Chapter 13
As Sylvie stood on her small balcony, eyes closed, face tilted toward the sun’s warmth, she realized the Caribbean heat felt different somehow. Putting on a pair of sunglasses, she opened her eyes and looked at the beautiful blue water washing over the white sandy beach.
She had believed the hotel was closer to the main city, but after a surprisingly stressful taxi ride earlier, she found herself in a smaller town just up the coast. Hotel de France was apparently the most common hotel name on the island—they had passed several places with that sign.
She stopped panicking after the third one, much to her driver’s relief.
There was a lively flurry of activity when she arrived.
She hurried in from the cab, her luggage taken away by a bellhop, and she received a brief tour of the hotel and the small stretch of beach that belonged to it.
Whatever package Gina had arranged for her was definitely the luxurious option.
It included several activities and treatments—some of which Sylvie didn’t even recognize—so she had put off making any decisions for now.
The concierge then took her up to her room, where her bags were already waiting.
On the table in the center of the room was a small plate of fresh fruit and chocolates, with a glass of chilled champagne completing the scene.
Yawning, she set the empty champagne flute on the small table beside her.
She was exhausted. How could she be tired when she had spent the entire day sitting on planes or in taxis?
Every time someone said they were tired from traveling, she thought they were being overly dramatic.
But the exhaustion she now felt in her bones humbled her completely.
Sylvie knew, however, that she wouldn’t be able to sleep. Now that she was alone and there were no more bags to pack, airports to reach, flights to catch, or taxis to arrange, reality was finally sinking in.
What am I doing here?
This was completely insane.
She had actually lost her mind.
As the thoughts raced through her head, Sylvie felt her pulse quicken. Her stomach lurched as the anxiety took over.
“Ma’am?”
She turned toward the voice and was surprised to see a woman standing in her room, appearing polite but slightly confused.
Her dark skin was beautifully highlighted by an emerald-green silk blouse.
Her tightly wound braids shimmered with gold and green beads.
The outfit was striking, making the woman appear both ethereal and highly professional at the same time.
Suddenly, Sylvie became sharply aware of the bags under her eyes, her unbrushed hair twisted into a clip, and the beads of sweat forming along her forehead.
“Uh, hello?” Sylvie said hesitantly.
“I’m Portia Montcliff,” the woman said. “The concierge said you requested to speak with me?”
Blinking hard, Sylvie tried to remember what the woman was talking about.
“I apologize, ma’am,” Portia added. “But our wedding event planning is only available with several months’ notice. I’d be happy to show you around and talk through the program with you in more detail.”
In a rush, Sylvie remembered and laughed.
“I think there was a misunderstanding. I didn’t mean I wanted to book a wedding this week.
I saw the archway being built on the terrace downstairs.
When I asked what it was for, the concierge said it was part of the wedding planning package.
I just said I’d love to know more about that, that’s all. ”
Portia still looked professionally and politely confused, and Sylvie realized she hadn’t really explained anything.
“Sorry,” she added, crossing the room. “I run an independent inn back home, and we offer some small wedding planning options, so I was intrigued to see what kind of thing is offered here.”
Understanding dawned on Portia’s face, and she smiled broadly.
“Right, okay. That makes sense, ma’am. So, you work in the industry?
You understand, then. I was a little afraid we might have had a monstrous bride on our hands, demanding a wedding in three days.
You look surprised, but that’s happened more than once to me in the decade I’ve been here. ”
Sylvie blinked. The woman didn’t look a day over twenty-five, so the idea that she’d been doing this job for ten years was surprising.
“Oh, wow!” she exclaimed, laughing. “That’s a little scary!
I’ve definitely had bride-zillas, but no one’s ever demanded a whole wedding in three days.
Once, though, I did have to explain to a woman that, while I was flattered she liked the cake I’d made for our communal afternoon tea, I wasn’t equipped to replace the wedding cake baker who dropped out at the last minute. ”
The relief she felt when Portia cracked a smile was a little embarrassing. She hadn’t felt that kind of nervousness since high school.
“Well, that is a compliment indeed,” Portia said. “What did you do?”
“Oh, I contacted a local bakery and negotiated with them to create something with a similar style, just with less detail and in smaller pieces. Fortunately, there were only forty guests.”
The sun, which had felt pleasantly warm moments ago, had begun to bite. Moving away from the railing, Sylvie pulled the balcony door halfway shut behind her and took off her sunglasses. She gestured toward the comfortable-looking armchairs in the center of the room.
Portia smiled as she took a seat. “Very nice. Where are you from?”
Why did it feel like she was being interrogated—but nicely? Sylvie wondered.
“America,” she said. Then, at Portia’s perplexed expression, she added, “South Carolina. A place called Beaufort?”
“Never heard of it. Is it a big wedding destination?”
“No,” Sylvie said, feeling suddenly defensive of her hometown. “We get a lot of tourists, but not specifically weddings.”
Portia looked confused. “So you offer wedding planning at your hotel. Why?”
Sylvie shrugged. “We just do? It’s a beautiful place, and people often ask to use it for their weddings, so…”
“How often?”
This definitely felt like an interrogation now. Was the woman concerned that she was there to steal ideas? Or clients? She didn’t have to worry about that, but how could Sylvie say so without sounding weird?
“I do two or three a year. I think the most we’ve ever had was five in one year, and that was way too many for me,” she said. “It really isn’t anything like what you have here. I just loved the terrace setup when I saw it and thought I’d love to talk to the person responsible.”
It felt wrong to be downplaying her efforts—almost like she was betraying the inn and all the hard work she’d put into those events.
“You do it alone?” Portia asked sharply.
“Well, my mother helps—” Sylvie swallowed hard after realizing she still spoke of her mom in the present tense. “My mother helped, I mean. She used to take care of the day-to-day stuff when we had an event, but mostly, it was just me.”
“Used to?” Portia had clearly pricked up at that, but the last thing Sylvie wanted was to rehash everything with the first person who’d talked to her like a normal adult in weeks.
Actually, that wasn’t true. Damian—the guy at the diner—had treated her normally, even after he knew about her mom.
Sylvie nodded slowly. “Yeah. Are you the solo planner here?”
“Yes, but not like you,” Portia said with a half-shrug. “I have three assistants during the busy season, and we have both a contracted bakery and a dedicated chef who only looks after the wedding clients. So, I might be the only planner, but I’m not doing it all myself.”
“Still, that’s amazing. How many weddings do you have here?”
Portia threw her head back and laughed. “Too many! We’re right in the middle of the busy season now.
There’s a wedding in four days that’s booked out most of the hotel.
You’re actually one of the few guests not here for that event.
Then the next one’s much smaller, in five days.
Then we have two more ceremonies the following week, a day apart.
It’s like this for four months every year. ”
“That’s terrifying!” Sylvie exclaimed, laughing. “What are you doing here, talking to me? If you have half a minute to spare, you should be taking a nap! You must be the busiest person on the island!”
There was a faint hint of a proud smile on Portia’s face as she waved away the compliment.
“Oh, thank you. I might be. I came to speak with you because you’re listed as a special guest at the hotel.
Then, when I heard you were asking about arrangements, I wanted to make sure you weren’t a troublemaker. ”
“Well, I hope I’m not any trouble,” Sylvie replied, wondering what kind of trouble she could possibly cause.
“I don’t think you will be,” Portia said. “I like you. You’re a funny woman. You’re here on holiday, but would you like a quick tour—from my wedding-planner point of view?”
Sylvie’s heart swelled with gratitude—and relief, if she were honest—as she smiled and nodded enthusiastically. “Only if it’s no bother,” she said, standing and grabbing her small pocket notebook and pen from the table.
In the back of her head, she could almost hear Juliette’s voice, chastising her for finding a way to work while on vacation.
As they made their way around the hotel, Sylvie took several pages of notes about things she’d love to try at Sweet Stays Inn.
It couldn’t have been a more delightful conversation with Portia; she’d met the kitchen staff and learned that the bellhop who’d taken her bags was also a talented violinist, and he played if the couple chose the classical music package.
By the time Portia seated her at a table on the dining terrace—a special table, she suspected, since it was set for one and offered a stunning view of the water—Sylvie was even more exhausted than when she arrived.
It took her throughout the main course to realize, however, that she would probably never get to put any of her ideas into action.
There was no way she could cross every Sweet Someday off the list. Even if Lilly was interested in running the inn, would she want to stay and work for her teenage niece?
Sylvie skipped dessert, returned to her room early, and fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.