Sharon & Robin

Sharon and Robin met in Curaçao, years before any of this. Life took them to the Netherlands afterwards, the way it does, and the island stayed where it was.

So when the wedding came up, Curaçao was never one option among several. It was the answer, and the only real question was how many people would follow them here. Nearly all of them did. Around fifty-five flew in, which is a considerable thing to ask of a guest list and says plenty about both of them. For Robin's side it was less of a journey than it looked; his parents keep a house on the island.

The whole day stayed at MOOD Beach, ceremony through to the last song, which is worth more than it sounds. Nobody was loaded onto a bus. No hour disappeared to moving fifty people from one place to another.

The ceremony was on the deck that runs out over the water. We covered the timber pergola in tropical flowers, coral and red roses through blush and cream, yellow solidago, birds of paradise, monstera and palm, with white linen falling loose at the corners. Guests sat on the sand below with parasols up against the afternoon, and behind Sharon and Robin there was nothing at all but water.

Nothing in the palette was softened for the setting. Coral, red, yellow, deep green and gold, held against white sand and turquoise, with Robin in powder blue in the middle of it.

At dinner we ran the flowers high and low. Tall gold stands lifted big tropical arrangements well above head height, low arrangements sat along the tables between them, and the built-in seating at the edge got its own. It keeps sightlines open and it keeps the eye moving, which matters when the room is meant to end up on its feet. Emerald napkins, shell-edged placemats, cut glass catching the last of the light.

A saxophone played through cocktail hour. After dark the DJ took over, and that was the rest of the night.