Page 27 of What Doesn't Kill You…

She took a deep breath, then launched right in. "If I give you a selection, maybe the florist could work with what she has in stock. Any combination of the following would be fine: Baby's Breath for bulk, enhanced with white and pink Carnations." She cast a quick glance at Max, noting his stunned expression. Served him right for challenging her. "Orange roses, the more muted shade. Eucalyptus for filler. Ivy for the arch base—if there is an arch. Peonies for more color. Pink Ranunculus, if you have them. Dahlias and Gladioli in shades that match. And maybe white or pink Lavender."

Max's jaw was hanging, while the wedding planner beamed in approval.

"You know your flowers!" she said. "Those are wonderful choices. I'll get the florist onto it immediately. Are there any on the list you'd like to be the star of the show?"

Violet thought about it. "Probably the orange roses, the Gladioli, the Eucalyptus, and the pink Carnations."

"Perfect." Delilah made a note. "So, we're going for a fresh, summer theme of pink, peach and orange for the ceremony decor?"

Violet felt nauseous. A pink wedding was not on the cards. "No. I just think those flowers will be best, but I'd say white was the main theme for the ceremony." After all, everything else on the island was white. She looked at Max. “Right?”

He nodded slowly as though it took time to shift gear from the flower conversation. "White is good."

"Now, music," Delilah said. "Any thoughts on that? We need something for the start of the ceremony, when you'd traditionally walk down the aisle, and something for the end, when you're leaving as a married couple. Plus, anything else you'd like played during dinner or at any other time during your special day. If I'm right—" she consulted her notes "—yes, you booked one of our fabulous singers to accompany the event. A guitarist. That will be lovely. I think weddings are so much better with live music, don't you?"

Violet was being tortured. She'd always wondered what it would take to break her and now she knew. Governments should have hired Delilah to deal with political prisoners. Half an hour alone with her cheery wedding talk and a grown man would cry and beg to tell the authorities everything he knew.

"Violet?" Max said. "Got any ideas for music?"

Violet had reached her tolerance for wedding planning. "I'm okay with the wedding march. That'll do."

Delilah looked pained. "Surely we can do better than 'that'll do'?"

Violet casually reached for the ballpoint pen on the desk in front of her, and curled her hand around it like it was a weapon.

“How about,” Max said, his eyes on the pen in her hand, “we think about it, and I’ll call you later.”

“I can work with that,” Delilah said cheerily. “Is there anything else we need to go over?” She perused her notes.

But Violet was done. She got to her feet before Delilah could come up with anything else. "Max and I have to go kayaking and we don't want to be late," she said, bugging her eyes at Max to get him to move.

He got to his feet with a knowing smile.

Delilah did that blinking thing again, like there was a glitch in the matrix. "Not a problem. I have more than enough to get going. Max already arranged for your wedding lunch in the Sugar Mill restaurant, so we don't have to go over food selections. I'll be in touch later. You two go and have some fun. It's a beautiful day." She chuckled. "It's the only kind allowed on Wedding Island."

Violet was already heading for the door.

Max ran to catch up. “Thanks Delilah, we’d better hurry. Don’t want to be late.”

Whatever. The man was a suck up.

Once they were outside, Violet glared up at Max, who was grinning at her. “That’s the last wedding meeting I take. From now on, you’re in charge of that part of the plan.”

“Okay,” Max said as he reached for her hand.

She swatted him away, but he reached for her again. Violet growled in warning.

"I can see you're upset," he said, as he carefully removed the pen from her grip. The pen she’d forgotten she’d lifted. "And justifiably so, but I'd feel better if you weren't armed. You'll cause less damage that way." He pocketed the pen.

She scoffed at him. "I don't need a weapon to cause damage. I am a weapon."

He threw back his head and laughed. For a second, everything stopped as she watched him. It was mesmerizing. And a little annoying.

"Stop it," she told him. "People are staring."

He glanced around. “What people?”

“Just stop it,” she ordered.