But the car turns into the farm where at first there’s not much; fields, tennis courts, and trees.
As we enter a wide valley, we begin to see the rest of it. While it’s meant to resemble a farm, this is much cleaner and prettier. Pristine actually, with freshly mowed lawns and perfectly kept gardens—a fake farm. Or rather a show farm, complete with a massive and modern red barn up the hill to the right, but I suspect it’s a restaurant of sorts.
Stunning houses of varying sizes are tucked into the woods surrounding us and range from huge to cottage, though they all appear quite fancy. In the small valley, there’s a swimming pool with a cute pool house and a lake with an adorable white dock and boathouse. If Norman Rockwell were alive now and possibly a designer on HGTV, he would have created this. It’s picturesque.
We drive to the main house, which is marked with a cute sign welcoming us. It’s the same as the rest of the resort, rustic chic and stunning. It’s rich people’s version of camping with a parking lot filled with Bentleys and limos sitting next to the horse-drawn carriages.
When the limo stops and the valet gets the door for us, we both stare at everything. “It’s like stepping back two hundred years into Austen’s time, but bringing all the best of our time with us,” I whisper to Sukii who nods.
“This place is freaking adorable,” Sukii gushes as she spins and takes in the small area that’s visible to us. Up close, the main house reminds me of a white cottage you’d see in England which would of course be an inn or a pub.
The air is heavy and cool in the Smoky Mountains, not at all like New York in June. You can feel the moisture of the forest around you but the air is so clean in comparison.
“Guests of the bride or groom, madam?” a man asks as he approaches us with a proper British accent to complement the charming surroundings.
“Uhhh—”
“Both,” Sukii answers for us cheerfully. “We’re with Levisohn and Shuster.” She pulls out our invitation I now assume has a watermark which becomes visible with the small penlight he has in his hands. “The PR firm.”
“Excellent, of course. Mr. Levisohn called and made us aware that you would be taking his place.” He smiles differently now that he knows who we are.
“Has the location been revealed? Did they come here as a second choice?” I have to ask. The whole thing is a curiosity to me. A secret wedding at a mystery location is of course how Sami Ford would be married. But not a farm.
“Not yet, as far as I am aware. Ms. Ford has taken every precaution possible to ensure total privacy this weekend. And we are certain no one will leak the details. All guests were told in the limo, as you were, and the cars were equipped with mobile phone signal jammers.” He offers his hands to us expectantly. “As for that, your phones and all digital devices are required for the weekend.”
My stomach drops. We were so nervous and excited, neither of us tried to use our phones in the car; we didn’t notice they weren’t working.
“Phones?” Sukii has lost her bubbly charm.
“It is mandatory that all guests turn in any form of electronics in order to check in. Miss Ford’s rules, I’m afraid.”
“Oh my God,” Sukii mutters as she switches off her personal phone and hands it over. Her fingers cling to it a little at the end. I do the same. I’m instantly naked and afraid. This makes sense and yet I’m scared. I left my work phone at home, as Stan instructed via text this morning, which means I will have nothing.
“Laptops or tablets?”
Wide-eyed and chest thumping, I fish my laptop from the bag. It’s an icky feeling handing it over, one that makes me shudder. How can I be out of contact with the world while Stan and his movers pack and move my entire apartment?
The man carries our devices inside and we follow, leaving our bags on the ground. He puts them into a locker and passes us a small coin with a number. “Don’t lose this. It’s essential you hand it in to retrieve your belongings.”
Sukii takes the coin as if it might explode in her hands and gently places it in her purse, zipping the side pocket she put it into. She gulps and gives me a worried stare.
“You ladies are in the Singing Brook Cottages. Your welcome bags are there with maps and itineraries. Your personal cart is also waiting for you both at your cottage. Enjoy your stay. If any of our staff on the grounds can be of assistance over the next five days, do not hesitate to ask. My name is Marcel and I am happy to help in any way I can.” He hands us both a small envelope with numbers on it. “Sam will help you to your cottages.” He points to the front door we entered through. An older man with a thick mustache and a kind smile is waiting for us at the door.
“Ready to get going?” Sam asks boldly. He’s clearly a character, the same way my grandpa is, feisty and funny.
We follow, both a little lost, a lot confused, and quite scared.
No information on the wedding beyond the plane ticket, pickup, and the number of days.
No phones.
No friends here beyond ourselves.
And five days of being cut off from the outside world while my boss and a moving company uproot my whole life.
“This is like some Get Out shit,” Sukii whispers.
I want to argue there’s no way this is a horror movie, but the start is too bizarre for me to say a word. And we are with the elite wealthy; God knows what they want us for.
“These are your
