Page 30 of The Bridesmaid

‘Simone’s boarding school raised them all to be nice young ladies,’ I tell Ortiz, ignoring Fitzwilliam. ‘She used to speak about it like … a code. So rich people can recognize each other.’

‘Ain’t that the truth.’ Ortiz shoots a glance at Fitzwilliam. ‘GQ here looked like he and Mark Li were going to head off to play tennis together.’

‘GQ?’ I frown.

‘It’s a little nickname we have for him at the station. So what’s the elevator etiquette?’

‘Ladies use the furthest elevator from the entrance. On the right-hand side. It’s the least likely to be used by anyone else. And since prep school boys are taught to take the left-hand elevators, they’re the least likely to encounter a man inside.’

‘Is that true?’ Ortiz asks Fitzwilliam. ‘About taking left-hand elevators?’

‘I didn’t go to boarding school, so I wouldn’t know,’ says Fitzwilliam shortly.

‘Youdidn’t go to boarding school?’ I’m stunned.

‘I went to a private day school, just outside New York,’ he says. ‘My mother wanted her sons close by.’

‘Lucky for her,’ says Ortiz. ‘Well, let’s hope you’re right, Holly. OK.’ She nods to the now-empty lobby, checks her watch. ‘You’ve got fifteen minutes until the dress fitting starts.’

I head fast for the elevator.

As I cross the threshold, I realize my mistake. The doors stand open, but they’ll only close again with a Plaza keycard. If I open the panel, anyone walking toward the elevators will see me. And that’s not the only problem. Inside, the elevator cabin is lined with sleek glass, with white LED lights shining through the walls, floor and ceiling like a starry sky. Even if I could shut the doors for privacy, I can’t see where the access panel might be. There’s not a keyhole in sight.

A video screen flashes up on the opposite wall. It shows a whitesand beach with crystal-clear waters, and waving palm trees.

‘Elysium Beach’ announces a large Art Deco caption, in the signature Kensington brand. ‘Your place to Be.’

Adrianna’s wedding destination, I realize.

Several images flash. The vacant interior of a sumptuous cocktail bar. Swinging hammocks at a rustic beach house. An aerial shot of a jungle-clad island, fringed with powder sand.

Words ripple artfully across the screen, with accompanying images of island activities. ‘Hot springs’ depicts footage of smoking volcanic pools. ‘Beach Box Gym’ shows an outdoor exercise area with bamboo benches, log barbells and sea views.

A final screen flashes. A live image of Adrianna twirling in a bridal dress, then text:

Adrianna Kensington’s Dress Fitting. July 3rd.

Guess they must have hired out these screens. I chew a fingernail nervously, taking out the elevator service key, and glancing helplessly at the open door.

I’m about to exit the elevator and explain the key card situation to Ortiz when I’m interrupted by a voice.

‘Excuse me,’ a strident voice resounds along the bank of elevators. ‘You’ll find we booked the forty-fourth floor for today, and I’m not about to miss the schedule.’

There’s a click of heels, headed straight for the elevator I’m standing in.

‘Hold the door!’ a well-spoken female voice breaks in to the elevator.

I turn and recognize her features instantly.

It’s Georgia Kensington.

Chapter Twenty-Four

ADRIANNA

As the limo stops to collect Petra, Ophelia shuffles toward me nervously, the green silk of her signature-style jumpsuit brushing up against my arm. Her make-up isn’t concealing as well as it might, I notice. Her freckles are peeking through, the exact same color as her light-brown eyes. Like her irises have exploded across her rounded nose. I can’t decide if it’s cute or messy.

The door opens, and a crack of Petra’s masculine perfume infiltrates our leather-scented cocoon.