“Well, stop looking out the window! You’ve got less than an hour to go!”
“Suze, relax.”
“How can I relax?”
“It’s all fine. It’s under control.”
“And you haven’t told anyone,” she says for the millionth time. “You haven’t told Danny.”
“Of course not! I’m not that stupid!” I edge casually into a corner where no one can hear me. “Only Michael knows. And Laurel. That’s it.”
“And no one suspects anything?”
“Not a thing,” I say, just as Robyn comes into the room. “Hi, Robyn! Suze, I’ll talk to you later, OK—”
I put the phone down and smile at Robyn, who’s wearing a bright pink suit and a headset and carrying a walkie-talkie.
“OK, Becky,” she says in a serious, businesslike way. “Stage one is complete. Stage two is under way. But we have a problem.”
“Really?” I swallow. “What’s that?”
“None of Luke’s family have arrived yet. His father, his stepmother, some cousins who are on the list . . . You told me they’d spoken to you?”
“Yes, they did.” I clear my throat. “Actually . . . they just called again. I’m afraid there’s a problem with their plane. They said to seat other people in their places.”
“Really?” Robyn’s face falls. “This is too bad! I’ve never known a wedding to have so many last-minute alterations! A new maid of honor . . . a new best man . . . a new officiant . . . it seems like everything’s changed!”
“I know,” I say apologetically. “I’m really sorry, and I know it’s meant a lot of work.” I cross my fingers behind my back. “It just suddenly seemed so obvious that Michael should marry us, rather than some stranger. I mean, since he’s such an old friend and he’s qualified to do it and everything. So then Luke had to have a new best man . . .”
“But to change your minds three weeks before the wedding! And you know, Father Simon was quite upset to be rejected. He wondered if it was something to do with his hair.”
“No! Of course not! It’s nothing to do with him, honestly—”
“And then your parents both catching the measles. I mean, what kind of odds is that?”
“I know!” I pull a rueful face. “Sheer bad luck.”
There’s a crackle from the walkie-talkie and Robyn turns away.
“Yes,” she says. “What’s that? No! I said radiant yellow light! Not blue! OK, I’m coming . . .” As she reaches the door she looks back.
“Becky, I have to go. I just needed to say, it’s been so hectic, what with all the changes, there are a couple of tiny additional details we didn’t have time to discuss. So I just went ahead with them. OK?”
“Whatever,” I say. “I trust your judgment. Thanks, Robyn.”
As Robyn leaves, there’s a tapping on the door and in comes Christina, looking absolutely amazing in pale gold Issey Miyake and holding a champagne glass.
“How’s the bride?” she says with a smile. “Feeling nervous?”
“Not really!” I say.
Which is kind of true.
In fact, it’s completely true. I’m beyond nervous. Either everything goes to plan and this all works out. Or it doesn’t and it’s a complete disaster. There’s not much I can do about it.
“I just spoke to Laurel,” she says, taking a sip of champagne. “I didn’t know she was so involved with the wedding.”
“Oh, she’s not really,” I say. “There’s just this tiny little favor she’s doing for me—”
“So I understand.” Christina eyes me over her glass, and I suddenly wonder how much Laurel has said to her.
“Did she tell you . . . what the favor was?” I say casually.
“She gave me the gist. Becky, if you pull this off . . .” says Christina. She shakes her head. “If you pull this off, you deserve the Nobel Prize for chutzpah.” She raises her glass. “Here’s to you. And good luck.”
“Thanks.”
“Hey, Christina!” We both look round to see Erin coming toward us. She’s already in her long violet maid-of-honor dress, her hair up in a medieval knot, eyes lit up with excitement. “Isn’t this Sleeping Beauty theme cool? Have you seen Becky’s wedding dress yet? I can’t believe I’m the maid of honor! I was never a maid of honor before!”
I think Erin’s a tad excited about her promotion. When I told her my best friend, Suze, couldn’t make it, and would she like to be maid of honor, she actually burst into tears.
“I haven’t seen Becky’s wedding dress yet,” says Christina. “I hardly dare to.”
“It’s really nice!” I protest. “Come and look.”
I lead her into the sumptuous dressing area, where Danny’s dress is hanging up.
“It’s all in one piece,” observes Christina laconically. “That’s a good start.”
“Christina,” I say. “This isn’t like the T-shirts. This is in a different league. Take a look!”
I just can’t believe what a fantastic job Danny has done. Although I’d never admit it to Christina, I wasn’t exactly counting on wearing his dress. In fact, to be perfectly honest, I was having secret Vera Wang fittings right up until a week ago.
But then one night Danny knocked on the door, his whole face lit up with excitement. He dragged me upstairs to his apartment, pulled me down the corridor, and flung open the door to his room. And I was speechless.
From a distance it looks like a traditional white wedding dress, with a tight bodice, full, romantic skirt, and long train. But the closer you get, you more you start spotting the fantastic customized details everywhere. The white denim ruffles at the back. The trademark Danny little pleats and gatherings at the waistline. The white sequins and diamante and glitter scattered all over the train, like someone’s emptied a candy box over it.
I’ve never seen a wedding dress like it. It’s a work of art.
“Well,” says Christina. “I’ll be honest. When you told me you were wearing a creation by young Mr. Kovitz, I was a little worried. But this . . .” She touches a tiny bead. “I’m impressed. Assuming the train doesn’t fall off as you walk down the aisle.”
“It won’t,” I assure her. “I walked around our apartment in it for half an hour. Not even one sequin fell off!”
“You’re going to look amazing,” says Erin dreamily. “Just like a princess. And in that room . . .”
“The room is spectacular,” says Christina. “I think a lot of jaws are going to be dropping.”
“I haven’t seen it yet,” I say. “Robyn didn’t want me going in.”
“Oh, you should take a look,” says Erin. “Just have a peek. Before it gets filled up with people.”
“I can’t! What if someone sees me?”
“Go on,” says Erin. “Put on a scarf. No one’ll know it’s you.”
I creep downstairs in a borrowed hooded jacket, averting my face when I pass anyone, feeling ridiculously naughty. I’ve seen the designer’s plans, and as I push open the double doors to the Terrace Room, I think I know roughly what I’m expecting to see. Something spectacular. Something theatrical.
Nothing could have prepared me for walking into that room.
It’s like walking into another land.
A silvery, sparkling, magical forest. Branches are arching high above me as I look up. Flowers seem to be growing out of clumps of earth. There are vines and fruits and an apple tree covered with silver apples, and a spider’s web covered with dewdrops . . . and are those real birds flying around up there?
Colored lights are dappling the branches and falling on the rows of chairs. A pair of women are methodically brushing lint off every upholstered seat. A man in jeans is taping a cable to the carpet. A man on a lighting rig is adjusting a silvery branch. A violinist is playing little runs and trills, and there’s the dull thud of timpani being tuned up.
This is like being backstage at a Broadway show.
I stand at the side, staring around, trying to take in every detail. I have
never seen anything like this in my life before, and I don’t think I ever will again.
Suddenly I see Robyn entering the room at the far end, talking into her headpiece. Her eyes scan the room, and I shrink into my hooded jacket. Before she can spot me, I back out of the Terrace Room and get into the lift to go up to the Grand Ballroom.
As the doors are about to close, a couple of elderly women in dark skirts and white shirts get in.
“Did you see the cake?” says one of them. “Three thousand dollars minimum.”
“Who’s the family?”
“Sherman,” says the first woman. “Elinor Sherman.”
“Oh, this is the Elinor Sherman wedding.”
The doors open and they walk out.
“Bloomwood,” I say, too late. “I think the bride’s name is Becky . . .”
They weren’t listening, anyway.
I cautiously follow them into the Grand Ballroom. The enormous white and gold room where Luke and I will lead the dancing.
Oh my God. It’s even huger than I remember. It’s even more gilded and grandiose. Spotlights are circling the room, lighting up the balconies and chandeliers. They suddenly switch to strobe effects, then flashing disco lights, playing on the faces of waiters putting finishing touches to the tables. Every circular table has an ornate centerpiece of cascading white flowers. The ceiling has been tented with muslin, festooned with fairy lights like strings of pearls. The dance floor is vast and polished. Up on the stage, a ten-piece band is doing a sound check. I look round dazedly and see two assistants from Antoine’s cake studio balancing on chairs, sticking the last few sugar tulips into the eight-foot cake. Everywhere is the smell of flowers and candle wax and anticipation.
“Excuse me.” I jump aside as a waiter wheels a cart past.
“Can I help you?” says a woman with a Plaza badge on her lapel.
“I was just, er . . . looking around . . .” I say.
“Looking around?” Her eyes narrow suspiciously.
“Yes! In case I ever . . . er . . . want to get married.” I back away before she can ask any more. I’ve seen enough, anyway.
I’m not sure how to get back to the suite from here, and this place is so huge I’m bound to get lost, so I head back down to the ground floor and walk as inconspicuously as I can past the Palm Court to the elevators.
As I pass an alcove containing a sofa, I stop. There’s a familiar dark head. A familiar hand, holding what looks like a gin and tonic.
“Luke?” He turns round and peers at me blankly—and I suddenly realize my face is half hidden. “It’s me!” I hiss.
“Becky?” he says incredulously. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to see it all. Isn’t it amazing?” I look around to see if I’m being observed, then slide into the chair opposite him. “You look great.”
He looks more than great. He’s looking completely gorgeous, in an immaculate dinner jacket and crisp white dress shirt. His dark hair is glossy under the lights, and I can just smell the familiar scent of his aftershave. As he meets my eyes, I feel something release inside me, like a coil unwinding. Whatever happens today—whether I pull this off or not—the two of us are together. The two of us will be all right.
“We shouldn’t be talking to each other, you know,” he says with a little smile. “It’s bad luck.”
“I know,” I say, and take a sip of his gin and tonic. “But to be honest, I think we’re beyond superstition by now.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh . . . nothing.” I count to five, psyching myself up, then say, “Did you hear about your parents being delayed?”
“Yes, I was told.” Luke frowns. “Did you speak to them? Do you know when they’ll get here?”
“Oh, soon, I expect,” I say vaguely. “Don’t worry, they said they would definitely be there to see you walk down the aisle.”
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.
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