And I really am on the brink of it — when I make the fatal mistake of looking up. Alicia’s looking as patronizing and smug as she ever did. I feel years of feeling stupid and small welling up in me like a volcano — and I just can’t help it, I hear my voice saying, “Actually, we’re getting married at the Plaza.”
Alicia’s face snaps in shock, like an elastic band. “The Plaza? Really?”
“It should be rather lovely,” I add casually. “Such a beautiful venue, the Plaza. Is that where you’re getting married?”
“No,” says Alicia, her chin rather tight. “They couldn’t fit us in at such short notice. When did you book?”
“Oh… a week or two ago,” I say, and give a vague shrug.
Yes! Yes! Her expression!
“It’s going to be wonderful,” puts in Robyn enthusiastically. “I spoke to the designer this morning, by the way. He’s ordered two hundred birch trees, and they’re going to send over some samples of pine needles…”
I can see Alicia’s brain working hard.
“You’re the one having the enchanted forest in the Plaza,” she says at last. “I’ve heard about that. Sheldon Lloyd’s designing it. Is that true?”
“That’s the one,” I say, and smile at Robyn, who beams back as though I’m an old ally.
“Mees Bloomwood.” Antoine appears from nowhere and presses my hand to his lips. “I am now completely at your service. I apologize for the delay. One of these irritating little matters…”
Alicia’s face goes rigid.
“Well,” she says. “I’ll be off then.”
“Au revoir,” says Antoine, without even looking up.
“Bye, Alicia,” I say innocently. “Have a lovely wedding.”
As she stalks out, I subside back in my seat, heart still pumping wth exhilaration. That was one of the best moments of my life. Finally getting the better of Alicia Bitch Longlegs. Finally! I mean, how often has she been horrible to me? Answer: approximately one thousand times. And how often have I had the perfect put-down at my lips? Answer: never.
Until today!
I can see Robyn and Antoine exchanging looks, and I’m dying to ask them what they think of Alicia. But… it wouldn’t be becoming in a bride-to-be.
Plus if they bitch about her, they might bitch about me too.
“Now!” says Robyn. “On to something more pleasant. You’ve seen the details of Becky’s wedding, Antoine.”
“Indeed,” says Antoine, beaming at me. “Eet will be a most beautiful event.”
“I know,” I hear myself saying happily. “I’m so looking forward to it!”
“So… we discuss the cake… I must fetch some pictures for you… meanwhile, can I offer you some more champagne, perhaps?”
“Yes, please,” I say, and hold out my glass. “That would be lovely!”
The champagne fizzes, pale and delicious, into my glass. Then Antoine disappears off again and I take a sip, smiling to hide the fact that inside, I’m feeling a slight unease.
Now that Alicia’s gone, there’s no need to pretend anymore. What I should do is put my glass down, take Robyn aside, apologize for having wasted her time — and inform her that the wedding is off and I’m getting married in Oxshott. Quite simple and straightforward.
That’s what I should do.
But… something very strange has happened since this morning. I can’t quite explain it — but somehow, sitting here, drinking champagne and eating thousand-dollar cake, I just don’t feel like someone who’s going to get married in a garden in Oxshott.
If I’m really honest, hand on heart — I feel exactly like someone who’s going to have a huge, luxurious wedding at the Plaza.
More than that, I want to be someone who’s going to have a huge, luxurious wedding at the Plaza. I want to be that girl who swans around expensive cake shops and has people running after her and gets treated like a princess. If I call off the wedding, then it’ll all stop. Everyone will stop making a fuss. I’ll stop being that special, glossy person.
Oh God, what’s happened to me? I was so resolved this morning.
Determinedly I close my eyes and force myself to think back to Mum and her flowering cherry tree. But even that doesn’t work. Perhaps it’s the champagne — but instead of being overcome with emotion, and thinking: I must get married at home, I find myself thinking: Maybe we can incorporate the cherry tree into the enchanted forest.
“All right, Becky?” says Robyn, beaming at me. “Penny for them!”
“Oh!” I say, my head jerking up guiltily. “I was just thinking that… the um… wedding will be fantastic.”
What am I going to do? Am I going to say something?
Am I not going to say anything?
Come on, Becky. Decide.
“So — you want to see what I have in my bag?” says Robyn brightly.
“Er… yes, please.”
“Ta-daah!” She pulls out a thick, embossed card, covered in swirly writing, and hands it to me.
Mrs. Elinor Sherman
requests the honour of your presence
at the marriage of
Rebecca Bloomwood
to her son
Luke Brandon
I stare at it, my heart thumping hard.
This is real. This is really real. Here it is, in black and white.
Or at least, bronze and taupe.
I take the stiff card from her and turn it over and over in my fingers.
“What do you think?” Robyn beams. “It’s exquisite, isn’t it? The card is 80 percent linen.”