The Bastard Takes a Wife

© 2012 Secret Creek Press

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The Taming of the
Bastard 

Angel’s
Bend

Daisy Darling Meets
A Man

“What the hell is this?” I shook the small
piece of cream parchment paper under Sam’s nose. He’d done it
again. Organised without consulting me first. “Well?”

Sam studied the piece of paper in question.
His sea green eyes met mine. A small smirk crept into the corner of
his mouth.

“It’s a wedding invitation.”

God. I, so, wanted to thump him.

“Of course, it’s a wedding invitation. D’you
think I’m a complete moron? I meant why has it got our names on
it?” My fingernail punched the parchment hard enough to put a hole
through the surface. It was a safer alternative than a real
stabbing.

“Why didn’t you say so?”

“Don’t be a smartarse.”

“I’m not. You never asked why it has our
names on it.”

I took a deep breath. I relaxed my tongue
against the back of my teeth. I spoke very slowly. “Sam. Honey.
This wedding invitation has our names on it. Could you please
explain why?”

I’d never given the okay to any invitation.
In fact, I’d never even looked at any, and if I had I would never
have chosen that one.
Bleuch
.

“Mum sent it from Sydney. She thought it was
best to get things underway if we want an Easter wedding.”

My eyes bulged. I tried to take the
information in but I was having trouble breathing. How could Sam’s
mother plan a wedding in two weeks? It took normal people two
years.

“We’ve only been engaged a fortnight. Why
didn’t she ask me first? It’s my wedding.”

“Our wedding.”

I glared at him. Sometimes he could be such a
bastard. He’d already told me I could have anything I wanted as
long as he didn’t have to wear a cummerbund or hear about table
arrangements. Now it was our wedding? Taking another calming
breath, I cast my eyes to the paper in my hand. Hideous colour,
hideous font and…

Oh My God, a church. Since when had we been
getting married in a church? The last time I’d set foot in a church
I’d been wearing a nappy and having water poured over my head.

“And what… exactly…. is this?” I asked, too
shocked to even utter the word.

I know I’d joked about a church when we’d
gotten engaged but that had been because Sam was church-a-phobic,
not because I wanted to get married in one. I could feel myself
beginning to hyperventilate. Blood pounded in my ears. This had
better not be some cruel prank to get me back for the Christina
Aguilera stunt. It had just better not be.

“I thought you wanted a church wedding.”

“Right. And who is Angus?” I indicated the
penciled name, phone number and email address that had been
scrawled in flowery hand on the back.

“Our wedding planner.”

“Our. Wedding. Planner.”

This was a joke. Seriously. Sam was taking
the piss again. He had to be.

“Where did he come from?”

“He plays full back for Cottesloe. I thought
it might take some of the stress off you.”

Sam smiled and grabbed me by the waist,
pulling me to him. He pecked the tip of my nose and each eyelid in
turn. Then leaning back, he gave me that puppy dog smile that I’m
sure had charmed many a teacher in his younger days. His hand
played up and down my arm as he waited for my approval. Oh God, he
thought he was doing a good deed.

“He’s pretty efficient. He’s already booked
the mobile DJ and the belly dancers for the reception. And he’s
looking into Cinderella carriage options tomorrow.”

Churches? Wedding planners? Cinderella
coaches? This wedding was going to end up like Tequila Night at the
club if I didn’t put a stop to it. My head began to swim. A buzzing
feeling rang in my ears and skated its way into my brain. Sam’s
face went blurry before my eyes and then darker, darker. The
kitchen floor was very close.

Shit.

*****

“Millie? Millie!” Someone was shaking me.
“Millie, wake up.”

I opened my eyes, rubbing the heaviness from
them with my fist. Vision blurred, my head was filled with a sudden
ungodly headache.

“You okay, Babe?” Sam asked. “You were
screaming in your sleep again.”

I looked around the room. I was in bed in
Sam’s flat. Sweat was trickling down the side of my face and I
wiped it away with the back of my hand before sitting up,
befuddled.

“You had a bad dream.”

More like a nightmare. I blinked, trying to
dissipate the remnants.

“Is everything okay? You seem to be doing a
lot of that lately.”

“I was dreaming about the wedding. It was
weird. Your mother had organised it and it was nothing like what we
wanted.” I cuddled into the crook of Sam’s arm. His lovely vanilla
musk scent soothed me and I felt the pounding in my chest begin to
subside.

He gave me a loving squeeze.

“You know that’d never happen,” he whispered,
with a kiss to the top of my head.

“Guess so.”

“You’re going to have the wedding of your
dreams. Anything you want.”

“
Mmm
.”

“That reminds me,” he said, already half
asleep again. “I booked a wedding planner. I thought it might take
some of the stress off, but if you don’t like him we can choose
another. His name’s Angus. Angus Adams.”

Oh. My. God.

Adele came strolling down the travertine
stairs and into the family room. She looked chic with her hair
piled carelessly on top of her head and a sweep of blue-black
eyeliner decorating the lid of each eye. Having managed a flying
trip to Egypt between my return and the engagement party
preparations, she had taken Egyptian style dressing as her new
project. Gold eye shadow. Black liner. Flowing imported kaftan
creations with sequin-embellished necklines and wide leg pants. The
look suited her and gave her one up on that Jennings cow from over
the way, something Adele loved more than life itself. Especially
when Mrs. Jennings couldn’t emulate it unless she made a secret
trip to Alexandria.

Adele walked over to the sideboard and took a
glass, filling it with crushed ice and extra cold Perrier. “Angus
is on his way. Got caught in traffic. I know you’ll like him,
Millie. He’s utterly adorable ~ those pink and yellow shirts he
wears ~ so bijoux. He’s very highly spoken of.”

I didn’t care if he favoured bow ties with
circus lights embedded in them. I was relieved to find out he
didn’t play full back for Cottesloe. It seemed that even in my
dreams Sam could take the piss.

“He is going to listen to what we want, isn’t
he? I’m not going to get stuck in some big frou-frou dress, looking
like a reject from
Gone With The Wind
.”

Adele sat down beside me. She placed her
glass on the side table and gave my knee a gentle pat. “There’s
nothing to stress about, darling. Brian and I popped by Gold Class
while you and Sam were out with the children the other night. Went
to a charity encore screening of
Bridesmaids
. So you can be
rest assured we’re well versed with the latest in wedding
etiquette. Plus I have these…” With a covert look around the family
room, she withdrew a stash of bridal mags and wedding DVD’s from a
drawer in the side table. She placed them on my lap as if they were
the crown jewels. A knowing nod passed between us.

“Everything is under control. Kent and
Patricia have already faxed me their requests and I had a long talk
with your mother on the phone last night. I know exactly what
everyone wants. It’ll be organised by the time your parents get
back from their cruise. All you’ll have to worry about is looking
beautiful on the day.”

Moving the heavy pile from my lap, I flopped
back in the chair, the realisation hitting me in the face. There
were so many people who wanted a say in this wedding, who needed to
be pleased. The expectation that Sam and I would deliver was bigger
than Womble’s bum before he lost twenty kilos. And he still weighed
a good hundred and twenty now. I just prayed that Sam and I
wouldn’t be sucked up in the tulle vortex, not to be seen until the
etched champagne flutes appeared.

“But what about what Sam and I want?”

“Oh yes, of course, you’ll have your say. It
is your wedding.”

The doorbell rang and the soft fall of a pair
of leather-loafered feet ushered the wedding planner into the room.
He stood before us, checked shirt and corduroy panted, the top half
being styled with a jaunty bowtie and horn-rimmed glasses. His
brown hair was coiffed at the front in a style reminiscent of a
1990’s George Michael and his right lobe held a dainty stud I could
have sworn was a Pandora. Slung across his left shoulder was a huge
Italian leather man bag. Even I could spot that.

With a wide smile he walked towards us, hand
outstretched. “Adele, delightful to see you again.”

Adele rose from the sofa, lips poised for the
air kiss.

“And you must be Millicent,” he said,
withdrawing from her cheek to give me the once over.

I stood up, reaching out to shake his hand
and suppressing a giggle. The man was wearing more lipgloss than
me.

“It’s Millie. Nice to meet you, Angus.”

“Well, of course it is! You, young lady, are
about to become the luckiest girl in Perth. Angus Adams is at your
service. A dream wedding is within your grasp. By the time I’m
finished, everyone, and I mean everyone, is going to be talking
about you.”

Adele nodded approvingly. “Angus only deems
to do the best weddings.”

“Oh.”

Adele offered Angus a seat and he sat,
whipping his man bag from his shoulder and undoing it to reveal a
black and white paisley printed laptop with matching diary and
notepad. He fiddled around with it for a minute and shuffled in his
seat. His posture was the straightest I’d ever seen.

“Right, then. Let’s get down to business,
shall we? It’s going to be nothing short of a miracle to pull this
one off in four months.”

“Can I offer you a beverage? Tea? Coffee?
Perrier?” Adele interrupted.

Angus opened the computer and logged on.
“Coffee would be divine. Decaf soy latte if you have it.”

Adele shot him a look. Not only did she have
it, she also had the authentic Italian Barista that had been flown
in with the machine that ground the Fair Trade beans.

“So.” Angus sat up straighter, his skinny
legs drew together at the knees. “An Easter wedding, Millicent?
Doesn’t give us much time.”

“It’s Millie.”

Angus ignored me and fiddled some more in his
bag. He pulled out a few brochures and placed them on the coffee
table between us.

“Is the timing a problem?” I asked. “It’s
just that my Nanna will be here for Easter and she’s too frail to
make a long plane trip twice in a year.”

“Yes, right. I don’t see your wedding being a
problem, Millicent, more of a challenge. I did that couple from
Home and Away
in two months ~ she had a bun in the oven and
was so hormonal I had to bow to every single one of her ideas.
God-awful coloured lambs frolicking around and the like. Had to get
them spray painted with food dye. Very trashy.”

I looked at him. Stunned. I hoped he wouldn’t
think my ideas were god-awful and go spreading the word to his next
clients.

“So what were you thinking? Adele told me it
would be a church ceremony. Have you any ideas which one? We’ll
need to book ASAP if you want top notch. They don’t come cheap.
Especially at Easter.”

I was bewildered. Sam and I had discussed the
ceremony. We wanted a simple service in the rotunda at Kings Park.
A late afternoon wedding, so that, as we said our vows the sun
would be setting. Not a church. I told Angus so.

“I can probably get the Monastery in
Leederville for you or possibly the Chapel in the grounds of the
Catholic Education Office if I call in a favour. Both take lovely
shots for the bridal album,” he continued, ignoring me.