Chapter Eighty-One Adrianna
Chapter eighty-one
ADRIANNA
The Tower Suite bed linens are scented with the outdated florals I requested be modernized. It’s dark save for a spray of stars, and the only sound is the ocean, as it rakes rhythmically over the white sand.
Where is everyone?
I try to sit, and realize with shock that my body feels horribly heavy. There’s a pain in my head, too. Slowly, I bring the shining edge of the infinity pool into view as it tumbles away into the blackness below.
I’m getting married tomorrow. Or is it today?
We don’t put anything as vulgar as clocks in our suites, so I have no idea what time it is. But as I cast around, I see something next to me on the bed. It’s a person. So still, I didn’t notice them sleeping beside me.
There’s a pop of bright orange hair sticking out of the comforter. Ophelia, I realize with something amounting to slightly sick shock. Ophelia climbed into bed with me and fell asleep.
There’s a loud knock at the door, which takes me several seconds to process. My head isn’t working right, and my eyes are sore. Dusty.
Slowly, I swing my feet out of the bed, and that’s when I realize I’m naked. I grab at a sheet to cover myself, just as the door starts to swing slowly open.
‘Dri?’ A shadowy figure. Familiar male voice.
‘Mark?’ I squint in the dark.
The lights go on. I put a hand to the back of my head. Beside me, I feel Ophelia’s body stir. For some reason, every sense wants to stay turned this way around, not looking at her.
‘Is it morning?’ I ask, noticing that my words are thick.
‘It’s one a.m.,’ says Mark. He seems to cross the room in stages. One moment he’s at the door, then suddenly glitches to be right by me on the bed. Like a video cutting.
Then they’re both sat either side of me. Ophelia and Mark. Ophelia is wearing lacy underwear in a nude tone which blends with her freckled body.
Why is Ophelia in underwear? Thoughts are jabbing at me, but I can’t pull them into a huddle.
‘I gave her sleeping pills,’ Ophelia is saying. ‘That seemed like the best way to be sure she was fresh for the wedding.’
Mark’s face looks as though he doesn’t understand this at all. He says something I don’t catch.
‘I thought she might choke on her vomit,’ Ophelia adds. ‘I wanted to be sure she was safe.’
Mark says something else. About wanting to be alone with his fiancée. The way he says it sounds bad, but that realization is buffered somehow, like it’s wrapped in cotton balls.
Ophelia leaves the room the same way Mark came in. Little snatches of color, like a movie on fast-forward.
‘That was weird,’ Mark is saying. ‘Ophelia got into bed with you?’
The way he says it is like an accusation. Which I can’t really handle right now. One fact rises up for my attention though. Didn’t Mark say it was 1.00 a.m.?
‘It’s past midnight,’ I tell him, shaking my head experimentally. ‘It’s bad luck to see the bride on the wedding day.’
Mark’s face collapses. ‘That’s why I came,’ he says. ‘It’s bad news. The storm hasn’t blown itself out yet. None of the guests can land this morning.’ His brown eyes are liquid with sympathy. ‘I’m so sorry, I know you just wanted this thing done.’
He starts talking about rescheduling. Moving things off and on the beach. Staffing. Logistics.
All I hear is white hot noise. I can’t stand it. I actually can’t stand it. It feels as if my brain is boiling between my ears.
‘No,’ I say. And my tone cuts through everything he’s talking about. ‘No.’
‘Dri—’
‘After everything I’ve been through,’ I say, aware I’m gritting my teeth, ‘after all of it. I’m not stopping now.’ I lift my eyes to his. ‘Mark,’ I say, ‘we don’t need them. We don’t need the guests.’
His brow crinkles. ‘You need guests at a wedding. My mom would never forgive me. Your father—’
‘I know, I know,’ I say. ‘But … can’t we just do the celebrations tomorrow? Have the actual wedding photographed today?’
‘Dri,’ he says quietly, ‘we don’t have a celebrant. It isn’t possible. We tried, but it isn’t possible.’
‘It is! Sorry,’ I add. ‘I didn’t mean to yell, but it is possible. We don’t need a celebrant. That’s just for show. Simone did all the legal documents. We signed everything official last week.’
His face puckers. ‘But … wouldn’t you want a celebrant?’ he asks. ‘We spent hours deciding on the tone of the ceremony.’
Mark is being kind, because we both know I was the one obsessing over the format and how the words would look to fans.
‘I don’t care about any of that anymore,’ I say. ‘All I want is you. And all we need is two witnesses.’ I take a breath. ‘We can do it, Mark. Just like you always said. You and me, right? We’re the only ones that matter.’
‘You, me and the sponsor?’ There is just a shade of annoyance that I never heard before in his voice.
‘It’s a two million dollar deal,’ I say. ‘Everything hinges on us getting pictures to them by noon. If we can do that, if we can just do that, everything will work out.’ My eyes are on his, searching, desperate. ‘Please.’
He looks away. ‘There’s more to marriage than sponsorship deals,’ he says quietly.
Part of me wants to slap him because what does he know? My whole entire life is one big string of sponsorship deals. Marriage doesn’t change that.
‘My dad is here,’ I add, trying to think, despite a sudden prickling sensation in my brain. ‘Hair and make-up. All the important people.’
‘All the important people? Hair and make-up? Dri, can you hear yourself?’ For the first time in our relationship, Mark actually sounds angry. ‘Since we started planning this whole wedding, it’s like you’ve become a different person,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘I put it down to stress but …’
I grab his hands. ‘That’s what it is. Stress. I just need to feel safe. And I will. After we’re married.’
He sighs, and looks deep into my eyes, in that searching way he has.
‘If it’s so important to you, then yes,’ he says, ‘we’ll set everything up for pictures. Just get some sleep.’
It takes every ounce of self-control not to sigh with relief. This is going to work. I will be married and this will work.
Mark’s eyes slide to the door, and I wonder if he’s thinking about Ophelia. An uneasy feeling swirls in my body. I dismiss it.
I am safe. I am happy. I am loved.