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“Beautiful!” Clarisse said in her rich French accent, plumping and spritzing yet another curl. “Tres magnifique!”
Kayla smiled at her reflection. She did look damn good. Her sun-streaked chestnut hair was arranged in a sweeping up-do with artfully curling tendrils framing her face. The natural caramel and golden highlights from her time in the salt water and tropical sun had been lightened even further, adding a stunning, shimmering depth. The skilled stylist had done an incredible job, but that was no surprise. Clarisse was the best.
“You are a miracle worker, Clarisse.”
“Ah, c’est facile when I have something so lovely to work with.”
Kayla laughed. “I bet you say that to all your clients.”
“Bah. Of course I do,” Clarisse agreed with a wink. “But I mean it when I say so to you.”
“Thank you.”
Every bride wanted to feel beautiful on her wedding day, and Kayla was no exception. Spencer had insisted she take the entire week for excessive pampering prior to the big day, no expense spared. Who was she to argue with that?
Over the past couple of days she’d been buffed, waxed, massaged and oiled until her lightly bronzed skin was baby-smooth and glowing. When combined with the incredible sex she and Spencer had been having all week – the man had been positively driven - Kayla had never felt more relaxed in her life.
“You are the calmest bride-to-be I have ever seen. Are you not having the nerves?”
“No,” Kayla answered honestly. Anticipation, maybe, but not nerves. While many brides-to-be stressed over wedding plans, Kayla was spared all of that thanks to her exceptionally wealthy and well-connected fiance. Spencer hired only the best. The highly recommended wedding planner was taking care of everything and doing a phenomenal job. Other than occasional, brief meetings to discuss their preferences, they hadn’t had to worry about anything.
Zero stress, zero drama all around. It was good to be her.
“And your beau, he is quite the catch, non?”
“He sure is,” Kayla smiled. She never thought she’d get married, but here she was, about to wed the billionaire playboy who commanded her heart as skillfully as he commanded her body. If she believed in croies like the Callaghans did, she might even go as far as to say that Spencer was hers.
Kayla was a practical woman, however, despite the fact that the last year had been nothing short of a fairytale. She had her dream job as head of Public Relations and occasional bartender at an exclusive adult resort. Lived in a tropical island paradise with her ideal man, who she would be officially marrying in a few short hours. She was making the most of every moment, not obsessing about things that might or might not happen years in the future.
Ingrid, the wedding planner, breezed into the room, nodding in approval when she saw Kayla’s transformation nearly complete.
“Stunning, absolutely stunning.” She checked her diamond encrusted Cartier watch and clapped her hands. “Attendants! It is almost time. The gown!”
Like expertly trained soldiers, half a dozen women suddenly appeared to assist Kayla with her dress. The design was a one-of-a-kind creation, a special favor granted by one of the top designers in London who had become a regular at Sate. A beautiful shade of candlelight, the silken bridal gown was light and airy, perfect for the sunset service on the beach and comfortable enough to enjoy the dinner reception afterward with special VIP guests – guests who, by mutual agreement, did not include family.
Once the final fitting was complete, Kayla was adorned with minimal but exquisite jewelry. The set was a wedding present from Spencer, consisting of a diamond necklace and earrings, crafted to match her custom engagement ring and wedding bands. She smiled, thinking of the “set” she had purchased for their wedding night. Even as she prepared, a team of specialists was hard at work, secretly transforming her and Spencer’s hideaway bungalow into a high end “play room”.
Her body warmed just thinking about it.
Ingrid watched with an assessing eye as she continued to consult her ever present tablet. Occasionally, she tapped her ear and spoke soft commands to whoever was on the other end of her invisible connection.
When Ingrid’s tone sharpened unexpectedly, however, Kayla and the others looked her way. Kayla had only heard the unflappable event planner’s voice do so once before when one of her crew ordered the wrong flowers for the centerpieces.
Ingrid’s perfect posture had gone rigid; her brows pulled slightly together. She turned away quickly, her voice snapping quietly into her unseen microphone. “Folgt dem Isolationprotokoll. Ja, genau wie wire es besprochen haben. Ich mache mich sofort auf den Weg.”
The first tendril of unease settled in Kayla’s stomach. Perhaps she was a little nervous, after all. Things had been progressing far too smoothly. “Ingrid? Is there a problem?”
The wedding planner turned back around, her face once again smooth and confident. “Nothing to worry about, my dear. A minor inconvenience, that is all.” She checked her watch again. “Fifteen minutes, people!”
To Kayla, she said, “Breathe, Ms. O’Connell. Everything is going to be perfect. I guarantee it.”
Ingrid left in the same efficient whirlwind fashion as she entered, and Kayla exhaled. “Okay, what just happened?”
“I am sure it is nothing,” Clarisse said, but she too, looked concerned. Kayla almost believed her.