FORTY-TWO
Xan couldn't believe how nervous she felt. Anyone would think she was tomorrow's bride, not the girl sleeping in Villa Akoya tonight.
Yet here she was, pacing the length of the Penguin jetty again, wishing for some sort of inner peace that swam just out of reach in the waves below as the tide rushed in.
The helicopter was safely on the pearl farm landing pad, with the Argo moored nearby. All the guests who were attending tomorrow's wedding had arrived and there would be no way on or off the island until Sunday. The only communication with the mainland was via the radio in Dennis' office, now the satellite uplink and mobile phone tower had been disabled for the event, as per the bride's imperious instructions. The kitchen had closed for the night, though one chef remained on
