Page 58 of The Bridesmaid

‘Isn’t thatdivine?’ beams Adrianna, handing her plate to the nearest waiter. The other girls are doing the same. I quickly fork two more pieces of cake into my mouth as the waiter comes by.

‘Now, the big moment,’ says Adrianna. ‘A sneak preview of the cake, before the big day.’

Staff move to open a discreet set of double doors, completely hidden in the paneling. I guess these must lead to the interconnected suites Georgia mentioned earlier.

Adrianna spins on a diamante heel, throwing her arms open, ready to showcase the masterpiece.

I’m tucked behind Petra’s tall frame and so for a moment, I don’t see it. Only hear gasps. It takes me a few seconds to realize they are not gasps of delight.

As I step from behind the crush of girls, Adrianna starts screaming.

She spins back, her face a mixture of anguish, terror, and naked fury.

‘Who did this?’ she demands, teeth gritted. Her voice lowers to an animal growl. ‘Whodidthis?’

I crane my neck to see what is behind her. A wheeled golden trolley holds the spectacular ruin of Adrianna Kensington’s wedding cake.

Chapter Forty-Five

HOLLY

There is dead silence in the honeymoon suite as we all take in the ruin of the cake. It’s a huge, five-tiered structure, almost as tall as the bride, finished in white frosting and a floristry of white sugar blooms. Or at least, that was how it was designed to look.

Someone has taken a large knife to every part of the cake, hacking and cutting in what could only have been a frenzy. The perfect frosting is gouged in ugly lacerations, exposing naked cake innards in about a hundred wounded fissures. Sugar paste flowers are scattered like fallen blossoms on the cake board. Words are cut deeply into the bottom layer with the straight blade of a knife:

TRINITY IS COMING

Petra seems to jerk suddenly to life. She raises her camera and snaps a picture, but her heart doesn’t seem quite in it. Georgia’s usually reserved expression is furious.

‘Petra,’ she hisses. ‘Notnow.’

Adrianna is blinking rapidly. She turns to Georgia. ‘Get Mark on the phone,’ she says. ‘I want him here by tomorrow. If this is someone’s idea of a prank—’ She stops.

From the corner of my eye, I see Silky, her face a picture of wide-eyed terror, begin to sway on her feet. I only just manage to grab her as she falls.

‘Silky?’ Adrianna steps toward us.

‘I think she’s sick.’ As I take her weight, Silky rocks back in my arms, eyes fluttering up in her head.

Georgia puts a hand to the smooth dark skin of her forehead. Her brown eyes, under their arc of neatly defined lashes, track back to the ruined cake.

‘Probably too much Valium on the plane,’ she decides. ‘Let’s just … put her to bed in one of the cabanas. I’ll see if we can get a medic.’

I help Georgia move the now-staggering Silky out of the Tower Suite. Silky now seems more like a drunk, wavering on her feet and mumbling, eyes half-slitted shut.

‘You think she’ll be OK?’ I ask Georgia as the elevator doors open at the base of the cliff.

A sandy path leads out toward the turquoise sea, meeting with a crescent-shaped wooden jetty. Six more jetties point off it, like rays from a sun, each culminating in a straw-roofed wooden hut, standing on stilts over the water. Ordinarily, I’d be impressed, but I’m too preoccupied with Silky, and thoughts of the mutilated wedding cake.

Georgia nods. ‘Don’t worry about Silky. She’s scared of flying. Always takes a whole box of downers. She probably just mistimed it and they’re kicking in now. That’s happened before. Every time we take an international flight, in fact.’

We walk the drooping-eyed Silky toward the beach. She sways from left to right, and seems to have little sense of her surroundings.

‘What do you think happened back there,’ I ask Georgia, ‘with the cake?’

Her mouth sets tight. ‘Maybe someone’s idea of a prank,’ she decides finally. ‘Like Dri said.’

‘Why would they write “Trinity”?’ I ask.