“Promises, promises,” Sophie drawled, and someone burst into another fit of giggles.
The sound drifted down the hall, warm and bright, a reminder that for everyone else, this was just another perfect wedding week morning.
The air carried that distinctive scent of morning luxury, coffee, perfume, and the faint sweetness of freshly baked pastries from the kitchen.
From somewhere out on the terrace came the clink of wine glasses and the low murmur of staff setting up for the eleven o’clock wine tasting. Izzy’s voice carried easily over the hum, firm, efficient, and edged with that particular tone that could curdle milk or straighten a lazy posture in seconds.
“Not that glass, the Burgundy stems, please. If I see another Shiraz poured into a tumbler, I will resign.”
There was a mumbled apology, followed by the scuffle of shoes as someone corrected course.
I couldn’t see her from where I stood, but I could picture it exactly, the wine-stained apron, the expert authority, the look that said she’d seen one too many amateurs hold a wine glass like a mug.
Noah had handed the tasting over to her for the morning, which meant it would run like a military operation. Crisp pours, perfect notes, and not a single guest brave enough to ask for more. It also meant he and I had a narrow window, an hour, maybe two, before the guests would notice our absence.
I checked my watch, then glanced down at my tablet, trying to ignore the familiar buzz of nerves fluttering in my chest. The day was already mapped out in neat colour-coded blocks. Normally that kind of precision calmed me.
Today it just reminded me how fast this could unravel if word got out.
Every step echoed a little too loudly as I made my way down the corridor towards my room, passing open doors and half-packed suitcases.
Noah had reached my room before me, leaning against the wall with a look that suggested he wasn’t thrilled to be playing detective before lunchtime.
He smirked. “You look like you’re about to conduct a forensic audit.”
“Just a standard search and containment,” I said tightly.
He raised a brow. “Containment?”
I didn’t answer. I unlocked my door and pushed it open, motioning for him to follow.
The room was exactly as I’d left it: pristine.
The bed was neatly made, the pillows lined up like they were auditioning for home open. The curtains were half-drawn in a hotel-brochure way, and the faint smell of lavender from housekeeping still hovered in the air.
Noah stepped in behind me, giving the room a slow once-over with that signature type of controlled impatience he seemed to reserve specially for me. Like even somehow the furniture had personally inconvenienced him.
“So,” he said, shutting the door with a sharp click, “this is where it was stolen.”
“Please don’t say it like that,” I said, already crossing to the bedside table. “I’m barely holding it together as it is.”
I pulled the drawer open.
Still empty.
The velvet indentation was still there, though, a little outline where the box had been resting. A tiny hollow. Mocking me.
“See?” I said, stepping aside so he could look. “This is where I put it. This exact spot.”
Noah leaned in, bracing one hand against the table as he studied the drawer. His brows pulled together, and for a moment he didn’t say anything.
Which, for reasons I couldn’t fully explain, felt worse than if he had immediately started panicking.
He straightened, looking at me with a seriousness that made my skin prickle. “So someone walked in here, went straight to this drawer, and took it?”
“Well it didn’t walk out by itself,” I said, flinging my hands up, a flash of irritation cutting through the nerves.
Noah crouched beside the door to the room, running his hand along the inside of it. “No forced entry. It’s in good order.”
