Shopaholic Ties the Knot
Page 140
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The organ stops playing, and I feel a stab of nerves.
It’s finally happening. I’m finally getting married. For real.
Then the “Bridal March” starts and Dad gives my arm a squeeze, and we start to walk up the aisle.
Twenty-three
WE’RE MARRIED.
We’re really married.
I look down at the shiny wedding band that Luke slid onto my finger in the church. Then I look around at the scene before me. The marquee is glowing in the summer dusk, and the band is playing a ropy version of “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes,” and people are dancing. Maybe the music isn’t as smooth as it was at the Plaza. And maybe the guests aren’t all as well dressed. But they’re ours. They’re all ours.
We had a lovely dinner of watercress soup, rack of lamb, and summer pudding, and we drank lots of champagne and the wine that Mum and Dad got in France. And then Dad rattled his fork in a glass and made a speech about me and Luke. He said that he and Mum had often talked about the kind of man I would marry, and they’d always disagreed on everything except one thing—“he’ll have to be on his toes.” Then he looked at Luke, who obligingly got up and turned a pirouette, and everyone roared with laughter. Dad said he’d become very fond of Luke and his parents and that this was more than just a marriage, it was a joining of families. And then he said he knew I would be a very loyal and supportive wife, and told the story of how when I was eight I wrote to Downing Street and proposed my father as prime minister — and then a week later wrote again to ask why they hadn’t replied — and everyone laughed again.
Then Luke made a speech about how we met in London when I was a financial journalist, and how he noticed me at my very first press conference, when I asked the PR director of Barclays Bank why they didn’t make fashion checkbook covers like they have for mobile phones. And then he confessed that he’d started sending me invitations to PR events even when they weren’t relevant to my magazine, just because I always livened up proceedings.
(He’s never told me that before. But now it all makes sense! That’s why I kept being invited to all those weird conferences on commodity brokering and the state of the steel industry.)
Last of all, Michael stood up, and introduced himself in his warm, gravelly voice, and spoke about Luke. About how fantastically successful he is but how he needs someone by his side, someone who really loves him for the person he is and will stop him from taking life too seriously. Then he said it was an honor to meet my parents, and they’d been so friendly and welcoming to a pair of complete strangers, he could see where I got what he called the “Bloomwood bloom” of good-hearted happiness. And he said that I’d really grown up recently. That he’d watched me cope with some very tricky situations, and he wouldn’t go into details, but I’d had quite a few challenges to deal with and somehow I’d managed to solve them all.
Without using a Visa card, he added, and there was the hugest roar of laughter, all around the marquee.
And then he said he’d attended many weddings in his time, but he’d never felt the contentment he was feeling right now. He knew Luke and I were meant to be with each other, and he was extremely fond of us both, and we didn’t know how lucky we were. And if we were blessed with children, they wouldn’t know how lucky they were, either.
Michael’s speech nearly made me cry, actually.
Now I’m sitting with Luke on the grass. Just the two of us, away from everyone else for a moment. My Christian Louboutins are all smeared with grass stains, and Ernie’s strawberry-covered fingers have left their mark on my bodice. I should think I look a complete mess. But I’m happy.
I think I’m the happiest I’ve ever been in my life.
“So,” says Luke. He leans back on his elbows and stares up at the darkening blue sky. “We made it.”
“We made it.” My garland of flowers is starting to fall down over one eye, so I carefully unpin it and place it on the grass. “And no casualties.”
“You know… I feel as though the past few weeks have been a weird dream,” says Luke. “I’ve been in my own, preoccupied world, with no idea what was happening in real life.” He shakes his head. “I think I nearly went off the rails back then.”
“Nearly?”
“OK, then. I did go off the rails.” He turns to look at me, his dark eyes glowing in the light from the marquee. “I owe a lot to you, Becky.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” I say in surprise. “We’re married now. It’s like… everything’s a joint account.”
It’s finally happening. I’m finally getting married. For real.
Then the “Bridal March” starts and Dad gives my arm a squeeze, and we start to walk up the aisle.
Twenty-three
WE’RE MARRIED.
We’re really married.
I look down at the shiny wedding band that Luke slid onto my finger in the church. Then I look around at the scene before me. The marquee is glowing in the summer dusk, and the band is playing a ropy version of “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes,” and people are dancing. Maybe the music isn’t as smooth as it was at the Plaza. And maybe the guests aren’t all as well dressed. But they’re ours. They’re all ours.
We had a lovely dinner of watercress soup, rack of lamb, and summer pudding, and we drank lots of champagne and the wine that Mum and Dad got in France. And then Dad rattled his fork in a glass and made a speech about me and Luke. He said that he and Mum had often talked about the kind of man I would marry, and they’d always disagreed on everything except one thing—“he’ll have to be on his toes.” Then he looked at Luke, who obligingly got up and turned a pirouette, and everyone roared with laughter. Dad said he’d become very fond of Luke and his parents and that this was more than just a marriage, it was a joining of families. And then he said he knew I would be a very loyal and supportive wife, and told the story of how when I was eight I wrote to Downing Street and proposed my father as prime minister — and then a week later wrote again to ask why they hadn’t replied — and everyone laughed again.
Then Luke made a speech about how we met in London when I was a financial journalist, and how he noticed me at my very first press conference, when I asked the PR director of Barclays Bank why they didn’t make fashion checkbook covers like they have for mobile phones. And then he confessed that he’d started sending me invitations to PR events even when they weren’t relevant to my magazine, just because I always livened up proceedings.
(He’s never told me that before. But now it all makes sense! That’s why I kept being invited to all those weird conferences on commodity brokering and the state of the steel industry.)
Last of all, Michael stood up, and introduced himself in his warm, gravelly voice, and spoke about Luke. About how fantastically successful he is but how he needs someone by his side, someone who really loves him for the person he is and will stop him from taking life too seriously. Then he said it was an honor to meet my parents, and they’d been so friendly and welcoming to a pair of complete strangers, he could see where I got what he called the “Bloomwood bloom” of good-hearted happiness. And he said that I’d really grown up recently. That he’d watched me cope with some very tricky situations, and he wouldn’t go into details, but I’d had quite a few challenges to deal with and somehow I’d managed to solve them all.
Without using a Visa card, he added, and there was the hugest roar of laughter, all around the marquee.
And then he said he’d attended many weddings in his time, but he’d never felt the contentment he was feeling right now. He knew Luke and I were meant to be with each other, and he was extremely fond of us both, and we didn’t know how lucky we were. And if we were blessed with children, they wouldn’t know how lucky they were, either.
Michael’s speech nearly made me cry, actually.
Now I’m sitting with Luke on the grass. Just the two of us, away from everyone else for a moment. My Christian Louboutins are all smeared with grass stains, and Ernie’s strawberry-covered fingers have left their mark on my bodice. I should think I look a complete mess. But I’m happy.
I think I’m the happiest I’ve ever been in my life.
“So,” says Luke. He leans back on his elbows and stares up at the darkening blue sky. “We made it.”
“We made it.” My garland of flowers is starting to fall down over one eye, so I carefully unpin it and place it on the grass. “And no casualties.”
“You know… I feel as though the past few weeks have been a weird dream,” says Luke. “I’ve been in my own, preoccupied world, with no idea what was happening in real life.” He shakes his head. “I think I nearly went off the rails back then.”
“Nearly?”
“OK, then. I did go off the rails.” He turns to look at me, his dark eyes glowing in the light from the marquee. “I owe a lot to you, Becky.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” I say in surprise. “We’re married now. It’s like… everything’s a joint account.”
