Love Connection (A Feel Good Romantic Comedy)

by Camilla Isley

  “Flowers, cake, chairs, wedding gazebo, tent, photographer, tables map… we have everything.” She looks at me. “Of course, I ordered plastic flats for the ladies in case they don’t want to walk on the grass or sand in heels, and shawls should it get cold. We have a delivery of umbrellas coming in, even if the weather forecast’s good. Anything else?”

  She looks at me then past my shoulder. I follow her gaze and see a team of Ghostbusters approaching, complete with work jumpsuits and proton packs.

  “Who are they?”

  “Oh dear, I almost forgot. The disinfestation’s today, we’d better go.”

  “Disinfestation?”

  “Yes—we don’t want you or the guests fending off mosquitos all night now, do we?”

  My chest swells with a wave of gratitude. The last hour has made me appreciate how much pressure Jake’s mom took off my plate in organizing this wedding. I launch myself forward and hug her tight.

  “Mrs. Wilder, I can’t begin to say how grateful I am you did all of this for us.”

  “Oh hush, dear, it was nothing. And it’s about time you started calling me Susan.”

  “Well, Susan. Thank you so much; I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you.”

  “Just make my son happy, and perhaps,” she gives me a wicked smile, so similar to Jake’s it freaks me out for a second, “grandkids?”

  “I’ll see what we can do.”

  “Now let’s go before they disinfest us too.”

  Once I get home, I take a quick shower, ask my mom to wake me up for dinner, and collapse on my bed, finally exhausted.

  Twenty-six

  Stupid, Stupid Ruffles

  ♦♦♦

  Saturday, August 25—London

  A tinge of panic pinches my belly as I stare in the mirror at the millionth wedding gown of the day and feel absolutely nothing. No emotion. No tears. No this-is-The-One-Dress feelings. I’m getting increasingly frustrated with every wrong dress. And positively homicidal toward the shop assistant, who I overheard call me one of the difficult ones.

  It’s not my fault if she can’t find the right dress for me. Okay, I’ve been a little generic with my requirements, but she’s the one who should be able to suggest the right style for me. And the client’s always right, so she can wipe that sour expression from her incompetent face.

  Or it could be my fault. I shouldn’t have left this so late. Finding an already-in-stock dress a week before the wedding is proving more difficult than I anticipated. But I wanted both Kassandra and my mom to be here, and they couldn’t come to London too much in advance or take two trips in six months. It’s an expensive flight. I should’ve gone to the States and chosen a dress there.

  “Are you ready to go out?” the shop assistant asks.

  “No, no point. I don’t like this one.”

  I catch an eye roll in the mirror, but she doesn’t say anything. She helps me out of the dress and into the next one. I examine this one in the mirror. It’s in a mermaid shape, fitted to the hips with a sweetheart neckline and strapless. The tail part of the skirt’s made of ruffled white and blush tulle.

  “You want to show the others this one?”

  “Sure,” I say, unconvinced.

  In the main client lounge, I’m met by an unexplainable awed reaction. Everyone seems convinced we have a winner.

  “Your face’s glowing,” my mom says.

  “You’re so beautiful.” Kassandra.

  Amelia’s speechless.

  I try to let their enthusiasm soak under my skin and tentatively smile in the mirror from my pedestal. The shop assistant seizes the momentum and asks me if I want to try a veil. I tell her yes and she scurries away, happier than I’ve seen her all day.

  She’s back in less than a minute and already pinning a short veil with a lacy trim on top of my head. She steps back and looks at me expectantly, just like everybody else. I feel so much pressure on me that I don’t have the strength to say I don’t feel anything for this dress, or any of the other dresses I tried on. So I smile and nod.

  My audience erupts in loud whooping and congratulates me. The shop assistant’s keeping a neutral face, but it’s as if she can read me. Her eyes seem to say, “I know you’re faking, but I’m not about to complain. I’ve earned the commission; you were the client from hell.” Okay, maybe her eyes are not that argumentative, but if I were to take a guess, this is what I’d imagine she’s thinking.

  Back in the fitting room, a seamstress comes to take all my measurements and fit the dress corset and skirt. When everything’s pinned in place, the shop assistant helps me out of the gown one last time. She carefully places the dress back on its hanger and finally leaves me alone. I put my clothes on and stare at my wedding dress dangling from its hanger. The ruffles look stupid. I hate ruffles.

  “You’re hideous,” I tell it.

  Why did I say I liked this dress? When did I become such a pushover?

  “Come on, Gemma. You’re getting married, the dress isn’t important; it’s the groom who matters.” My stomach twists. Okay, let’s not go there either. I’m sure every bride’s nervous before her wedding, and dresses must be the single most second-guessed item of all weddings.

  “Not grooms, though.”

  Inner self, please shut the hell up.

  I put on my I-am-so-happy face again and join the others outside to go to lunch. After we’re done eating, I send everyone off doing touristy things around London and go on a maddening wedding suppliers round. I go to Fulham Palace, the wedding venue, to give my final approval to the logistics, flowers compositions, and menu. Then I bring the advance check to the photographer and meet the cake designer to make sure he has the right instructions for delivery. I hate wedding planning.

  By the time I get back home, I’ve barely managed to shower before we go out again. Richard and I take my family to a restaurant. Unfortunately, even dinner turns out to be too much of a formal affair. Everyone is making an effort, but the conversation’s stiff at best. That’s when I realize my parents don’t know my future husband, like, at all. Richard’s being as charming as ever, but they lack that mutual coziness, which can only come from years of mutual interactions.

  “Like it was with Jake.”

  Ah, Gemma, don’t go there. I swat the thought away like an annoying fly.

  I find it hard to enjoy the fine dining when the atmosphere’s so awkward. The only person not having difficulties is Kassandra. She’s stuffing her mouth full of as much food as she can take, very much resembling a chipmunk. She doesn’t have a problem making conversation either, talking to Richard as if she’d known him her entire life. Then again, she does that with everyone.

  To be fair, Richard’s parents don’t know me any better. They live up north, and we’ve only been to visit them a couple of times. These things take time, and we have the rest of our lives for our families to get cozy with each other.

  A server finally brings the check and Richard and my dad squabble over who should take it. Dad wins in the end. So Richard insists on paying for the taxi ride home. My parents are staying in my spare bedroom and my sister’s sleeping in mine. I usually stay at Richard’s house, but Kassandra insisted on me staying here with them tonight.

  “Are you coming back with me?” Richard asks after saying goodnight to everyone else.

  “No, not tonight. Kassandra asked me to stay.”

  Richard purses his lips.

  “You know something?” He leans in to give me a goodnight kiss. “It’s your hen party tomorrow,” he whispers in my ear, “but I didn’t say anything.” He winks at me and hops back into the cab to go home.

  ***

  “Shouldn’t you be further ahead with the packing?” Kassandra asks once we’re both tucked into my queen bed.

  “Nah, my lease doesn’t expire for another three months. I’ve all the time in the world to pack.”

  “Okay, but shouldn’t you at least have s
tarted? Aren’t you moving in with Richard next week?”

  “Why are you so concerned about my packing?”

  “I’m not. You’re a bit touchy, you know?”

  “Sorry. It’s all this wedding planning… I hate it. It’s like having a second job on top of mine. Why couldn’t I get one of those butt-in mothers-in-law who wanted to organize everything?”

  “You mean Richard’s mom refused to help?”

  “No, no. Not at all. I never asked, and she never offered. She doesn’t even live in London, so there’s not much she could’ve done, anyway. I just wish I had a party planning mother-in-law, that’s all.”

  Kassandra throws me a piercing stare and I know we’re both thinking what we’re not saying: “Like Jake’s mom.”

  “We should sleep now,” my sister says.

  “Why?” I pretend not to know anything.

  “Because we have an early start tomorrow.”

  “Why?”

  She beams at me. “It’s your bachelorette party. We have a full schedule so you’d better get your beauty sleep.”

  “What have you planned?”

  Kassandra closes a phantom zip over her mouth. “My lips are shut.”

  “Oh, come on. Tell me.”

  “Nope.”

  I tickle her sides. “Tell me, tell me, tell me.”

  She squeals like a pig but doesn’t spill the beans. As the screeches increase in volume, my dad pounds a fist on the wall, yelling, “Be quiet, girls.”

  “Yes, Daddy,” we chorus.

  Just like old times.

  Kassandra turns off the light and we fall asleep, holding hands like we used to do as kids when my baby sister sneaked into my room because she was afraid of the dark. Only tonight, I’m the one who’s afraid. Of the dark, of where my life’s going. I’m scared I’m about to make the biggest mistake of my life.

  Kassandra gives my hand a gentle squeeze and I relax a bit. Everything’s going to be okay. It has to be.

  Twenty-seven

  Remember That Time?

  ♥♥♥

  Saturday, August 25—Chicago Area

  After dinner, I’m unpacking in my bedroom when a familiar tap-tap-tap noise drives me to the window. I open it and lean forward on the bottom rail. Jake’s standing in the shadows of my backyard, throwing pebbles at my window as he used to when we were teenagers and he wanted me to come out after-hours. Unnecessary, but utterly romantic. For a second I’m tempted to use my childhood escape route and climb out the window and down the flower trellis, but I don’t want to break a leg—good luck notwithstanding—a week before the wedding. Instead, I blow Jake a kiss and ask him to wait for me on the front porch. He gives me a military salute and walks around the house.

  Downstairs, I find my parents watching the news in the living room.

  “I’m going out for a walk with Jake,” I tell them.

  “Not too keen on climbing out the window anymore?” my dad asks with a smirk.

  I stop dead in my tracks. “You knew about that?”

  “And many other things. You’d be surprised, sweetie pie.”

  “I don’t want to know,” I say truthfully.

  “Have fun, pie.”

  I wave goodbye and join Jake on the porch. He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me down to the grass while I kiss him.

  “To the river?” he whispers in my neck.

  “To the river.”

  As if no time has passed at all, we stroll toward our favorite secret spot. Even if now I’m not so sure whether it was that big a secret.

  “You know how all these years we thought we were being so smart?” I ask.

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “Well, it appears we were so busted instead.”

  I tell Jake about my dad. He laughs heartedly.

  “Do you think it’s the same with your parents?”

  “Maybe—probably.”

  I blush. “I hope at least they don’t know about the lake cabin. That’d be so embarrassing.”

  We reach our favorite bend in the river and Jake spreads a blanket on the grass in a spot where we’re sheltered from the road by the trees but can gaze up at the stars. We lie down next to each other and stare up at the night sky.

  “Remember the first time we came here?” Jake asks, rolling over to face me.

  “You mean the night you didn’t kiss me for the first time? Hard to forget—I cried about it for a week. I thought you didn’t like me enough to kiss me.”

  “I liked you too much to kiss you.” He kisses the tip of my nose and electric currents shoot from where his lips touched my skin to my cheeks, making them burn red. After all these years, he can still make me blush. “I’d never kissed anyone, and I was scared you’d think I was a bad kisser.”

  “I hadn’t kissed anyone either, so I wouldn’t have been able to tell.”

  “Well, I didn’t know that at the time. It took me a while to work out the courage to finally kiss you.”

  “Jake Wilder,” I pull him closer by the neck of his shirt, “I’m so glad you did.”

  We kiss for a long time until Jake pulls back. “Did you find the dress?”

  “Yes.” I beam. “And it’s wonderful, it’s…”

  He places a finger on my lips. “Shhh. Don’t tell me anything, I want it to be a surprise.”

  “Of course I’m not telling you anything. What about you? Did you sleep all day?”

  “Not all day.” He pinches my nose affectionately. “When you and my mom came back, she made me drive her around town all afternoon. I didn’t know a wedding required so much work.”

  “Oh Jake, your mom has been awesome. We couldn’t have done it without her. We should do something for her.”

  “She just wants grandkids.”

  “And what do you say about that?”

  “That I can’t wait to start working on it.” He bites my earlobe, knowing it makes me lose my mind.

  I push him back. “Mr. Wilder, I’m sorry but we’re old-fashioned here. You’re not getting lucky until the honeymoon. Can you believe we’re finally going to Hawaii?”

  “I can’t wait to be on a white sand beach with you. But for old times’ sake, we should take a trip to the cabin.” He bites me again. “To oversee the final details, obviously.”

  “We’re not going near that cabin before our wedding day.” I stifle a yawn. “Besides, the place’s under disinfestation.”

  “You’re falling asleep on me.” He gets up and offers me his hands to pull me up. “I’m taking you home.”

  We walk back to the street. “Tomorrow I want to sleep all day,” I say.

  “I’m afraid that’s not going to happen.”

  “Why?”

  “Our friends have organized our bachelor and bachelorette parties tomorrow.”

  “Oh, where are they taking you?”

  “No idea.”

  “Where are they taking me?”

  “I know nothing.”

  We stop outside my house. “Promise me you won’t wake up on a hotel roof in Vegas, not remembering anything that happened to you.”

  Jake laughs. “That’s an easy promise to make. Honestly, it’s just going to be a fishing trip with beers and burgers afterwards.”

  “Aw, you think the girls will get me burgers too?” I lift my arms in front of my face, holding an invisible burger in my hands. “I want real, fat American burgers.”

  “I’m positive they’ll have some burgers for you at some point.”

  “This is good night then.” I’m leaning in to kiss him when the porch lights flash on.

  “Did your dad just turn on the lights on purpose?”

  “Old habits die hard, I guess.” I give Jake a quick peck on the lips and run inside the house.

  Twenty-eight

  Champagne Tea and Tarot Cards

  ♦♦♦

  Sunday, August 26—London

  I wake up wi
th screaming in my ears. My sister yells, “Wakey, wakey. It’s bachelorette party time.”

  I smother her with a pillow. “Go away, I want to sleep.”

  “Come on.” She throws the blankets away from my body. “You can sleep later. The first part of the day’s at a spa.”

  That does it for me. The only thing I can use more than sleep right now is a relaxing massage.

  “You can dress casual for now; we have your other outfits planned for you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I abide by the dress code and join everyone else in the kitchen for breakfast. My nostrils flare with the aroma of cinnamon and sugar. Mom’s cooking and Amelia’s laying the table. Exactly like she used to do when she came over to my house for breakfast back in the States.

  Mom hands me a plate filled with her best recipe cinnamon French toast. “My sole contribution to your bachelorette party is to make you your favorite breakfast.”

  “Thank you, Mom. What are you and Dad doing today?”

  “Don’t worry, we’re sightseeing. You go have fun,” she tells me, then scowls at Kassandra. “Not too much fun.”

  Kassandra mumbles something unintelligible as her mouth’s too full of bread for her to speak.

  “Who else is coming?” I ask Amelia.

  “Your friends from work. And Mary and Jessica were the only ones able to make it from back home. They’re going to take a trip to Paris on the Eurostar next week and come back in time for the wedding. All the others said they could make it only to the wedding.”

  “Wait—you didn’t invite Flotsam and Jetsam?”

  “I can call them if you like.”

  “Absolutely not.” We laugh. “I’m ready for my pampering. Let’s go.”

  We move through London in a rented black limo equipped with champagne and all sorts of spirits. The others meet us at the spa. We stay there until four in the afternoon, getting every beauty treatment ever heard of. After the spa, we go to the Waldorf for their champagne afternoon tea. Amelia and Kassie decided an afternoon tea somewhere for a British hen party was fun, and I completely agree. From the Waldorf, we move on to a boutique perfume shop where we all make customized scents.