The Stylist (31 page)

‘Oh, Mona, you’re a genius! And, Amber, I knew you had to be here today—you were
meant
to save my wedding!’ Beau, now smiling brightly, threw her arms around our necks. ‘Oh no—hold on a minute.’ She chucked up in the toilet once more.

We emerged from the bathroom to find Fran, Rob and Shaggy, camera blinking, poised by the door, the magazine photographer shooting away just behind them.

‘What’s the plan, then, Mona?’ Fran asked, shoving a furry microphone in her face. Mona was only too delighted to fill them in on her brilliant idea, only now there was an additional twist:

‘As for the groom—it makes sense if my
assistant
—’ she exaggerated ‘assistant’ ‘—Amber here, ties the knot with you, Rob, don’t you think?’

Rob instantaneously coughed, nearly choking on a sip of Coke.
I know, mate, this is not in my job description, either.
The cameras turned to take in the look of crushing embarrassment on both of our faces.

‘H
ow do I look?’ Beau asked, twirling slowly in the living area, as we all gathered to admire her. The magazine photographer set about capturing her from every angle.

‘Incredible,’ Mona said. And Beau genuinely did look breathtaking. Shaggy’s camera swooped around her Dolce & Gabbana fishtail ivory gown, hugging her curves to perfection. Delicate crystal embellishments glinted in the sunshine, and the long train created the drama of an Italian bride meets Hawaiian goddess. Mona, it had to be admitted, had done a good job, thanks to one of Beau’s bridesmaids turning out to be a half-decent seamstress. Even the ten bridesmaids looked adorable. The pretty pearls and a few shells stitched into the netting gave a subtle nod to the mermaid theme, and strangely enough it all hung together.

‘And how do
I
look?’ I asked, sarcastically, stepping through the door of the guest bedroom wearing the Vera Wang. My hair and make-up were in the exact same style as Beau’s, though an inordinate amount of dry shampoo
made my updo look more white and powdery than Beau’s brassy blonde. It was as good as we could do.

‘Squashed!’ Mona said, cackling to herself. I felt the whole room take in the huge tulle-skirted princess gown with its tight bodice and long veil.

‘Thanks for that, Mona.’ I scowled.
I’m so over pretending to be nice to her.
‘I may not be able breathe properly, but I think I can just about walk.’ I tentatively lifted the gown and placed one heel-clad foot in front of the other. The shoes were at least a size too small, as well.

‘My God, lock up your sons!’ gushed Vicky, hand over her mouth. ‘Seriously, Amber, you look damn hot as a bride! You’re working it, girlfriend!’ She rushed forwards to take a photo on her iPhone.

‘No Instagramming! Not yet, anyway!’ I called.
Flash! Flash!
The official photographer started going for me, too.

I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the balcony doors and for a second allowed myself the fantasy that this was
my
wedding day. Though the dress was way more flamboyant than anything I could imagine myself choosing, there was something pleasingly romantic about it. I smoothed down the skirt. It was amazing what Vera Wang internal corsetry could do—squashed internal organs or not, my waist had never looked so beautifully waspish. Mona gazed at me in silence. In fact, if I wasn’t mistaken, she was slightly irked that I’d managed to look so damn good.

‘Time’s ticking! Are you ready for us?’ Fran hollered through the door of another adjoining bedroom, where Mona had banished the crew while Beau was prepped for her ‘reveal’.

‘Yes, come capture our real bride with the fake one!’ Mona shouted back, and the door opened to reveal Rob,
dressed to kill in a sharp navy Tom Ford suit and skinny white tie borrowed from one of the ushers. He looked seriously hot—definite husband material.

‘And here comes the groom!’ Mona squealed, clapping her hands together. ‘Alo
-ha!’

As Rob and I looked at each other, my heart leapt with such vigour I let out a little involuntary gasp.

‘You’ll need this, though.’ Mona thrust one of Trey’s baseball caps into Rob’s hand to make his disguise complete. Shaggy circled around us filming the decoy Beau and Trey, as we prepared to head off for the pretend wedding photo shoot on the beach.

‘You look beautiful,’ Rob said, his green eyes intent on mine.

‘You scrub up pretty well yourself,’ I replied, feeling my cheeks tingle.
Could today get any more surreal?
I took a deep breath and turned towards Mona. ‘So, what happens now?’

‘May I present Master Pinky, the ring bearer,’ Mona called, arm outstretched towards the balcony, in full ham-it-up-for-the-cameras-mode. ‘How does
he
look?’

Krystal appeared timidly, white Swarovski crystal–adorned lead in her hand, but no Pinky at the end of it.

‘He, um, appears to have done a runner,’ Krystal muttered, embarrassed, as both lenses zoomed in on her face. I felt for the poor girl.

‘What do you mean, “done a runner”? How could that happen, have you seen the size of those trotters? He’s hardly Usain Bolt. Plus—unless he’s a trained high jumper as well—the balcony only has one exit, and that’s through this door,’ Mona ranted.

‘I only left the balcony for a few seconds to check my phone,’ Krystal stuttered.

‘Pinky? Where are you, Pinky-pops?’ Beau rushed through the balcony doors, narrowly missing falling flat on her face; the Dolce gown was so tight across her legs she could barely walk. ‘Wow—don’t
you
look hot!’ Her gaze lingered for a second too long as she passed Rob, oozing sex appeal in his suit.

The doorbell to the suite chimed, startling us all, and Krystal scuttled over to answer it, keen to escape all the attention.

‘Panic over!’ she trilled, as the door was flung open. We all turned to witness Jason Slater carrying Beau’s beloved pet into the living area, where he plonked him down, mini-tux in place, little silk purse bobbing as he trotted into the centre of the room. Jason covered his eyes, pretending not to have noticed Beau in her bridal gown, breasts undulating over the top of the tighter-than-tight corset. It couldn’t have been a less virginal look—she was pure filthy sex.

‘This little piggy cried, wee, wee, wee, wee, all the way home. Found him sniffing around the catering tent,’ he joked, before snapping the lead back onto Pinky’s collar and handing him to Beau. ‘Don’t let him out of your sight, angel.’

‘I won’t! Thanks, Jase,’ Beau stammered, seemingly flustered by his arrival. Vicky seemed to have gone a bit misty-eyed, too. ‘Don’t worry, Krystal,’ Beau said, ‘I’ll take care of Pinky now—the rings are in his pouch.’

Still mock-shielding his eyes, Jason backed out of the suite, the photographer clicking after him. ‘Didn’t see a thing, promise, ladies!’

‘Beau, darling, you can’t keep hold of that grubby little
thing whilst you’ve got a couture gown on. Give Pinky to Amber, he’s needed for the fake photo shoot, anyway,’ Mona instructed, prising the lead from Beau’s fingers and thrusting it into mine.
I suppose it doesn’t matter that I happen to be wearing a priceless gown, too?
Vicky tapped me on the back and surreptitiously handed me an open bottle of champagne, presumably one that Mona had been quietly working on all morning.

‘Swig,’ she ordered. Obediently, I took a large glug.

Outside the suite, against the clock now, as the real ceremony was due to start in less than thirty minutes, the female section of the bridal party assembled to wave us off to one end of the long beach on our mission. I’m sure it wasn’t just me who noticed a flicker of electricity as Rob offered me his hand to step onto the golf buggy. Then I passed Pinky to AJ, who clamped him under his arm and climbed onto a second buggy behind us—he would be posing as the magazine photographer.

The resort was teeming with people. Florists carrying boxes containing thousands of fragrant, fresh orchid petals crossed paths with caterers brandishing sealed metal containers of food and burly men laden with lighting rigs on their way to the marquee. With the wedding rapidly approaching, a procession of golf buggies carried heavily made-up guests to a pre-ceremony drinks reception deep within the resort, away from any prying paparazzi lenses. Rob and I giggled on the back of our cart as we weaved through the maze of pathways in the opposite direction to everyone else. Many guests did a double take at the bride and groom whizzing past them, merrily shouting, ‘Aloha!’ at all we passed. I allowed myself a dizzying moment to
imagine this was real—that I had the gorgeous Tiffany ring on my finger and was about to enjoy all the benefits of being Mrs Amber Walker, wife of Rob Walker; no more traffic light puns; the loveliest husband ever; mini-Walkers on the near horizon … Then Rob’s phone rang.

He looked at it but seemed unwilling to answer.
It had to be her. Fantasy shattered.
He let it ring out and then turned towards me and shrugged. We both said nothing.

The carts finally crept to a standstill as we approached the main beach area, set up to resemble the scene of a celebrity photo shoot (complete with an oversized
Birth of Venus
shell that had been shipped in for the photos). After quietly disembarking, AJ ushered us in close. Rob and I listened intently.

‘So, here’s the plan,’ he whispered. ‘I had one of my guys put some piggy treats inside the shell, so we send Pinky out first, to attract the attention of the paps. I’ve got men positioned all the way down the beach to give us the nod, so when the paps take the bait and start creeping forwards, thinking the photos are about to happen, it’ll be time for me to start snapping the two of you as you emerge from behind that group of palm trees.’ He pointed at a cluster of rocks and trees a few metres away. ‘Just come out onto the sand looking blissfully happy. You’re going to need to really ham it up—hold hands, laugh, kiss, whisk her off her feet if you want to, Rob—whatever it takes to make it all seem real. Keep your veil pulled down over your face though, Amber, and Rob, wear the baseball cap the whole time, we don’t want them to realise you’re not the actual couple. And take your time, all this has to happen while the real ceremony is getting under way down the other end. They’ll be snapping away, going crazy for you. Got it?’

We nodded sagely. Then the sound of a third buggy approaching made us all turn around, and Vicky jumped off the back.

‘Mona’s got it all under control with Beau. She won’t let me within a mile radius of any of the bridal party—she clearly doesn’t want me there—so I thought I’d come give you some moral support.’ She giggled. ‘I was thinking, I could pretend to be your stylist, if you like, Am—plump up your skirt for the photos and stuff?’

‘Good thinking,’ AJ agreed. ‘The more authentic we can make it look, the better.’

Waiting for the nod, I peeked out from behind one of the beachside cabanas to survey the set. A sultry breeze blew in off the ocean and a canopy of hundreds of twinkling fairy lights shone above the giant conch. As the sun began its descent in the sky, we were ready to go.

‘Three, two, one … Action!’ whispered AJ, and Rob got ready to push Pinky out onto the beach, to snaffle the treats. Suddenly a wave of panic hit me—I darted forwards onto the sand and grabbed Rob’s arm.

‘Wait! Shit!’ I held Pinky back by the collar, almost sending myself flying head over Wang. ‘I’ve just remembered: Pinky’s got the rings for the real wedding around his neck. We need to get them back!’ I tugged firmly at his leash.

‘Bloody hell—thank God you remembered,’ Rob said, taking Pinky from me and holding him tightly as he tried to squirm free, his greedy little snout already picking up the scent of the treats.

‘You’ll have to take the rings back in the buggy,’ AJ said, turning to Vicky. ‘They won’t be able to start the ceremony without them.’

As Rob restrained Pinky, I teased open the delicate silken
pouch.
That’s odd.
It didn’t seem to be holding anything of any weight. I felt around with my finger. There were certainly no rings inside, but there was a folded-up piece of paper.

‘What is it?’ Rob stared at me, Pinky clamped under his arm, a hand over the poor little mite’s mouth to muffle his squeals of protest. I undid the paper. It had been folded at least six times, into a small tight triangle.

‘It’s a handwritten note.’ A chill washed over me as I read it aloud, my voice trembling. I quickly realised it wasn’t a love letter between Beau and Trey.

‘“Angel, stay strong, remember the time and place—5:30, the ukulele bandstand. I’ll be waiting with the car. Don’t make a terrible mistake—not after last night, and all our amazing nights together. This is the first day of the rest of our lives. With all my heart, J.”’

We all stood there for a minute, looking at each other: me, Rob, Vicky and AJ. Even Pinky had quietened down.

‘J?’ AJ finally said. ‘Who the hell is J?’

‘Who the hell do you think?’ I stammered, my mind racing. ‘It has to be Jason Slater.’

‘Jason? You don’t think he and Beau are planning to elope, do you?’ For a security boss, AJ could be a little dim at times.

‘No shit, Sherlock,’ I replied, my mind racing.

‘But how could she do this to Trey?’ Vicky uttered.

Rob looked at his watch. ‘I don’t know. But it’s 5:10 p.m., so we need to do something quickly.’

‘But what?’ I looked at him. My breath was quickening and I felt panicky—I desperately wanted to loosen this stupid corset. ‘I
knew
there was something going on—I saw Jason put something into Pinky’s pouch at brunch this
morning—there was something dodgy about it then and it’s dodgy as hell now.’

‘We can’t let her make a mug out of Trey,’ Vicky announced. ‘I’ve been cheated on before, and it bloody hurts. It’ll hurt even more when he finds out his brand-new wife was cheating right up until five minutes before he married her. That is,
if
she goes through with it.’

‘Trey’s one of the good guys,’ AJ said, shaking his head.

‘We’ve got to tell him,’ agreed Rob.

Everyone looked at me.

‘Why are you all looking at me?’ I protested. ‘I can’t tell him—he thinks I’m someone else, anyway.’

‘Annie?’ AJ asked. ‘I did wonder, but I thought it was just something to do with you Brits and your weird way of speaking.’

‘I can’t do it.’ I shook my head defiantly. ‘No way. Rob?’

‘Uh-uh.’ He shook his head, too. ‘A guy from a film crew, a guy he doesn’t know from Adam, tells him he’s not getting married to the woman he thought was the love of his life, on his wedding day? Are you joking?’

I turned to AJ. ‘You know him better than all of us,’ I said, feeling desperate; we were against the clock now.

‘Trey’s my boss. Would you tell your boss the best part of a million dollars he’s just spent organising his dream wedding may as well have been pissed up the wall, because his fiancée is a cheat?’ We all looked at the sand. ‘Didn’t think so.’

‘There’s only one person for it, then,’ Vicky interjected, just as a blaze of flashbulbs erupted a few metres away from us on the beach. In all the kerfuffle, none of us had noticed Pinky freeing his lead from the rock Rob had wedged it under, and he was now sitting in the middle of the conch
shell contentedly munching pig treats. At least half a dozen paps were swarming over the beach, all firing off shots of the happy ring bearer. ‘We need to get hold of that pig.’