just squeezing it or politely telling me to let go. I extract my fingers from his anyway. It’s gone way beyond a handshake now, but goose bumps tingle up my arm again. It’s just how cold his hand is, I tell myself. Nothing more. And goose bumps are pointless anyway – no way is a gorgeous, hilarious, mum-loving, thirty-something guy really going to be single or interested in me.
Instead of concentrating on how much I like sitting close to him, I turn away and look at the island instead. There’s not a lot to see from here. Judging by the endless stone steps leading up from the jetty, we’re on the lowest part of the island, and the rest of it towers above us on jagged cliff edges. There’s greenery up top, trees and plants, and there’s definitely a church on a hill, grey bricks showing through the leaves when the wind blows in the right direction.
‘So you’ve heard about this church then…’ I venture.
‘Yeah,’ he says.
I’m waiting for him to say ‘my fiancée wants to get married there’ or something – that would be just my luck. There aren’t many men who are gorgeous, kind, funny, and still single left in the world. Maybe if there were, I’d have had better luck in finding a Prince Charming to go with my dream wedding dress.
His eyes are on the building on the hills above us. ‘Looks like they’ve made it into a shrine. It’s got to be a joke, right? I mean, look at that. Even from down here, you can tell they’ve done everything they can to make it seem like some kind of sacred temple or something.’
‘Who?’
‘Whoever stands to make the most money out of it.’ He shrugs. ‘Probably all of them. My boss said you can buy wedding dresses and cakes and stuff here, so every business owner on this island benefits from people getting married there.’
‘That’s very cynical.’
‘I’m sorry, I think I misheard – did you say realistic?’
I frown at him and he grins. ‘I just think it’s so contrived. We’ve been here for five minutes and I can already guarantee that those weeping willow trees are planted to hide it in plain sight. I bet it’s surrounded by flowers and there’s probably a sickeningly romantic little archway made of roses, so every sucker who comes here falls for the “oh, come and get married in our exclusive magical church” spiel. We promise your marriage will never end in divorce, and if it does, the boat ride over here is so choppy that it’s not like you’d want to come back and complain, is it?’
I don’t know whether he’s being funny or sarcastic or is just feeling ill. ‘Don’t you think it’s sweet? I’d love to get married in a place like this. Even if it is just a story, I still think it’s romantic.’
‘There’s no such thing as romance. There are people who profit from romance and there are guys who want sex. Couple those things and you’ve got a booming industry that thrives on telling women what they want and making men feel inadequate.’
‘Maybe at the beginning of a relationship, but not when it comes to weddings. Weddings are a commitment to spend your life with each other, for better or worse.’
‘Hah. Weddings are a commitment to spend a fortune and spend the rest of your life making each other miserable.’
I frown at him again. ‘That’s horrible. That’s not—’
He drops his head into his hands and groans. ‘Sorry. I could’ve held back a bit there. You’ll have to forgive me, my head’s pounding and the world’s spinning, and I think several donkeys have had a kick at my stomach. I don’t usually get quite that ranty with complete strangers. I just hate weddings.’
Another one. How many people can you find in one week who hate weddings? ‘You’re not here to get married then?’
He laughs, a bitter sharp sound. ‘Oh, trust me, marriage is not something I’ll be subjecting myself to, ever.’
Even though I don’t agree with his cynicism, and if we were having this conversation anywhere else, I’d have got up and walked away by now, I still don’t want to get up off this wall. This is the kind of conversation that crabby old men corner you with at weddings. They tell you to write about how much their wife got in the divorce or how much their solicitor charged.
It’s probably just how sick he feels. Everyone’s a bit harsh when they feel rubbish, and he’s still as pale as a freshly bleached bedsheet and I still want to put my hand on his forehead and see if he feels as hot as he looks. In temperature and sexiness.
There’s a couple walking hand in hand along the sandy beach to our right, and they look at us for a moment before waving.
I give them a wave back and my brightest grin. Rohan gives them a tight smile. ‘Thought we were being watched,’ he says through gritted teeth.
‘Oh, they’re just out for a walk, bless them.’
‘You didn’t spot them hiding behind one of the rocks just now then?’
‘No.’ I look at him in surprise. ‘I doubt they were hiding. They were probably looking at rock pools or something. Or the dead jellyfish that angry man mentioned.’
He laughs. ‘They have binoculars.’
‘So they’re bird-watching. They probably think we’re sitting here waiting for the boat and wondering if they should tell us it’s already left.’
‘Oh, I think this is the kind of island where the locals know exactly who is on it and exactly what they’re doing at all times. I’m sure they’re well aware that we’ve only just arrived.’
‘Well, I think you’re a cynical old grump.’
He starts laughing. ‘I’ll take the cynical grump bit but I’m thirty-six, you don’t get to call me old yet!’
I laugh too, my shoulder pressing against his, heat spreading outwards from the point of contact, another little shiver going through me. He’s only two years older than me. Could he get any more perfect?
‘Are you feeling any better?’ I ask when I realise that it’s probably weird to just sit here leaning against him.
‘Yeah, I am actually. I think talking to you should officially be classed as a cure for seasickness.’
‘And I think you should get a refund on your lessons at charm school,’ I say, even though I’m pretty sure Dulux do paint in the same shade of red as my cheeks.
‘Not being charming, just being honest,’ he says as I get to my feet. ‘Besides, I can imagine how much of a state I look at the moment. I think I’d have to try a bit harder than that to charm the socks off you.’
‘When it comes to most guys being charming, socks are not the item of clothing they want to charm off.’
‘Well, you can rest assured that I’m not interested in charming anything off you, including but not limited to socks, and I think it’s safe to say that the charm is gone when I’ve spent the afternoon retching into a bag in front of you.’
I grin at him and step back to give him space to get up. Honestly, the charm is far from gone.
He
