidda Hilal's eighty kilometres up the desert highway. It'll take an hour and a half to get there."

That didn't sound too bad a journey. An hour and a half was bearable. I mean, it wasn't as bad as the time Bryce had booked us a mini-break in Copenhagen and the low-cost airline we'd flown with landed us in Sweden. We'd had to take a cramped coach full of tetchy holidaymakers across the border, and by the time we'd reached our hotel, we'd missed dinner.

I couldn't wait to get to Fidda Hilal, unpack, and settle in. That way, I could go back to my moping. Kat had offered her sofa, but since she only had a one-bedroom apartment and she shared it with Mo, the wakeboarding instructor she was currently in lust with, I'd opted to stay in a local hotel instead. I didn't fancy several weeks tripping over them, and worse, I couldn't stand the thought of them closing the bedroom door and getting on with what I'd be missing.

The Coral Cove Resort was rated five stars, according to their website, and just around the corner from Kat's home. Mum had insisted on paying. A "breakup treat," she called it. I felt guilty for taking her money, but it was the best solution for everyone—at least, that's what I kept telling myself. I still half wished I'd stayed at home in bed.

"And Fidda Hilal's got a nice beach, right?" I asked.

Kat laughed. "Plenty of them. Miles and miles of golden sand, and it only rains once a year. The rest of the time, it's blue sky and sunshine."

Good thing I'd packed that extra bottle of sunscreen, then. I also had a suitcase full of the new bikinis I'd bought to wear for Bryce, as well as a few floaty cover-ups and some sparkly flip-flops. I swallowed down the lump in my throat as I thought of the beautiful brochure pictures for the Crystal Blue Hotel in Jamaica. That was where I should have been travelling to, not Fidda Hilal.