You're Invited

by Amanda Jayatissa

Genres: Women's Fiction; Psychological Thrillers; Suspense

Synopsis

From the author of My Sweet Girl comes a dangerously addictive new thriller about a lavish Sri Lankan wedding celebration that no one will ever forget.

When Amaya is invited to Kaavi's over-the-top wedding in Sri Lanka, Amaya is surprised and a little hurt to hear from her former best-friend after so many years of radio silence. But when Amaya learns that the groom is her very own ex-boyfriend, she is consumed by a single thought: she must stop the wedding from happening, no matter the cost.

But Amaya might not be the only one with a plan to keep the bride from getting her happily ever after. When Kaavi goes missing and is presumed dead, the evidence points towards Amaya.

Caught between excessive Sri Lankan wedding celebrations, old wounds and dark secrets, will Amaya be able to prove she's being framed for a murder she's almost positive she didn't commit?

(P) 2022 Penguin Audio

Release date: August 9, 2022

Publisher: Berkley

Print pages: 384

Sample

Amaya

 

Morning of the Wedding

 

I woke up with bruised knuckles and blood under my fingernails, more rested than I have been in years. I guess this is who I am now. The kind of person who would finally get a good night's sleep after attacking someone else. The kind of woman who would fly halfway around the world to stop my ex-best friend from marrying my ex-boyfriend. If that's one too many exes for you, well, it certainly is for me. But I'm also the kind of woman who does whatever it takes, so here I am.

 

I opened the sliding door that led out onto the small balcony attached to my room at the Mount Lavinia Hotel. It overlooked the expansive private beach, which was deserted.

 

Of course it was. It was too early in the day for anyone to be out there. Maybe later on, but then again, who knows how things will pan out? The wedding would definitely be canceled now. The guests would all shuffle home, dispirited and upset. Or maybe they wouldn't. Maybe they would just be grateful for the all-expenses-paid weekend, and take advantage of the beautiful beach and open bar. They would definitely mull around, gossiping and curious about what transpired. Aunties would have their own theories, no doubt, and phones will light up with messages about what happened to the unfortunate bride, Kaavindi Fonseka. This is Colombo after all.

 

It flickered in my stomach then-the first flutter of nervousness. I knew I couldn't keep it away for long. It had been a simple plan, of course. But like all simple plans, it could be quite complicated unless you teased everything out. Laid everything bare. And like all simple plans, it had the potential to go very, very wrong.

 

I watched the waves swell and bounce and crash and forgive. The fishing boats were already well on their way out to sea, and a few birds circled the ocean in the distance. Keeping my eyes on the horizon, I took a deep breath and counted to five.

 

Then exhaled.

 

My hands were steady on my cup of tea, but a fleck of dried blood had made its way onto the clean white ceramic. I'd better take a shower. Today was a big day for me. Perhaps even more so than yesterday. So much depended on what I did next.

 

I stepped into the bathroom and made the water as hot as it would go. It felt like a betrayal, washing the last bits of yesterday off me. Knowing she was gone, as I watched the water swirl down the drain. But I went through all the motions, still nervous but also feeling, for the first time in a very long time, that I belonged to myself. That things just might be okay. That I was finally vindicated of everything that happened five years ago.

 

I shampooed my hair, conditioned it, slathered on soap that smelled like jasmine all over my body.

 

Deep breath in, Amaya. Now count to five. Let it out slowly. Just like Dr. Dunn said.

 

It was over. After so many years, I could finally let it go.

 

Steam clouded around me as I dried and then dressed myself. My small overnight bag was already packed, ready for me to make my exit. My passport was at home, with the rest of my luggage. The flight back to LA wasn't until tomorrow morning, but I could last till then.

 

I checked the time-6:36 a.m. A pattern. A lucky number. Thank goodness. I felt some of the tension leave my shoulders.

 

I'll wait until 7:00 a.m. to check out. 7:07 a.m., if I could manage it. I couldn't afford to look suspicious. After all, who checks out of a five-star hotel at the crack of dawn unless it's some sort of emergency? I didn't want to draw attention to myself now. I couldn't leave anything up to chance.

 

I busied myself by giving the room a once-over-making sure I hadn't left my charger plugged in and forgotten, or left anything hanging behind the bathroom door. There was a T-shirt in a plastic shopping bag that I kept near my purse, waiting to be thrown out on the taxi ride home. It was always better to be safe. I sat down, phone in hand, watching the numbers on the clock tick their way toward when I could leave.

 

The rap on my door came at 6:51 a.m., ricocheting through my quiet room, lodging itself deep in my heart.

 

Who would knock on my door now?

 

It didn't make any sense.

 

I hesitated a moment.

 

The second rap sounded more urgent.

 

"Miss Bloom, this is Alistair Ferdinand, the hotel manager. Sorry to disturb you. Could we have a moment, please?"

 

The manager?

 

Well, at least it wasn't the police. They'd come later. I hoped to be gone by then.

 

I took another deep breath and cracked open the door.

 

"Yes?" I tried to keep the tremble out of my voice. I knew it even before he said anything. I could feel it in my bones-the writhing. The inherent sense that things were about to go very, very wrong.

 

"Miss Bloom, my apologies for this, but we have to search your room."

 

"Search my room?"

 

But he was pushed aside by someone as she barreled her way inside.

 

"Where is she?" Her voice was shrill.

 

"Tehani? What are you doing here? What's going on?" My voice was a whimper. An embarrassing contrast against hers.

 

"Oh fuck off, like you don't know."

 

"I-I don't understand." I swallowed. This wasn't what was supposed to happen.

 

"I'm sorry, ma'am." The manager stepped in. "We have been instructed to search all rooms immediately. It appears that one of our guests has gone missing."

 

"What? Who?" I asked, even though I knew the answer.

 

"I'm not at liberty to say right now, madam. We just need to check your room."

 

It felt like all the breath had been knocked out of me. This was really happening.

 

The manager was accompanied by two security guards. Let them look. She certainly wasn't in here. It took just less than a minute of them going through my room to confirm.

 

I glanced at the time, just to make sure. 6:53 a.m. Nothing lucky about that. My chest tightened.

 

"As you can see, I'm alone in here. But please, let me know if I can help." I sounded far away-like my voice was disconnected from the rest of my body.

 

"You can help by telling us the truth, you bitch." Tehani's voice slapped me back to reality. She was holding up the T-shirt I'd been meaning to throw away-a basic white tee with the words Pink Sapphires emblazoned across the chest in sparkly letters.

 

My heart started pounding.

 

"This is my sister's. Why do you have it?"

 

I could barely get my words out.

 

"Kaavi, she-gave it to me. I'd-you know, I'd spilled something on myself, and she wanted me to have it."

 

"You're such a liar! I knew it! I told them you'd have something to do with this! Just wait-"

 

And with that, Tehani stormed out, T-shirt and all.

 

What the hell had I gotten myself into?

 

"Thank you, Miss Bloom. We are going to have to ask you to please stay in your room until further notice."

 

"Stay in my room?" My heart was a wild animal now. Jumping and pounding and trying to escape out of my chest. "But I was going to check out soon."

 

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but it is imperative that you do so. I'm told that the investigators will be arriving soon to handle this situation."

 

Oh my goodness, I couldn't believe this was happening.

 

This was not the plan. This was not the plan at all.

 

"How do you know she's missing?" I asked. "Maybe she went for a walk? Or, well, have you checked the groom's room?" I made sure to lower my voice for that last bit, so the security guards couldn't hear me.

 

"Trust me, Miss Bloom. She hasn't gone for a walk. There were-and I don't mean to alarm you-signs of a struggle in her room. Right now, I'm afraid we have to believe the worst . . ." His voice trailed off and he eyed my hand. I glanced down to see what he was staring at.

 

I'd washed away the blood, of course, but the bruise on my knuckles was a little harder to get rid of.

 

"Anyway, thank you for your time. Once again, please stay in your room until you're called for questioning."

 

"Okay." It was all I could manage.

 

I could barely breathe.

 

"And Miss Bloom-?" The manager hesitated near my door.

 

"Yes?"

 

"We have security stationed on every corridor. So please do be kind enough to adhere to our safety measures." He kept his eyes firmly on my face until just before he turned around, when I saw him try to sneak another glance at my knuckles. I held my hand behind my back-out of sight. I wasn't an idiot.

 

They shut the door on their way out, and I went back into the bathroom. There was a gentleman's grooming kit on the sink counter. I took out the razor and pried out one of the thin metal blades from its plastic casing.

 

Dropping the lid shut on the toilet, I sat down, bringing my right foot up to rest on the porcelain so I could reach. I took another deep breath and plunged the blade into the side of my big toe. It stung and throbbed, and a livid drop of blood swelled and burst onto the tile below. That was better. I couldn't risk any more damage to my hands, after all.

 

I finally allowed myself to feel angry.

 

I thought I was being so clever-coming here, destroying things, trying to stop this wedding from happening. It was all my fault. I've been too smug. As smug as a cat who's about to get the cream. But I'm no cat. I've been so wrong. I've been the mouse this whole time. I should have known.

 

I went out to the bed and collapsed, phone in hand, watching the numbers. How long did I have to wait?

 

Many hours, it turned out.

 

The room service cart visited me twice, and each time I politely thanked the waiter and asked for an update. Both times, I was met with a formal reply that they were still waiting on more information. Both times I couldn't touch my food that stayed, cooling, and then stinking up my room while I contemplated my next move.

 

It was 3:28 p.m. when the knock that I had been expecting finally pulled me back to where I was. Still no luck with the numbers. A definite sign.

 

I took a deep breath. Counted to five. Then I stood up.

 

"Good afternoon," I said, answering the door.

 

"Miss Bloom." The manager of the hotel accompanied three security officers. They weren't the police, which made me feel marginally better. I think they were from a private security company, judging from their uniforms. And private security couldn't make any arrests, right?

 

"You need to come with us, madam. And please alert me to any valuables you might have stored here, as we will be searching your room again. More thoroughly this time, I'm afraid."

 

"That's fine," I replied quietly. "I don't really have any valuables, but there's about three hundred US dollars in my wallet."

 

He gave me a curt nod, and the officers escorted me down the corridor. There were security guards swarming everywhere I looked, as well as in-house guards. The security were in beige and brown, sticking out against the old portraits and colonial interior of the hotel, but the in-house guards were decked out in their postcolonial glory-white knee-length shorts, white knee-high socks, and wide-brimmed white safari hats. It was like stepping into a time capsule whenever I saw them.

 

I was led away to a conference room on the highest floor of the old wing. The wooden staircase echoed as I climbed it slowly, surely, making my way to where my life was undoubtedly about to be torn to shreds.

 

The room itself was really quite cheerful, with two large windows overlooking the sparkling Indian Ocean and soft pipe music chirping away in the background. It felt like sacrilege. Things shouldn't be this bright and happy. Not now. Not when everything was just about to erupt.

 

I was left alone. I sat down. I looked at the time-3:33 p.m. Finally. Finally, a good sign. I took another deep breath. Everything was going to be okay.

 

I'll just tell them the truth. That had to work, right? I'll tell them the truth and then maybe I could make them understand that it's all been a mistake.

 

The door opened and a woman dressed in a smart white blouse and black trousers entered the room. I couldn't help but wonder what that blouse would look like with a splatter of blood sprayed across it.

 

"Miss Bloom?" she asked. Her voice was clipped-no-nonsense professionalism, but not exactly cold either. A woman who meant business. Who was she and what was she doing here?

 

"Yes," I replied, standing up and offering my hand. She gave it two curt shakes.

 

"I'm Eshanya Padmaraj with Silverhawk Securities. I'm sure you've heard of us. We are a private security company and are investigating the disappearance and possible murder of Kaavindi Fonseka."

 

Possible murder. The words ricocheted through me, tearing a hole in my chest. I just nodded.

 

"Her father, Nihal, wanted this matter attended to at once, and with the utmost discretion, as I'm sure you'll understand," she continued.

 

So Mr. Fonseka didn't call the police, then? That's interesting. I would have thought that with his connections he'd have rung up the inspector general himself. I'm guessing Mrs. Fonseka had something to do with that. They probably wanted everything kept under wraps until they had some answers. Things weren't so bad just yet.

 

I took a deep breath, but it got caught somewhere in my chest and I started to cough.

 

"Would you like some water, Miss Bloom?"

 

"Yes, please," I managed, and used this moment to eye her.

 

Miss Padmaraj looked to be in about her midforties. She was well-spoken and well-mannered, and she must certainly hold quite a senior position if she was allowed to head an investigation herself. It was practically unheard of for a woman, but I'm glad it wasn't a man. Perhaps she'd be more sympathetic to what I was about to say. Perhaps she'd understand.

 

"I'll be recording our conversation, and it'll be transcribed for documentation purposes. I hope that's okay," she said, but she wasn't asking for my permission. "The police will take your official statement afterward, if or when they are called in. Our conversation won't be as formal. I'm mostly trying to get a clear understanding of everything that happened leading up to the wedding day in order to assist in the search for Miss Fonseka. Time is quite valuable right now, as you are probably aware."