‘A migraine? Tonight?’ David pulled an exasperated face. ‘Zoey doesn’t even get migraines!’
Okay, now Ash barely felt guilty at all. ‘She’s had them since she was twelve. She had to take a make-up exam our last year at university when she missed one of her finals because of a migraine.’ How could David not know that about her? Wasn’t he supposed to be in love with her?
‘Well, she’s never had one in the eighteen months I’ve known her!’ David snapped. Then he ran a hand over his hair, looking away. ‘Sorry. I’m just...a little anxious right now.’
‘Wedding eve nerves,’ Ash said sagely. ‘I remember them well. Look, why don’t you go back and tell your guests what’s going on. I’m sure Zoey will feel much better in the morning.’
‘Yeah. Yeah, you’re right,’ David said, already turning back the way he’d come. Ash smiled to himself. Sometimes, people just wanted someone else to tell them what to do. ‘I could do with an early night, anyway. I’ll go say goodnight then head up and check on Zoey. See if there’s anything she needs.’
Okay, that wasn’t exactly what he’d hoped for, but Ash would take it. It bought them a little time, at least.
‘Great. I’ll...see you back in there.’ He waved a hand in what he thought was the direction of the bathrooms and hoped that David would get the hint.
He did. The moment David turned the corner towards the restaurant, Ash slipped back into the cupboard to find Zoey listening anxiously at the door.
‘I definitely told him about the migraines,’ she said indignantly.
‘He forgot an important medical condition; you’re skipping out on your absurdly expensive wedding,’ Ash pointed out. ‘I think you can call it even. And unless you want him following you, we need to go. Now.’
* * *
Getting out of the hotel, it turned out, was the easy part. Leaving behind the store cupboard and the too-small window, Ash guided them out through the kitchens instead. He’d spent enough of his formative years in hotels, when his father took him along on business trips, to know the ins and outs of most of them. And as a growing teenage boy he’d always, always found the kitchen first.
‘Why didn’t I think of this?’ Zoey said as they weaved their way through the busy kitchens, apologising to the sous chefs and kitchen underlings as they went.
‘Because you’re only used to seeing hotels as a guest,’ Ash pointed out. ‘When you’re staying somewhere as luxurious as this, people tend to forget that there’s a whole world behind the scenes, working hard to make your holiday happen.’
‘But not you?’ Zoey’s eyebrows were raised and Ash recognised that expression all too well. That You’re a rich kid and you’re lecturing me on how the other half live? look.
‘I spent a lot of time in hotels growing up,’ he said. ‘I got to know how they operate pretty well. And that was before I started working in the kitchens of one at the age of fifteen.’
Zoey stared at him incredulously as they burst through the final set of doors and into the only slighter cooler night air of the island. ‘You? Ash Carmichael, heir to the Carmichael millions, worked as a hotel cook?’
‘It’s billions, actually. Or will be soon, if my father gets his way. And I was deputy washer-upper for three months before I was allowed anywhere near the food.’ Ash scouted around the back of the hotel, making sure there were no loitering guests to see them run. ‘My father is a firm believer in earning your place—even if you’re born into it. I worked in every part of a hotel in the three years before I went to university, and after that I worked my way up through every department of Carmichael Luxury Travel before I was allowed anywhere near the top offices.’
‘Huh. Grace always said you worked hard, but she never mentioned all that.’
Ash shrugged. ‘Why would she? It was just a job.’
And his job—and his money, for that matter—had always been the least interesting thing about him to Grace. Which was one of the reasons he’d fallen so hard and so fast for her. She’d loved him in spite of his name, not because of it.