Image source edited in Canva
"Five minutes of your time, ma chérie?" Henri Bouvier, my French dress designer, asked, coddling me so he could do some fittings on my red couture gown. I smiled and passed my iPad Air to Irvin, my assistant and makeup artist.
A young man in his early 20s with dark hair and piercing blue eyes, Irvin was tall and lean. He had a quiet confidence that made him well-suited for his role as my assistant. Despite his serious demeanour, he had a kind heart and was always willing to go above and beyond for me.
The Instagram and Tiktok notifications popping up on my iPad regarding my first wedding anniversary coming up in a few days were distracting.
As a rising star actress in Hollywood and wife to a successful film director, our lives had been hectic the past year but somehow, we made it work.
My husband, Richie Taylor, wanted a lavish celebration and inadvertently hinted at it in an interview. Media outlets, style editors, and some Instagram influencers wanted in on the celebration.
Irvin suggested a private celebration at a Caribbean resort was better. I agreed with him and told Richie so. He was not happy about it.
Having released groundbreaking and thought-provoking films, and won numerous awards and accolades, fans wanted a piece of our private lives since only family and close friends attended our wedding. They were curious. According to Vanity Fair and Vogue magazines, Richie and I were number 5 on the List of Iconic Celebrity Couples next to Beyoncé and Jay-Z.
People viewed Richie as egocentric and conceited but one thing our families and close friends were very sure of, he would do anything for me. So he reluctantly agreed to a weekend in the Bahamas. Irvin chose the resort and handled the bookings.
Henri Bouvier completed the fittings on my red couture gown and I took it home. Irvin came with me. After discussing my itinerary for the weekend, he asked, "Do you need help with packing?"
I looked at him. Irvin and I had a close relationship but I'd never let him into my dressing room. "That's kind of you, Irvin," I replied. "Don't worry, my maid will help."
He appeared thoughtful for a moment. "It's going to be a quiet weekend here and I was wondering if I can come along."
I was taken aback. I smiled and hugged him. "I'm not a slave driver, Irvin. Take the weekend off, okay? You can visit your aunt."
He held my hands for a moment, softly kissed my knuckles and nodded. A tremor slid through me at the touch of his lips to my knuckles. I slipped my hands out of his.
"Fine," he said. "Here are your flight tickets and other documents. I'll be here when you return. Happy anniversary, Jillian."
Before I could reply, Irvin turned and left.
On Friday evening, Richie and I and our private security arrived at Charlevoix Resort on Harbour Island in the Bahamas. The resort, located on a pristine white sandy beach, surrounded by crystal clear turquoise waters and lush tropical vegetation was the perfect blend of relaxation and luxury. I'd visited some resorts but none captivated me like this one.
The staff were friendly and escorted us to our private beachfront villa. It was tastefully furnished. It featured a spacious seating area with a plush velvet sofa and armchairs, and a small bar stocked with a variety of beverages and snacks. A basket of fruit and a bottle of champagne had been left as a special anniversary treat.
I let go of Richie's hand and opened the sliding glass door leading to a large balcony that offered a breathtaking view of the ocean. Richie sneaked up on me. "You like?" He asked, sliding his hands around my waist.
"I love," I said and laughed, staring at the ocean in amazement. A knock on the door drew our attention. It was Rob, our head of security. He glanced at his watch and looked at us. "It's almost 8. The restaurant has been checked and cleared. I'm told your dinner is ready."
"We'll be down in a few," Richie said dismissively and turned to me. "Let's get dressed for dinner."
I wore my red couture gown and admired myself in front of a tall mirror. "You look lovely, baby. Happy anniversary," Richie said. I turned to respond but gasped instead.
He held a blue leather-bound case. The embossed Chopard silver logo on the case caught my eye. I cupped my warm cheeks. "Oh, Richie. I have more than enough."
He shook his head. "You deserve more, my love," he said, lifting the lid of the case to reveal a diamond wreath necklace seated on velvet. It was stunning and I was speechless. My gift of a new set of golf equipment to him couldn't match this.
Richie gently took the necklace, unclasped and placed it around my neck. I touched the diamond pendant gingerly and watched it glint. He held my hands and we went to the restaurant for dinner.
Thankfully, there was no press or paparazzi to ruin our romantic evening. Irvin made sure the location was not revealed to anyone. My thoughts strayed towards him. He was detail-oriented, efficient and professional but I found it strange that he offered to come along. I mentally shook off the thought and focused on my romantic dinner with my husband.
After dinner, as Richie and I walked down the corridor to our villa, we noticed that the door was slightly ajar. Rob raised his hand signalling us to stop. He slowly pushed the door wider and called out to his colleague who was supposed to guard the villa. There was no response. Rob went in and came out a moment later to report that his colleague, Adam, was not inside the villa.
We were surprised to find that our villa had been ransacked. Drawers were pulled out and our belongings were scattered everywhere. Rob left to search the premises as the resort manager and other staff arrived. They apologised profusely, promising their security team was going through their video feed to understand what happened. Richie swore repeatedly and threatened to sue the resort for their negligence.
I was in a state of shock, wondering who would do something like this. Our trip was supposed to be a secret. No one outside me, Richie, our two security men and Irvin knew we would be in the Bahamas.
Irvin!
Just then, there was a knock at the door. Thinking it was the security team, the resort manager rushed to open it but was greeted by Irvin pointing a gun at him. The manager raised his hands.
I froze and stared at my dependable assistant armed with a gun. Irvin ordered the manager inside, stepped in and shut the door. Richie came out of the bedroom at that moment and froze too. "You pathetic, bastard—", he started to say when Irvin pointed the gun at him.
"Shut up, Richie. One move from you and I will shoot you."
"Irvin?" My voice sounded shaky and weird to my ears. "Irvin, w-what are you doing?"
Irvin wouldn't look at me. He scowled at Richie instead. "Jillian, you don't deserve this egocentric, cheating maniac. I love you and can do better. Do you know he cheats on you while he's away on his filming trips? I tried to tell you—"
"What?" I whispered. I stumbled and sat on a sofa.
"Don't listen to this gibberish, my love," Richie appealed. "He's insane—"
"Be quiet, Richie! One more word from you and I'll silence you permanently," Irvin said, his face twisted in anger.
I couldn't process the shocking revelation because my mind raced with a jumble of emotions –shock, disbelief, pain, and confusion. Then I saw Rob and Adam through the glass window behind Irvin creeping close to the door. I needed evidence but I had to get the situation under control so no one got hurt.
"Irvin, please put down the gun," I pleaded gently. He turned to look at me, pain in his eyes.
"You don't believe me?" Irvin asked in astonishment. "See the photos—."
The entrance door swung open noiselessly. Somehow, he must have known because he turned quickly and raised his gun as printed photographs spilt on the floor. Rob jumped on him, gripped his hand and turned it upwards as Irvin released a shot. The bullet pierced and lodged in the thatched roof of the villa.
I screamed in tears and covered my ears. Richie was by my side and held me to himself.
Rob and Adam wrestled Irvin to the ground and handcuffed his hands to his back. Within a few minutes, the police arrived and promised to resolve the issue quietly so the press wouldn't get wind of it.
When the ruckus was over, I never found the photographs again.
I hope you enjoyed reading this short story. It is my response to The Ink Well December 2022 Contest inspired by the prompt "celebrate".
