Shopaholic Ties the Knot
Page 63
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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.”
“It’s… lovely.” I swallow. “It seems very soon to be sending out invitations, though.”
“We aren’t sending them out yet! But I always like to get the invitations done early. What I always say is, you can’t proofread too many times. We don’t want to be asking our guests to wear ‘evening press,’ like one bride I could mention…” She trills with laughter.
“Right.” I stare down at the words again.
Saturday June 21st at seven o’clock
at the Plaza Hotel
New York City
This is serious. If I’m going to say anything, I have to say it now. If I’m going to call this wedding off, I have to do it now. Right this minute.
My mouth remains closed.
Does this really mean I’m choosing the Plaza after all? That I’m selling out? That I’m choosing the gloss and glitter? That I’m going with Elinor instead of Mum and Dad?
“I thought you’d like to send one to your mother!” says Robyn.
My head jerks up sharply — but Robyn’s face is blithely innocent. “Such a shame she isn’t here to get involved with the preparations. But she’ll love to see this, won’t she?”
“Yes,” I say after a long pause. “Yes, she’ll… love it.”
I put the invitation into my bag and snap the clasp shut, feeling slightly sick.
So this is it. New York it is.
Mum will understand. When I tell her all about it properly, she’ll come round. She has to.
Antoine’s new mandarin and lychee cake is fabulous. But somehow as I nibble at it, my appetite’s gone.
After I’ve tried several more flavors and am no nearer a decision, Antoine and Robyn exchange looks and suggest I probably need time to think. So with one last sugar rose for my purse, I say good-bye and head to Barneys, where I deal with all my clients perfectly pleasantly, as though nothing’s on my mind.
But all the time I’m thinking about the call I’ve got to make. About how I’m going to break the news to Mum. About how I’m going to explain to Mum.
I won’t say anything as strong as I definitely want to get married in the Plaza. Not initially. I’ll just tell her that it’s there as a possibility, if we both want it. That’s the key phrase. If we both want it.
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.”
“It’s… lovely.” I swallow. “It seems very soon to be sending out invitations, though.”
“We aren’t sending them out yet! But I always like to get the invitations done early. What I always say is, you can’t proofread too many times. We don’t want to be asking our guests to wear ‘evening press,’ like one bride I could mention…” She trills with laughter.
“Right.” I stare down at the words again.
Saturday June 21st at seven o’clock
at the Plaza Hotel
New York City
This is serious. If I’m going to say anything, I have to say it now. If I’m going to call this wedding off, I have to do it now. Right this minute.
My mouth remains closed.
Does this really mean I’m choosing the Plaza after all? That I’m selling out? That I’m choosing the gloss and glitter? That I’m going with Elinor instead of Mum and Dad?
“I thought you’d like to send one to your mother!” says Robyn.
My head jerks up sharply — but Robyn’s face is blithely innocent. “Such a shame she isn’t here to get involved with the preparations. But she’ll love to see this, won’t she?”
“Yes,” I say after a long pause. “Yes, she’ll… love it.”
I put the invitation into my bag and snap the clasp shut, feeling slightly sick.
So this is it. New York it is.
Mum will understand. When I tell her all about it properly, she’ll come round. She has to.
Antoine’s new mandarin and lychee cake is fabulous. But somehow as I nibble at it, my appetite’s gone.
After I’ve tried several more flavors and am no nearer a decision, Antoine and Robyn exchange looks and suggest I probably need time to think. So with one last sugar rose for my purse, I say good-bye and head to Barneys, where I deal with all my clients perfectly pleasantly, as though nothing’s on my mind.
But all the time I’m thinking about the call I’ve got to make. About how I’m going to break the news to Mum. About how I’m going to explain to Mum.
I won’t say anything as strong as I definitely want to get married in the Plaza. Not initially. I’ll just tell her that it’s there as a possibility, if we both want it. That’s the key phrase. If we both want it.
