Confetti Hearts (Confetti Hitched, #1)(40)

The warning I’d received earlier comes back to me as I drive slowly up the narrow and steep lane. After a few minutes, the drops at the side of the road make me so nervous, it’s all I can do to focus on the road ahead. It seems to take forever, but eventually I emerge in front of the hotel.

This is a beautiful grey-stoned Victorian building that was originally built for a wealthy industrialist who was rather eccentric. As such, there are lots of little turrets and odd angles. It sits amongst the countryside with an unparalleled view of the loch below. Inside is a very funky décor. The designer was apparently a fan of tartan and bright colours, and the combination of the two makes the hotel feel like the inside of a very bright Scottish jewellery box.

I’ve done a couple of weddings here, and the staff are very professional and geared up for everything. As I stop the car, the hotel’s door opens and the manager appears. Dougal has bright red hair and blue eyes, and he’s a wonderful person to work with.

I smile as I switch off the engine and climb out and then immediately shudder. “Fucking hell, it’s freezing.”

Dougal laughs. “Is it? That coat of yours might be the culprit rather than the weather.”

I look down at my grey-checked Burberry coat. “What’s wrong with it? It cost a fortune and that was in the sale.”

“Aye. Costs a fortune but fulfils none of the functions of a coat. Aren’t they supposed to keep us warm and dry?”

“It’s very fashionable. I think it just has to look good and it’s worth the price.”

He chuckles and then launches into an alarming coughing fit.

“You okay?” I ask, hovering next to him, unsure whether to pat him on the back or find the defibrillator.

Eventually, he stops. “Sorry,” he says in a croaky voice.

“You don’t look well.” On closer inspection his usually clear eyes are bleary, and he’s very pale.

“I’ll be fine,” he says with his usual stoicism. “Just feel like I’m getting a cold.”

I pat him on the arm. “Well, keep it to yourself. I don’t wish to take that to Thailand with me.”

He chuckles. “Is that where you’re going after this?” I nod. “Nice,” he says.

I laugh. “You lie.”

He shrugs. “Not my thing. I presume you’re not stopping, then?”

“No.”

“Good thing, because the hotel’s fully booked. Once the wedding party is done, we’ve got a leaving party booked.”

“I’ll be on a beach by then. Are the wedding party here?”

“Most of them. The bride and groom have gone out for a walk. Her mother and father are in the bar, and her brother and his family are due any minute. The other guests have all checked in and are in the bar too. We’ll escort them to the chapel fifteen minutes before the ceremony.”

“What about the groom’s family?”

“They’re due here in an hour. They just rang from the airport.”

“That’s good. Bridesmaids and best man?”

“They came with Ryan and Erica last night.”

I clap my hands together. “Great. That’s always a worry. Okay. How’s the chapel looking?”

“Beautiful. The florist just left. You want a last look?”

“If that’s okay. I know I did a check yesterday, but I need to go over everything today so I can avoid the wrath of Erica’s mother.”

His hand rises, as if he’s contemplating crossing himself, but he only nods obligingly, and I fall into step next to him as he walks towards the chapel.

The chapel is set back along a little path with a view of the loch. It’s a lonely little building, but very atmospheric. It was the main selling point for Erica and Ryan when they came up to have a look at the place.

I shiver as we leave the shield of the box hedges, and the wind hits me. “Is this the Arctic?” I breathe.

He laughs before looking out over the loch. Up here I can see the waves forming on the water from the wind. The sky seems very low, the clouds touching the nearby hills. It’s like being on top of a world of winter.

“There’s heavy snow in those clouds,” Dougal says with a trace of concern.

“So says everyone. Think it’ll hold off?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Well, I bow to your expert eye. Is that going to cause a problem? Note how I’m holding my breath, because Lady Frances won’t take an act of god as a suitable reason for anything not being as she decrees.”

His mouth quirks, but a Frances Twitch—something I recognize in all who’ve been in her path—erupts by his left eye. Rafferty had only spent ten minutes listening to her before he’d declared she was hazardous to his health.

“The celebrant is here. I’ve put him in the lounge with the papers and a whisky. The waiting staff are already here and working. If the snow comes down heavily, I’ll send them home early so they don’t get stuck here. I have a couple of staff who are staying the night, so we can cater to the party without a problem.”

I nod, looking rather uneasily at the clouds. Living in London, weather is something to be encountered briefly as I step from hotel to car to home. Here it seems rather more encompassing.

“Let’s have a look at the chapel,” I say, and we make our way in. The chapel, for all its lonely bleak view, is actually toasty warm inside. Heaters blast hot air that’s thick with the scent of roses from the many flower arrangements. Candles are dotted around, waiting to be lit.