Sophie Kinsella's Shopaholic 5-Book Bundle (106 page)

Which is true. In its way.

Luke doesn’t know anything of my plans. He’s had enough to deal with as it is. For once, I’m the one in charge.

I feel like I’ve seen a completely different Luke over the last few weeks. A younger, more vulnerable Luke, whom the rest of the world doesn’t know anything about. After he had that meeting with Elinor, he was very quiet for a while. There was no huge emotional outburst, no dramatic scene. In some ways, he simply went back to normal. But he was still fragile, still exhausted. Still nowhere near being able to go to work. For about two weeks, he just slept and slept, fourteen or fifteen hours a day. It was as though ten years of driving himself too hard were finally catching up with him.

Now he’s gradually becoming his usual self. He’s getting back that veneer of confidence. That blank expression when he doesn’t want people to know what he’s feeling. That abrupt, businesslike manner. He’s been into the office during the past week, and it’s been like old times.

Although not quite. Because although the veneer’s back, the point is, I’ve seen underneath it. I’ve seen the way Luke works. The way he thinks and what he’s scared of and what he really wants out of life. Before all this happened, we’d been together for over two years. We’d lived together, we were a successful couple. But now I feel I know him in a way I never did before.

“I keep thinking back to that conversation I had with my mother,” he says, frowning into his drink. “Up in the Rainbow Room.”

“Really?” I say warily. “What exactly—”

“I still find it confusing.”

“Confusing?” I say after a pause. “Why’s that?”

“I’ve never heard her speak that way before. It didn’t seem real.” He looks up. “I don’t know whether I should believe her.”

I lean forward and take his hand. “Luke, just because she’s never said those things to you before, it doesn’t mean they aren’t true.”

This is what I’ve said to him nearly every day since he had the meeting with Elinor. I want to stop him picking away at it. I want him to accept what she said, and be happy. But he’s too intelligent for that. He’s silent for a few moments, and I know he’s replaying the conversation in his mind.

“Some of the things she said seemed so true, and others, so false.”

“Which bits sounded false?” I say lightly. “Out of interest?”

“When she told me that she was proud of everything I’d done, from the founding of my company to choosing you as a wife. It just didn’t quite . . . I don’t know . . .” He shakes his head.

“I thought that was rather good!” I retort before I can stop myself. “I mean . . . you know . . . quite a likely thing for her to say—”

“But then she said something else. She said there wasn’t a single day since I was born that she hadn’t thought about me.” He hesitates. “And the way she said it . . . I really believed her.”

“She said that?” I say, taken aback.

There was nothing about that on the piece of paper I gave Elinor. I reach for Luke’s gin and tonic and take a sip, thinking hard.

“I really do think she meant what she said,” I say at last. “In fact . . . I know it. The point is, she wanted to tell you she loved you. Even if everything she said didn’t sound completely natural, that’s what she wanted you to know.”

“I suppose so.” He meets my eyes. “But still. I can’t feel the same way about her. I can’t go back to where I was.”

“No,” I say after a short silence. “Well . . . I think that’s probably a good thing.”

The spell’s been lifted. Luke has finally woken up.

I lean over and kiss him, then take another sip of his drink. “I should go and put my frock on.”

“You’re not wearing that fetching anorak?” says Luke with a grin.

“Well, I was
going
to. But now you’ve seen it, I’ll just have to find something else, I suppose . . .” I get up to go—then hesitate. “Listen, Luke. If things seem a bit strange today, just . . . go with it, OK?”

“OK,” says Luke in surprise.

“You promise?”

“I promise.” He gives me a sideways look. “Becky, is there anything I should know?”

“Er . . . no,” I say innocently. “No, I don’t think so. See you in there.”

Twenty-one

I
CAN
’
T BELIEVE
I
’
VE
made it to this moment. I honestly can’t believe it’s really happening.

I’m wearing a wedding dress and a sparkly tiara in my hair.

I’m a bride.

As I’m led by Robyn down the empty, silent Plaza corridors, I feel a bit like the president in a Hollywood movie. “The Beauty is on the move,” she’s muttering into her headset as we walk along the plushy red carpet. “The Beauty is approaching.”

We turn a corner and I catch a glimpse of myself in a huge antique mirror, and feel a dart of shock. Of course I know what I look like. I’ve just spent half an hour staring at myself in the suite upstairs, for goodness’ sake. But still, catching myself unawares, I can’t quite believe that girl in the veil is me. It’s
me.

I’m about to walk up the aisle at the Plaza. Four hundred people watching every move. Oh God.

Oh God. What am I thinking?

As I see the doors of the Terrace Room, I start to panic, and my fingers tighten around my bouquet. This is never going to work. I must be mad. I can’t do it. I want to run away.

But there’s nowhere to run. There’s nothing else to do but go forward.

Erin and the other bridesmaids are waiting, and as we draw near, they all begin to coo over my dress. I’ve no idea what their names are. They’re daughters of Elinor’s friends. After today I’ll probably never see them again.

“String orchestra. Stand by for Beauty,” Robyn is saying into her headset.

“Becky!” I look up, and thank God, it’s Danny, wearing a brocade frock coat over leather trousers, and carrying a taupe and bronze Ceremony Program. “You look amazing.”

“Really? Do I look OK?”

“Spectacular,” says Danny firmly. He adjusts the train, stands back for a look, then takes out a pair of scissors and snips at a piece of ribbon.

“Ready?” says Robyn.

“I guess,” I say, feeling slightly sick.

The double doors swing open, and I hear the rustle of four hundred people turning in their seats. The string orchestra starts to play the theme from
Sleeping Beauty,
and the bridesmaids begin to walk up the aisle.

And suddenly I’m walking forward. I’m walking into the enchanted forest, carried on the swell of the music. Little lights are twinkling overhead. Pine needles are giving off their scent under my feet. There’s the smell of fresh earth and the sound of birds chirruping, and the trickle of a tiny waterfall. Flowers are magically blooming as I take each step, and leaves are unfurling, and people are gasping as they look up. And there’s Luke up ahead, my handsome prince, waiting for me.

Finally, I start to relax. To savor it.

As I take each step, I feel as though I’m a prima ballerina doing the perfect arabesque at Covent Garden. Or a movie star arriving at the Oscars. Music playing, everyone looking at me, jewels in my hair and the most beautiful dress I’ve ever worn. I know I will never experience anything like this again in my life. Never. As I reach the top of the aisle, I slow my pace right down, breathing in the atmosphere, taking in the trees and the flowers and the wonderful scent. Trying to impress every detail on my mind. Relishing every magical second.

I reach Luke’s side and hand my bouquet to Erin. I smile warmly at Gary, Luke’s new best man—then take Luke’s hand. He gives a little squeeze, and I squeeze it back.

And here’s Michael stepping forward, wearing a dark, vaguely clerical-looking suit.

He gives me a tiny, conspiratorial smile, then takes a deep breath and addresses the congregation.

“Dearly beloved. We are gathered here together to witness the love between two people. We are here to watch them pledging their love for each other. And to join with them in celebrating the joy of their sharing of that love. God blesses all who love, and God will certainly bless Luke and Becky today as they exchange their vows.”

He turns to me, and I can hear the rustling behind me as people try to get a good view.

“Do you, Rebecca, love Luke?” he says. “Do you pledge yourself to him for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health? Do you put your trust in him now and forever?”

“I do,” I say, unable to stop a tiny tremor in my voice.

“Do you, Luke, love Rebecca? Do you pledge yourself to her for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health? Do you put your trust in her now and forever?”

“Yes,” says Luke firmly. “I do.”

“May God bless Luke and Becky and may they have happiness always.” Michael pauses and looks around the room, as though daring anyone to argue with him, and my fingers tighten around Luke’s. “May they know the joy of a shared understanding, the delight of a growing love, and the warmth of an everlasting friendship. Now let us applaud the happy couple.” He smiles at Luke. “You may kiss the bride.”

As Luke bends to kiss me, Michael determinedly begins to clap. There’s a slightly uncertain pause . . . then a smattering of people join in, and soon the whole room is applauding.

Gary is murmuring something in Luke’s ear, and he turns to me, looking puzzled.

“What about the ring?”

“Don’t mention the ring,” I say through a fixed smile.

My heart is beating so hard, I can barely breathe. I keep waiting for someone to stand up. For someone to say, “Hang on a minute . . .”

But no one does. No one says anything.

It’s worked.

I meet Michael’s eye for an instant—then look away before anyone notices. I can’t relax yet. Not quite yet.

The photographer comes forward and I take Luke’s arm firmly in mine, and Erin gives me my bouquet, wiping away her tears as she does so.

“That was such a beautiful ceremony!” she says. “The bit about the warmth of an everlasting friendship really got to me. You know, because that’s all I want.” She clasps my bouquet to her chest. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Well, you know, I’m sure you’ll find it,” I say, and give her a hug. “I know you will.”

“Excuse me, miss?” says the photographer. “If I could just get the bride and groom . . .”

Erin gives me my flowers and ducks out of the way, and I adopt my most radiant, newlywed expression.

“But, Becky,” Luke says. “Gary says—”

“Take the ring from Gary,” I say without moving my head. “Say you’re really embarrassed that it got left out, and we’ll do it later.”

Some guests have come forward to take photographs, and I rest my head on Luke’s shoulder and smile happily at them.

“Something else is wrong,” Luke is saying. “Michael didn’t proclaim us husband and wife. And don’t we have to sign something?”

“Sssshh!” There’s a bright flash, and we both blink.

“Becky, what’s going on?” He pulls me round to face him. “Are we married?”

“That’s a good shot!” says the photographer. “Stay like that.”

“Are we married?” Luke’s eyes scan my face intently.

“Well . . . OK,” I say reluctantly. “As it happens, we’re not.”

There’s another blinding flash. When my eyes focus again, Luke’s gazing at me incredulously. “We’re not married?”

“Look, just trust me, OK?”

“
Trust
you?”

“Yes! Like you just promised to do five seconds ago! Remember?”

“I promised to do that when I thought we were getting married!”

Suddenly the string orchestra launches into the “Bridal March,” and a team of minders usher away the guests with their cameras.

“Go,” says a crackling, disembodied voice. “Start walking.”

Where on earth is it coming from? Are my flowers talking to me?

Suddenly my eyes zoom in on a tiny speaker, attached to a rose-bud. Robyn’s planted a speaker in my bouquet?

“Bride and groom! Walk!”

“OK!” I say to the flowers. “We’re going!”

I grab Luke’s arm tight and begin to walk down the aisle, back through the enchanted forest.

“We’re not married,” Luke is saying disbelievingly. “A whole bloody forest, four hundred people, a big white dress, and we’re not married.”

“Sssh!” I say crossly. “Don’t tell everybody! Look, you promised if things were a bit strange you’d go with it. Well, go with it!”

As we walk along arm in arm, rays of sunlight are piercing the branches of the forest, dappling the floor. Suddenly there’s a whirring noise, and to my astonishment the branches creakily begin to retreat, to reveal rainbows playing on the ceiling. A heavenly chorus breaks into song, and a fluffy cloud descends from the sky, on which a pair of fat pink doves are reposing.

Oh God. I’ve got the giggles. This is too much. Are these the tiny additional details Robyn was talking about?

I look up at Luke, and his mouth is twitching suspiciously too.

“What do you think of the forest?” I say brightly. “It’s cool, isn’t it? They flew the birch trees over from Switzerland especially.”

“Really?” says Luke. “Where did they fly the doves over from?” He peers up at them. “Those are too big to be doves. They must be turkeys.”

“They’re not turkeys!”

“Love turkeys.”

“Luke, shut up,” I mutter, trying desperately not to giggle. “They’re doves.”

We’re passing row after row of smartly dressed guests, all smiling warmly at us except the girls, who are giving me the Manhattan Onceover.

“Who the hell are all these people?” says Luke, surveying the rows of smiling strangers.

“I have no idea.” I shrug. “I thought you might know some of them.”

We reach the back of the room for a final session of photographs, and Luke looks at me quizzically. “Becky, my parents aren’t here. And neither are yours.”

“Er . . . no. They’re not.”

“No family. No ring. And we’re not married.” He pauses. “Call me crazy—but this isn’t quite how I expected our wedding to be.”

“This isn’t our wedding,” I say, and kiss him for the cameras.

I can’t quite believe we’re getting away with it. No one’s said anything. No one’s questioned a thing. A couple of people have asked to see the ring, and I’ve just flashed them the band of my engagement ring, turned round.

We’ve eaten sushi and caviar. We’ve had an amazing four-course dinner. We’ve drunk toasts. It’s all gone according to plan. We cut the cake with a huge silver sword and everybody cheered, and then the band started to play “The Way You Look Tonight” and Luke led me onto the dance floor and we started dancing. That was one of those moments I’ll keep in my scrapbook forever. A whirl of white and gold and glitter and music, and Luke’s arms around me, and my head giddy from champagne, and the knowledge that this was it, this was the high, and soon it would be over.

And now the party’s in full swing. The band’s playing a jazzy number I don’t recognize, and the dance floor’s full. Amid the throng of well-dressed strangers, I can pick out a few familiar faces. Christina’s dancing with her date, and Erin is chatting to one of the groomsmen. And there’s Laurel, dancing very energetically with . . . Michael!

Well now. That’s a thought.

“So. Guess how many people have asked for my card?” says a voice in my ear. I turn round, to see Danny looking triumphant, a glass of champagne in each hand and a cigarette in his mouth. “Twenty! At least! One wanted me to take her measurements, right then and there. They all think the dress is to die for. And when I told them I’d worked with John Galliano . . .”

“Danny, you’ve never worked with John Galliano!”

“I passed him a cup of coffee once,” he says defensively. “And he thanked me. That was, in its way, an artistic communication . . .”

“If you say so.” I grin at him happily. “I’m so pleased for you.”

“So are you enjoying yourself?”

“Of course!”

“Your mother-in-law is in her element.”

We both turn to survey Elinor, who is sitting at a nearby table, surrounded by smart ladies. There’s a slight glow to her cheek and she looks about as animated as I’ve ever seen her. She’s wearing a long sweeping pale green dress and huge quantities of diamonds, and looks like the belle of the ball. Which, in a way, she is. These are her friends. This is really her party, not Luke’s or mine. It’s a wonderful spectacle. It’s a wonderful occasion to be a guest at.

And that’s kind of what I feel I am.

A group of women go by, chattering loudly, and I hear snatches of conversation.

“Spectacular . . .”

“So imaginative . . .”

They smile at me and Danny, and I smile back. But my mouth is feeling a bit stiff. I’m tired of smiling at people I don’t know.

“It’s a great wedding,” says Danny, looking around the glittering room. “Really spectacular. Although it’s less
you
than I would have thought.”

“Really? What makes you say that?”

“I’m not saying it’s not fantastic. It’s very slick, very lavish. It’s just . . . not like I imagined you’d have your wedding. But I was wrong,” he adds hastily as he sees my expression. “Obviously.”

I look at his wiry, comical, unsuspecting face. Oh God. I have to tell him. I
can’t
not tell Danny.

“Danny, there’s something you should know,” I say in an undertone.

“What?”

“About this wedding—”

“Hi, kids!”

I break off guiltily and turn around—but it’s only Laurel, all flushed and happy from dancing.

“Great party, Becky,” she says. “Great band. Christ, I’d forgotten how much I love to dance.”

I survey her appearance in slight dismay.

“Laurel,” I say. “You don’t roll up the sleeves of a thousand-dollar Yves St. Laurent dress.”

“I was hot,” she says with a cheerful shrug. “Now, Becky, I hate to tell you.” She lowers her voice. “But you’re going to have to get going pretty soon.”

“Already?” I look instinctively at my wrist, but I’m not wearing a watch.

“The car’s waiting outside,” says Laurel. “The driver has all the details. He’ll take you to Teterboro Airport and show you where to go. It’s a different procedure for private planes, but it should be straightforward. Any problems, you call me.” She lowers her voice to a whisper, and I glance at Danny, who’s pretending not to be listening. “You should be in England in plenty of time. I really hope it all works out.”