She wore no other jewellery. Not even her locket. Much as she loved it, she couldn’t wear it any more—especially not today. It wouldn’t be fair to Mark.
As they reached the minister they halted and turned to face each other. How could she be this lucky? Finding love once with Sam had been wonderful enough, but finding it with Mark was a miracle. She never thought she’d have a second chance. She was so thankful he’d made her see that happiness didn’t always come in identically shaped packages.
She almost didn’t hear the minister as he started the ceremony, she was so busy staring at Mark. She’d never seen him looking so devastatingly handsome. Her eyes never left him throughout the vows. They might as well have been standing on the beach alone for all she knew. Finally she heard the words husband and wife, and the minister gave Mark permission to kiss the bride.
She should have known from the naughty grin on his face that he was up to no good. He lingered a little longer than propriety suggested on the kiss, then swept her up into his arms, hooked one arm under her knees and headed off down the beach with her, leaving her dress billowing behind them and the small band of guests open-mouthed.
‘Mark!’ she gasped, when he’d gone a dozen or so steps. ‘Where are you going? We’ve still got the reception to get through!’
He slowed to a halt. ‘I thought you wanted to disappear as soon as possible after the wedding?’
‘I’m tempted, believe me, but we can’t leave our guests waiting.’
‘Just for you,’ he said, and let her legs glide down to meet the sand, then kissed the tip of her nose. Laughing, they walked back to the small group of guests, who were sharing indulgent smiles.
By the time they congregated in the hotel gardens under a flower-draped pergola for their celebratory feast, the sun was glowing gold and fully above the horizon. The hotel chef had been very inventive with the food, and a stunning array of mouthwatering dishes was ready for them. Since the numbers were small they all sat around one large table, sipping champagne and chatting.
After they had eaten, made the toasts and cut the cake, Kat surprised them by picking up her guitar, which had been cleverly hidden behind a planter, and proceeded to serenade them with a song especially composed for the occasion. Tears welled in Ellie’s eyes as she listened to the beautiful lyrics.
All my tomorrows are nothing but yours, all my yesterdays my gift to you.
It was the best wedding present anyone could have given them. The chorus stuck in her mind, and she found she was humming it as they prepared to leave for the honeymoon.
‘Where are we going, then?’ Ellie asked, puzzled, as Mark led her not to the front of the hotel, as she’d expected, but on to the beach. Mark just smiled an infuriating smile that said you’ll see.
A small speedboat, with a satin ribbon tied bridal-car fashion on the front, was sitting a few feet from the shoreline.
‘I thought we’d float away to that desert island we talked about and never be heard of again,’ he said, as he lifted her into his arms once again and waded out to deposit her in the boat.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MARK was as good as his word, Ellie thought, as she rolled sleepily over in bed. Two weeks on their very own private tropical island had been absolute bliss. She snuggled back against him. A heavy arm draped over her waist and his breaths were long and even. Heaven.
The villa they were staying in was small, but luxurious. The local owners brought fresh food and supplies every day, but were discreet enough that Ellie had not caught sight of them yet. She found enough lazy energy to smile as she remembered how Mark had laughed when she had referred to them as the ‘shopping fairies’.
If only they could stay here for ever. But today was their last day. Tomorrow it was back to England. She frowned, and snuggled even further into Mark’s sleeping body. The last couple of weeks had been like a wonderful dream and she wasn’t sure she was ready for the cold grey slap of reality yet. Here they were just Mark and Ellie, besotted newlyweds. No labels, no outside expectations, free to be themselves. The thought of going home made her shiver. She loved Mark desperately, but she had an inkling that getting used to being Mrs Wilder was going to take some effort.
Warm golden light filtered through the sheer curtains. She guessed the sun had been up a while; it was maybe nine or ten o’clock. Her tummy rumbled in confirmation. No wonder! Their half-eaten dinner still lay on the dining table, abandoned in favour of traditional honeymoon recreation.
Wonderful as it is, lying here tangled with my husband, a girl’s gotta eat!
She wriggled out from under his arm and reached for her robe. Thankfully she had managed to buy something a little more appropriate for a new bride than her old ratty pink one. The ancient garment certainly didn’t come under the category of sexy honeymoon lingerie. She’d been astonished when Mark had seemed disappointed she hadn’t packed it. Weird. She slung the wisp of ivory silk over her shoulders, only bothering with it because she was afraid of running into the ‘fairies’. She left it unfastened and walked away from the bed. A sudden jerk of the sash trailing behind her arrested her progress.
A sleepy voice mumbled from under a pillow, ‘Don’t go. Come back to bed.’
‘I’ll be back in a sec. I’m starving!’
‘So am I.’
She laughed. ‘Why don’t I think you’ve got breakfast on your mind?’
A naughty chuckle from under the pillow told her she was spot-on. In a moment of feminine contrariness she decided to make him wait, and continued her journey to the kitchen. The sash pulled taut as he tried to stop her, but the slippery silk whooshed through the loops and she disappeared out through the door. She laughed gently as she imagined what he must look like with the sash dangling uselessly from his outstretched hand.
‘Ellie?’ he yelled from the bedroom.
She was still smiling as she reached into the fridge for the jug of fresh orange juice. ‘Sorry. Forgot what you said. You’ll just have to wait,’ she called back, pleased with her own self-mockery.
Mark’s effort at secretive footsteps was atrocious, but she pretended not to hear him and readied herself for his attack. She detected a flicking movement out of the corner of her eye, and before she could work out what it was her missing sash looped over her head and dragged her backwards into the hard wall of his chest.
His voice was very nearly a growl. ‘I said, Don’t go!’
‘Mark! I just spilled orange juice all over myself.’ She looked down and watched a bead of liquid travel down her torso towards her belly button.
He loosened the sash just enough to let her turn to face him. ‘We’ll just have to clean it up, then, won’t we?’ he said, a truly wicked glint in his eyes.
Ellie sighed as he started tugging her back towards the bedroom. She was pretty sure he wasn’t going to fetch a towel.
Ellie wandered outside and sank her feet into the dewy grass. The vibrant green carpet welcomed her feet and she sighed. It was wonderful to be home. She might have lived on in the cottage after Sam and Chloe had gone, but it turned from a home to a shell of bricks and mortar the day they died. She turned and