Better Than Chocolate (Sweet Somethings Book 1) (7 page)

“That would be kind of nice.”

He sets me on my feet, but I hold on a little longer.

What am I doing?

With a final squeeze, he steps back, planting a friendly kiss on my cheek before turning me toward the terminal. “Go, before security gets backed up.”

A light push sends me on my way. I turn back once to wave before unloading my bag and shoes into the gray x-ray bins. Ryan lifts one hand, smiling, then I lose him in the shuffle of passengers crowding toward security.

Chapter 8

Sadie in St. Croix

Of all the ways to travel, flight by Turboprop plane is the worst.

I spend most of the short flight with my eyes closed, fingers in a death-grip around the armrests. When we finally touch down in St. Croix, it’s all I can do to keep from barreling past the flight attendant when the plane door opens.

My suitcase waits for me at the bottom of the stairs, and I follow the handful of fellow passengers to the terminal. By keeping my eyes shut, I missed the view of the Caribbean Sea. Now, I pause to take it in, along with the swaying palm trees lining the shore just beyond the airport property. The tropical sun’s heat disperses in the salt-laden breeze, and a little jolt of excitement builds in my chest. Even though this whole trip could prove a huge disaster, I start to think I might enjoy myself just a little bit.

Customs takes less than a half hour, and soon I’m navigating the terminal in search of the main exit. Sadie’s email said a car would be waiting for me when my flight arrives. She didn’t specify what kind of car, or even who will pick me up. I imagine it’ll be one of Nelson’s employees, maybe in a shiny BMW. Rich investors, whose families own sugar cane plantations, generally tool around in BMWs, don’t they?

A gust of wind threatens to pluck my new straw hat off my head. I clamp my hand over the crown and scan the cars waiting outside the main entrance. A few people, hired drivers, hold signs with last names block-printed on them. My lips twist into a frown when the search for a bold, black SANNARELLI turns up nothing.

“Great.”

A sliver of irritation wiggles through me as I start digging in my messenger bag. I have the name of the resort and could get a taxi or ask about a hotel shuttle. But still, if someone promises to pick you up at the airport—or in this case, promises to arrange for someone else to pick you up—that someone should be there.

A high-pitched squeal of excitement gives a three second warning, and I brace for impact. The scent of coconut and jasmine envelopes me. Sadie locks her arms around me, her squeal continuing as she bounces up and down.

“Carmella! You’re here!”

My frown relaxes into an indulgent smile. I can’t stay irritated at Sadie, not when she’s like this. I twist one hand up to pat her back. Not easy, when her hug has both of my arms clamped to my sides. “Of course I’m here. Wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

“Oh, let me look at you.”

She steps back, holding me at arms’ length to survey me from straw hat to flip-flops, giving me a chance to take my own look at her. Her baby-blue eyes sparkle, and her smooth cheeks hold a healthy blush of color without a single blemish. Her blond hair used to reach her waist, but sometime between April and now, she cut most of it off. The sheared ends brush her collarbones, with a fall of side-swiped bangs framing her face. And she’s still so damn thin—willowy, I think, is the right term. Next to her, I always feel like a total chub, even if I can still fit into a pair of size six Levi’s.

She even manages to make a sundress look glamorous. The ombré patterned fabric swirls lightly around her calves as she loops one arm through mine and tugs me toward a waiting car. Her sandals are encrusted with rhinestones, but nothing is fake about the rock she’s sporting on her left ring finger. I know I’m staring, but Sadie doesn’t seem to notice as her driver opens the back door of a shiny BMW—just as I expected.

Does she need to wear a sling to support her left arm by the end of the day?

Sadie climbs into the back seat with me, and in a moment the driver starts the car and pulls away from the curb. Sadie holds onto my arm, chattering about the fantastic weather and the three beaches owned by the resort just east of Christiansted where we’ll all stay.

“So, what’s the plan for this week?” I interject the question when she pauses for breath.

“Oh, the usual.”

She laughs, and I have to sit on my hands to keep from slapping them over my face. I have no idea what
the usual
is for Sadie these days, but she elaborates.

“My mom and Nelson’s mom have a big bridal shower planned for Wednesday afternoon, and the bachelorette party will be Thursday night. You’ll have plenty of free time to do some sightseeing. There are historic sites in Christiansted I know you’ll get a kick out of.”

I tear my gaze from the diamond glittering on her left hand. “Uh, I know the town is smaller than Savannah—smaller than the undergraduate population of UGA college town, in fact. But I’m not going to wander around by myself.”

“I bet Nelson’s brother would go with you, if you asked really nicely.”

Oh, that tone. The innuendo. My nascent spirit of adventure just got stomped on by reality. No way would I consider Nelson’s brother an acceptable partner for any activity. True, I haven’t met the guy, but . . .

Instead of rolling my eyes, I look out the window.

“But tomorrow,” Sadie continues, “the seamstresses will be by the hotel with the dresses, so we can do the final fittings.” She slides across the seat, bumping my shoulder with hers. “You’ll love your dress, Carmella. It’s so beachy!” She gasps. “Oh! And we’ll go shopping!”

Ah, yes, her favorite pastime. I can only imagine the credit limit a guy like Nelson Mattingly might have, and I’m sure Sadie has full use of it.

My credit limit, however, is rather humble. “We don’t need to go shopping. I brought―”

“Don’t need to go shopping?” She releases a peal of laughter and slaps my knee with her bedazzled hand. “It’s like you don’t know me at all, honey. But I know you, and you probably didn’t bring enough variety for the week. There are some adorable boutiques we can check out.”

“Well, I didn’t exactly know what to expect.” I shake my head. “I think my credit card would melt if I charged anything at a boutique.” She doesn’t need to know my floppy beach hat is courtesy of her fiancé’s charge-to-the-room allowance in San Juan.

She holds up both hands. “Shut up about your credit card. It’s my treat, okay?”

“Sadie . . .”

“No arguing. Who says I can’t splurge on my best friend and maid of honor?” She buries me in a suffocating hug again.

I don’t think she’s drunk. High on pheromones, maybe.

She pulls back. “You haven’t been eating any chocolate, have you?”

I raise my right hand, three fingers pointing skyward in the Girl Scout Salute. “Not a single Snickers bar.”

Technically, that one spoonful of ice cream yesterday wasn’t really chocolate. The thought of the ice cream reminds me of Ryan, of everything he said last night. Guilt floods me for some inexplicable reason.

“Sadie, you might want to know―”

She twists to face me, hands clamping around my cheeks. “You met someone!”

“What?”

“I can tell. You’ve got that same look in your eyes as when that guy from your English class asked you out. Remember, the one you were crushing on all through sophomore year?”

To be honest, the guy’s name escapes me. Probably because after our one date, we never spoke again, and it’s been eight years. “Uh, sure. But I didn’t meet anybody.” Well, technically . . . “Sadie, listen―”

“Is he hot?” She squeezes my cheeks between her hands.

I try to pull away. “It’s not what you think. I―”

“Did you invite him to the wedding?”

“What? No!” Finally, my face slips free. “Sadie, no, listen.”

She flops back against the seat, sighing. “Oh, you always do this. It’s a good thing Joshua’s itching to meet you.”

I rub my sore cheeks. “Who’s Joshua?”

“Nelson’s brother. The best man?”

Of course he is. I was already supposed to know that, apparently.

“I think you’ll like him.”

She needs to know about Ryan. “There’s something I really have to tell you.”

“Later,” she says, waving the whole topic away. Leaning toward her window, she claps her hands. “We’re here!”

The BMW pulls up in front of the luxury hotel where the wedding guests and attendants will be staying for the next week or so. For a few minutes, all thoughts of San Juan and Ryan vacate the premises as I stare at the stucco facade, the huge palm trees flanking the entrance, the carefully planned cobbles in the sidewalk. The national flag of St. Croix flutters from a pole on the roof of the main building, and as Sadie’s driver opens my door, traditional Caribbean music from hidden speakers fills the humid air. The scents of the ocean, orchids, and something reminiscent of coconut oil waft together, adding to the tropical ambiance. Over the noise and bustle of passenger cars and shuttle busses loading and unloading at the main entrance, rings the orchestra of seagulls, warblers, and finches.

Sadie tugs me out of the back seat and leads me into the hotel lobby. Though not as ornate and polished as the one in San Juan, the island atmosphere is heavy with potted palms, conch shells, and huge woven straw mats beneath wide, cushioned wicker chairs. Instead of seeing the concierge to check in, Sadie pulls me through the vaulted lounge area to the bank of glass doors leading to the pool deck. I point at the front desk, mouth slacked open in confusion.

“Nelson’s friends with the resort owner. It’s sort of the off-season, so we were able to book enough rooms on short notice,” she explains. “Remember, Nelson’s covered all the expenses, so we just have to stop and get your room key later. The bell hop will take care of your bag. Y’all just need to have a good time.”

With a brilliant smile, she pushes through one of the glass doors, lifting her hand to wave to someone across the pool deck. A tall, broad-shouldered man gets up from a chair near an umbrella table, not bothering to set down a glass dripping with condensation and filled with what I think is a mojito.

Nelson Mattingly, without a doubt.

As Sadie drags me closer, his features are easier to make out. His dark hair looks black, swept back from his forehead with some sort of styling product. He sports a close-clipped goatee, which lends kind of a pirate-y look to his squarely cut jaw.

Surprising. Sadie never really cared for guys with facial hair. Ryan’s always clean-shaven.

The fingers holding the drink are well manicured, and gold cuff-links sparkle at his wrists, matching the pin on his lapel. He’s dressed like he’s going to a business meeting, and despite the humidity, he appears cool and collected in his three-piece designer suit. It fits his frame perfectly, with tailored lines that accentuate his height and the width of his shoulders. In a board room, such attire probably intimidates and conveys an aura of power and control.

What does it mean to wear that sort of get-up while lounging poolside at a luxury resort?

Suspicion flares again. So this is the guy who swept my best friend off her feet mere days after she broke it off with Ryan. His aloof expression makes me wonder at the sincerity of his intentions toward her. But when he looks at Sadie, all the formality in his face melts away, replaced with plain adoration as he tucks his free hand around her waist to pull her close.

Well, I’ll be damned. He’s actually in love with her.

Sadie presses against him, one hand on his chest. “Nelson,” she says, resting her head on his shoulder and giving me a contented smile. “This is Carmella.”

Gripping the strap of my messenger bag, I nod as if confirming the introduction. Manners rear their heads. “I wanted to say thank you for taking care of all the travel expenses. It’s really . . .” Nice of him? That seems too small a thing. Ostentatiously generous? Almost philanthropic? Without him footing the bill, I would have flown coach and probably would have to bunk in a broom closet.

He gives his drink to Sadie and steps toward me, gathering both my hands. “It’s such a delight to finally meet you, Carmella.” A light British accent clips his words. “May I call you Carmella right away?”

“Uh, sure.” What else would he call me?

His eyes, a darker blue than Sadie’s, stand out in his heavily tanned face and actually twinkle with high spirits. “Wonderful! Sadie’s told me so much about you. How splendid that you were able to come all this way for her.”

I didn’t exactly get a choice, but he doesn’t need to be told that. I manage a nervous laugh as he squeezes my hands, leaning in to peck each of my cheeks. His goatee tickles, and I fight a grimace.

He releases me, returning to Sadie’s side. As far as I can tell, she hasn’t taken a sip of his drink. Curious. Sadie thinks nothing of sampling people’s drinks. Ryan hadn’t enjoyed a full bottle of beer since they started dating.

“You’ll want to settle in, I think,” Nelson says with a lingering glance at Sadie. “Everyone’s meeting for dinner tonight at . . . What time was it, love?”

“Seven.” She rises on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, then grabs for my hand again. “Let’s get your key and go up to your room.”

I nod, lifting one hand at Nelson as Sadie spins me away. “Nice to meet you!”