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12
The resort is stunning.A low building we passed on the ride over houses the administration, plus meeting rooms. Surrounding it are lush pockets of trees carved up with pathways leading to the private pods of villas, including the one we rented out for our use.
Nestled amongst the paths are sparkling pools and flower beds exploding with pink and purple and white.
But the island itself is the main attraction. Lush vegetation, palm trees, a balmy breeze that makes me feel as if I’m on another planet. Far from the hustle New York and LA both personify in their own unique ways.
I frown at my phone—no list from the resort or Tyler yet. I had asked the woman at the desk to keep one detail off the shared rooming list.
My stealth wedding gift to Tyler—one grumpy British billionaire—hasn’t checked in yet.
The attendant parks the golf cart in front of our villa, a light sand-colored building, and shows me up the walkway, holding the door.
When I step inside, I suck in a breath.
It’s beautiful, wood floors and open air. There’s a kitchen and living area that opens to a patio beyond, but I head down the hall to the bedroom. An enormous bed with wooden posts, plus a lounge area on one side with low chairs. The attendant sweeps the doors open to reveal a private patio with a hot tub and its own lap pool.
“It’s perfect,” I tell him. I can’t wait to spend time with Tyler here.
But first, I have something to do.
The attendant departs, and I open my suitcases, pulling out a pink two-piece bathing suit. When Rae said she was going to the pool, I wanted to be there too. We haven’t had a moment together alone, and I’m determined to find out what happened at her gig. This whole week is about family and friendship, and what Beck said the other day is right—everyone here with us is as good as family.
Once I’ve changed into the bathing suit and pulled a wrap overtop, I head out of the villa with a beach bag on my shoulder and aviators on my nose. This part of the resort is private, with a dozen villas surrounding a shared pool. When Tyler and I saw it, we knew it would be perfect for our intimate wedding and for family and friends to spend time together.
I pad across the little walkway to the pool area, spotting Elle already there and pulling a patio umbrella over to her lounger. Beck is dressed in trunks and chatting up the bartender.
“What’ll you drink, Manatee?” Beck calls.
I consider as I approach, stopping next to him at the bar shielded by a thatch roof. I tug the sunglasses down my nose to inspect my friend. “Coffee.”
He laughs. “Only with a chaser.”
He orders me a margarita to go with my coffee, and a few minutes later, both are in front of me courtesy of our personal bartender, plus a margarita for him. We clink mugs and glasses.
“You aren’t worried about your abs?” I tease, nodding toward his six-pack stomach.
“My dad might be a prick, but I have exceptional genetics.”
“So, you won’t be checking out the gym while you’re here.”
He shakes his head vehemently while he answers, “Every day at 6 a.m.”
I throw my head back and laugh before starting back toward the loungers with a coffee in one hand and a margarita in the other.
Beck and I shift into seats next to Elle.
“Your speech at the party was epic,” she informs him. “All that stuff about togetherness. You must be practicing for your Emmy acceptance.”
“I do have a working draft on me at all times,” he says. “But for real, I gotta remind you fools in love there’s a more important commitment than to each other.”
“Which is?” Elle asks, opening a package of hair dye and laying her supplies out in front of her.
“To the group. We’re together for life,” he vows.
The words help soothe the dull ache in my stomach, and I lean over and hug Beck. “We’re going to remind you of that once you’re a legit A-lister and want nothing to do with us.”
“Impossible.”
