The Revenge Date/Ten Reasons to Say I Don't Bundle (Romantic Comedy)

by Geraldine Fonteroy

  ‘Hi.’ She smiled brightly.

  He didn’t look all that pleased to see her.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Came to, well, you know . . .’ Grinning more widely, she moved a little closer, but he jumped back as if she had an STD or something.

  ‘Look, what if someone sees you, and guesses something’s up? It’s only one day more.’

  ‘I suppose.’ Rosie was disappointed, but he did have a point.

  ‘You go get your beauty sleep for the wedding, and I’ll see you there.’

  She looked into his gorgeous blue-grey eyes. ‘You’ll be there?’

  ‘I managed to get on the guest list. Said I was your cousin. And guess who my date is?’

  That was an easy one. ‘Georgia Kettle.’

  ‘Bingo!’

  Alex looked back towards his office door once more. ‘Look, I really have to go, there is a big job on in LA. I might have to go out there for a while.’

  ‘Something for me, I hope?’

  He didn’t answer. Just grabbed her arm and walked her towards the door. ‘Let’s talk about that later. You know what to do tomorrow, right?’

  ‘Get to the altar, tell him he sucks. Got it.’

  ‘Good girl!’

  And without kissing her goodbye, he was gone.

  Gosh, what a strange one Alex was, but perhaps that’s why Rosie liked him so much. He was the exact opposite of all those fawning guys she was used to.

  Plus, now there was the yummy possibility of a stay in L.A. too.

  If only Alex was a little more, forthcoming about the details of their future together? Oh well, just one more day, then she could settle down to a proper relationship.

  And make the Grey Virgin, and her parents proud!

  The wedding day dawned sunny and clear and before Rosie could fully wake up, Kelly Askie and Cliff’s limo driver (a gorgeous and patient man named Cole) were in the hotel reception, urging her to hurry up because the hairstylist was waiting at The Plaza.

  Sighing, Rosie checked her phone for messages – 15 from Cliff, none from Alex, and dragged on a pair of jeans and a Stones’ T-shirt and headed for the door.

  The limo was blocking the traffic, Cole oblivious to the annoyed honking of fed-up New Yorkers. ‘I am so excited for my brother,’ Kelly told her as she stuffed a croissant into her mouth. ‘He’s never got this close to marriage before.’

  ‘Didn’t I read somewhere he left Georgia Kettle at the altar?’

  ‘Well, yes. But he just wasn’t sure. You know how that can be. He is worried about gold diggers, but you aren’t one of those, are you?’

  ‘My parents, er, I mean my father has money.’

  ‘Is he coming to the weddin’, sugar?’

  ‘No, he can’t fly. Something to do with his blood. The doctors say the altitude could kill him. My best friend Scarlet is coming though.’

  At least, Rosie hoped she was. Scarlet’s flight was due in last night but it had been delayed. The next one wasn’t until this morning, and with the wedding at two, there wasn’t much time.

  It’s not as if it’s a proper wedding, you berk, Rosie admonished herself sternly. This thing with Alex was turning her into a sentimental fool. If she wasn’t careful she might feel so sorry for The Drip that she ended up marrying him.

  At The Plaza, they were rushed off to a huge suite filled with white flowers – lilies. Rosie had always thought of them as death flowers after seeing so many at her grandmother’s funeral when she was five. There was a justifiable irony seeing them on every surface of the room, on her fake wedding day.

  Her mobile buzzed. Cliff. God, not again. In direct proportion to Alex never calling was Cliff calling every five minutes. This was worse than the Felix thing – she really couldn’t wait for it all to be over.

  A twinge of guilt over Felix stopped her in her tracks. According to the papers he was holed up in some sanitarium with depression.

  Julia was visiting him daily, apparently.

  It was just a job.

  But why did she feel so bad?

  This thing with Alex was turning her soft.

  The phone continued to buzz. Shit. ‘Hi honey,’ she purred, trying to sound meek and mild, just like Cliff was used to.

  ‘Just wanted to check on you, make sure all was to your liking.’

  ‘I told you this wasn’t necessary. We could have gone to Vegas.’

  Should have gone to Vegas.

  ‘Nonsense, this is the least that you deserve, after what you’ve been through. Plus, I’ve got something really special lined up for the honeymoon.’

  That was a repulsive thought. A honeymoon with Alex, however . . .

  ‘Are you there, Rosie?’

  ‘Oh, sorry honey, things are a little frantic here. Can we talk later?’

  ‘Absolutely!’ He chortled unattractively. ‘In about two hours. I’ll be the one at the end of the aisle, saying ‘I do’.’

  She hung up, to find Kelly holding out a selection of jewels. ‘He sent these from Aspreys. Said to choose whatever and they would just charge it.’

  The selection of necklaces must have been worth over $1 million. Rosie shook her head furiously. ‘No way, Kelly. I can’t take that.’

  She was beginning to feel that this was getting out of control. All the money being spent, even though Cliff could afford it – it was wrong.

  ‘Come on, he can afford it.’

  ‘No, please. Take them away.’

  Kelly looked at her as if she was nuts, but she turned and handed the tray to some maid, who in turn handed them to another hotel employee.

  Shit. Alex and all the feelings he had ignited in her were definitely sending her soft.

  The dressmaker arrived to help her get into her frock – a huge puffy thing that looked as if it might feature in that UK programme My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding. The train was about five meters long, and Rosie felt like an idiot in it.

  As the make-up person, a guy with a huge afro, went to work on her, Rosie rehearsed what she was going to say.

  ‘I’m sorry Cliff, I can’t marry you.

  ‘This has all been a lie.’

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  THE ROOM IN WHICH THE WEDDING was to take place was 15,000 square feet of opulence, located on the fourth floor of the famous hotel. Unsurprisingly, it was resplendent with lilies. Ugh, thought Rosie, more bloody lilies. She was standing at the top of a makeshift staircase, looking down at about four hundred guests. It felt as if she was part of some sort of play, and that she hadn’t quite learned her lines.

  At the front of the rows of chairs Cliff and some man she had never met were standing, broad smiles on their faces.

  You won’t be smiling for long, Rosie thought.

  Peering over the balustrade, she tried to catch sight of Alex and Georgia, but there were so many dark-haired guys and women in hats it was impossible to work out where they were sitting.

  Her phone, which she’d tucked into a specially designed fold of the dress, buzzed.

  Scarlet. Shit! No luck on the flight. ‘Bloody strike or something, now,’ it read.

  Fuck. That was just wonderful.

  So apart from Alex, Rosie had no one here to support her. Luckily, Cliff had thought to fill her side of the ‘church’ with his employees, and a bunch of geeks, mostly men, in short trousers and yellowing shirts were sitting proudly in position, filled with their own importance.

  ‘Ready?’ Kelly whispered, ready to perform her duties as stand-in matron of honor. Cliff’s sister was squeezed into an atrocious green affair, with similar puffs of material to Rosie’s own on the skirt and sleeves.

  What a pair they made.

  Music started, it sounded like the crap you hear in lifts.

  ‘Recognize it?’ Kelly asked, a broad grin on her face.

  Rosie shook her head.

  ‘It’s what was playing in the lobby the day Cliff first saw you.’

  Ah. Musak. It was the crap they played in li
fts.

  As she walked down the stairs and between the chairs towards a broadly beaming Cliff, Rosie tried to catch sight of Alex, but no luck. There were too many people, and too many huge, bouffant style hats, to make out faces with any clarity.

  Except for one.

  Shit, was that . . .

  Hugo.

  Oh God, this was not good.

  In her hand, the huge bunch of lilies began to shake.

  Death flowers.

  If only she had known they were a prophecy.

  ‘You look incredible,’ Cliff whispered, when she finally got to the front of the room. ‘More beautiful than ever, if that’s possible.’

  Rosie knew she had little time to carry out her job. Pretty soon, Hugo was going to ruin the whole thing – although how, she couldn’t imagine. Cliff knew about her supposedly sordid past, so what else could he say?

  She told herself to stay calm, everyone would just think Hugo was a nutter, like before in Paris. All she had to do was hold it together until they got to the ‘I do’s’.

  The minister, a woman who bore a striking resemblance to the Grey Virgin, began mumbled the usual wedding blah, blah. Willing it all to go faster, Rosie held her breath as the ‘Do you, Clifford Askie . . .’ line was read out.

  Nearly, nearly¸ there. Then she and Alex would be free to be together.

  Alex. Yum.

  ‘Do you, Rosie–’

  ‘No.’ Rosie’s voice rang out clear as a bell in the silent room.

  ‘What?’ said the minister and Cliff in unison.

  Here it goes. Rosie turned to Cliff.

  ‘I’m sorry Cliff, but this is not real. I could never marry you. I would never marry you.’

  He went bright red, as if he had been sucker-punched.

  ‘Rosie, darling, what are you saying?’

  God, what a thicko.

  ‘I was paid to get you to the altar by Georgia Kettle. This has all been fake. The joke’s on you this time, Mr Askie.’

  Behind her, the congregation began twittering with excitement.

  ‘Rosie, no, how could you?’ He was completely and utterly devastated.

  ‘Sorry, Cliff. I was only doing a job.’

  By then, Georgia Kettle had crept up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder, grinning like a nutter. Rosie looked around for Alex, but there was still no sight of him.

  And no sight of Hugo either, thank God.

  The Drip acted as if someone had stabbed him. The guy standing next to him, Rosie saw now that it was the chauffeur, Cole, grabbed him and he tripped in an effort to back away from her.

  Pathetic, that his best man was an employee.

  ‘What kind of person are you?’ Cole asked her. ‘Who does this?’

  She shrugged. Well, it was done. $25,000 well earned.

  So, to the stunned silence of a gobsmacked upper crust, New York audience, Rosie Matchall handed the billionaire back his ring, and turned and walked with great long strides out of the room, down the corridor, and out onto Fifth Avenue.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  STANDING ON FIFTH AVENUE, LOOKING as she did, was never going to end well. Almost every car that went by tooted, and Rosie wished that Scarlet was there, so that she had someone on her side.

  Where the fuck was Alex?

  Then, she heard his voice. ‘Rosie.’

  Turning around, relief flooding through her, she saw that he was standing there with, shit, Hugo.

  Fuck. This was all she needed.

  ‘Rosie,’ Alex began.

  ‘Look, forget him, Alex. He’s nuts. One shag and he thinks he owns me.’

  ‘Tell her, Clunes,’ Hugo said, staring at Rosie with grim determination.

  ‘Tell me what, you freak. Why don’t you stop following me around and piss of back to London?’

  Rosie was really, really, bored of Hugo now.

  ‘Rosie,’ Alex began again.

  ‘Yes?’ God he was hot. In spite of looking like a huge meringue, Rosie felt herself growing excited by the thought of being with him again.

  ‘You and me?’

  ‘Yes?’ This was getting weird. Alex looked as if he might pass out. And Hugo, well, Hugo looked too bloody satisfied for her liking.

  ‘It wasn’t real.’

  ‘What?’ Rosie asked, thinking Alex must be joking. Spooking her for fun, after the seriousness of the wedding.

  ‘It was a revenge date. Paid for by Hugo.’

  At that point, Hugo piped up. ‘That’s right, you bitch. How does it feel. Alex told me you’d fallen for him hard, and looking at you know, I reckon it’s true. Hah, how does it feel?’

  Rosie stood and stared. And stared. And stared.

  It couldn’t be true.

  The man she finally let in; imagined second, third, fourth and fifth dates with, was a revenge dater himself?

  It had all be a set-up?

  Surely not?

  What about all those things he’d said to her? All the promises he’d made? Wait, had he actually made any firm agreement for her to come to LA with him? She ran all the past weeks’ conversations through her head. Shit. What a complete and total moron she was. Alex had been very careful not to actually say he was inviting her anywhere.

  And what about the sex?

  God, oh God, what about that blasted head job?

  How could she have been so bloody naïve?

  Stomach heaving, she turned away from the two men, not able to take in the enormity of the situation.

  Hugo had played the ultimate trick on her – pay back for making him feel like dirt.

  ‘How does it feel, you insensitive bitch?’ Hugo!

  The banker’s face was flushing an unflattering shade of red and Rosie longed to tell him just how completely revolting she still found him, but found there wasn’t even the energy for that. Alex’s betrayal had somehow sucked all the fight from her, and she sank onto the polished marble steps of the hotel, weary with disappointment.

  ‘Is there any need for that, Mr Collins?’ Alex said.

  Ignoring him, Hugo continued to berate her until Alex grabbed him and shoved him towards a cab, promising to bring them both a strong drink when he got back to his office.

  Alone with him, Rosie felt as if her heart might shatter. Was this really what it was like for all those men she had fucked and walked away from? No, it wasn’t the same. She didn’t lead them on. They each got what they wanted and that was that. She didn’t do what Alex had done. Allowed her to share the most intimate details, her private thoughts, like that.

  What kind of conniving, dysfunctional creep behaves so badly?

  The words of the poor, lovelorn billionaire’s driver came back at her. ‘What kind of person does this?’

  So the answer she gave would no doubt be Alex’s answer too: one who was only doing a job?

  A job, that’s all she was to him.

  It was cringing to think she had told Scarlet all about him, intimated there might be a wedding on cards.

  It was unbearable. Unbearable. Couldn’t breathe. Had to leave.

  ‘I’ve got to go.’ She grabbed her train and walked to the curb to hail a cab.

  ‘Rosie, wait–’

  ‘Go to hell, Alex, just go to hell.’

  And then she was gone.

  It was over.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  SCARLET COULDN’T BELIEVE WHAT SHE WAS hearing. ‘The first guy you’ve ever felt anything for, and he does this to you?’

  ‘It’s just what I did to Felix and Cliff.’

  ‘Felix and Cliff were in relationships, and did the dirty on their women. You have never been in a relationship in your whole life, Rosie. There’s no comparison. When I get my hands on that Hugo–’

  ‘Perhaps he’s right, Rosie. I am just as bad as those guys who throw over their partners. I treat men with contempt and now I get to pay the price.’

  ‘That’s bullshit and you know it. You are the most straightforward person I know.’

  ‘L
ook, Scarlet, I’ve got to pack. I just called to ask if you could pick me up from the airport.’

  ‘Sure, just say when?’

  ‘Heathrow, today at 10:00 p.m., your time.’

  ‘Absolutely. And you can come and stay with me, so you don’t have to deal with your parents.’

  But Rosie didn’t really care where she stayed. She didn’t care about anything.

  Or anyone.

  I mean it, she told herself sternly. Alex is dead to me.

  Dead.

  Saying thanks to Scarlet, Rosie sank back onto her bed and did something she had never done.

  She cried long and hard over being dumped by a man.

  Rosie was standing at the BIA check in when the call came in that the flight had been cancelled.

  God, could nothing go right for her today?

  Dragging her onboard back towards the lounge, Rosie tried not to think about how miserable she felt.