Page 65 of The Bridesmaid

We open the door to leave my cabana and see balls of fire in the middle distance, toward where the cliff meets the sea behind the house.

‘I’m guessing your beach barbecue is there?’ Fitzwilliam points to a bluff where torches flare. ‘You’re hungry, right?’

‘I’ve kind of gone beyond hunger,’ I tell him. ‘Does that mean I’m a real Kensington now?’

He smiles. ‘Don’tyouneed food?’

‘I grew up in formal situations, remember? You’d be surprised at how used to being hungry that makes you. Anyway, I’m sure they have provision for staff. Probably more than what you’ll be getting.’

I take in the view from the beach hut veranda. The sun has split to the barest slice of pink along the black horizon. A thumbstroke of light, throwing peachy shades on the scatter of clouds above. Darkening jungle paints black leaf shapes at the edges of a navy sky.

‘I’ve just got to hope it’s not plastic photoshoot food.’

Chapter Fifty-One

HOLLY

I’m hiking up the beach in the soft warmth of the evening air when I hear an unexpected movement from near to one of the beach huts. My heart picks up as I turn in the starlight, tuning my ears against the lapping ocean for the sound.

‘Holly?’

I turn to see Adrianna, backgrounded by soft night and diamond-bright stars. She looks her usual million-dollar self, the glossy brown hair blown-out in soft waves, and an aqua print maxi-dress belted flatteringly to her curved torso. But her face is tense, beneath the dewy airbrushed make-up.

‘Cute flower.’ She nods to the bloom in my hair, and my fingers brush it self-consciously.

‘Thanks.’ I plumb my mind for the kind of charming thing Simone might say. ‘You look amazing,’ I tell her, opting for the truth, then regretting how blunt it sounds. To my surprise, her face breaks into a wide smile.

‘Thanks. I wasn’t sure the blow-out was OK for the beach.’

It’s strange to see her alone, I realize. ‘Where’s the entourage?’ I joke, with a half smile. To my great surprise, she lifts a manicurednail to her mouth, then drops it quickly, as if it’s a habit she’s breaking herself of.

‘I’m looking for Silky,’ she says. ‘Have you seen her?’

‘No,’ I say, sympathetically, since I’ve never seen Adrianna look so concerned. ‘She seemed … sick. Do you think she’s OK?’

Adrianna’s close-set blue eyes range my face for a moment, like she can’t decide if I’ve said the wrong thing.

‘I’m sure Silky’s fine,’ she mutters finally. ‘Maybe she’s already at the beach bar.’

Huge flaming torches light up the edges as we take the sandy path. ‘When the sun’s up, this is Daybreak, our detox bar,’ explains Adrianna. ‘Smoothies, raw foods. Vitamin drips brought right to your hammock, as you look out on the waves. Cool, huh?’

‘Um. Yeah.’ I try to channel the appropriate response. ‘Very cool.’

‘But at night, it’s where you get your aperitif cocktail before partying at the Fortune House.’

The intoxicating scent of barbecue hits the air.

‘That smells so good,’ I say, my mouth watering.

‘They must have begun cooking the food for the photoshoot already,’ agrees Adrianna, distractedly. Her eyes are roaming the horizon.

Among the torches, Turkish rugs and Thai cushions are laid on the cooling sand. We can just make out Ophelia in an open-backed green sequin jumpsuit, and long-legged Petra, in a silver dress, lounging with cocktails. Even at this distance, their body language is noticeably awkward.

‘Silky’s not here,’ says Adrianna, her voice thick with disappointment.

‘Why would she go off alone?’ I ask.

Adrianna’s eyes flick to the flower in my hair, and then down to the ring on my finger.