Nice Day For a White Wedding

by A. L. Michael

  ‘There’s weddings at the castle all the time. In the summer there’s a couple a week, probably more.’

  ‘Can we go see the castle at some point?’ She applied some mascara and tried to make her eyes look less red. ‘I hate –’

  ‘– to go somewhere and never actually see any of it. I know.’ He patted her knee. ‘You’re not nervous, are you?’

  ‘About going to your parents’ Italian villa now that I know they have servants?’ she snorted. ‘Nah, why would I be nervous?’

  ‘I meant about telling them we’re getting married.’

  Chelsea looked at him. ‘They don’t know?’

  ‘How would they know?’

  ‘Well, I thought maybe when you said we were coming up here, you might have said why.’ She frowned. ‘You didn’t tell them you were going to propose?’

  ‘Didn’t come up,’ he shrugged, ‘plus I always find it’s better to tell them things after I do them, so they can’t have an opinion.’

  ‘You’re really helping me feel confident about all this.’ She sighed, resigned to it all now.

  ‘Celia knows, though. I told her ages ago.’ He nudged her leg. ‘She’s really excited to meet you.’

  ‘What’s she like?’

  ‘She’s sweet and kind, quiet. They’re constantly telling her to be louder, paying for elocution lessons and drama classes, but that’s just how she is. I think you’ll like her.’

  ‘How old is she again?’

  ‘Seventeen.’

  Chelsea sighed. ‘Jeez. I would not be seventeen again for the world.’

  Kit laughed. ‘Not even to be raising hell and making memories with superstar Ruby Tuesday? Celia was so excited when I said you knew her.’

  ‘You don’t think she’s told all your family, do you?’

  ‘I don’t think she tells anyone anything. Why?’

  Chelsea looked out of the window at the water far below, as the car climbed higher up the twisting paths. ‘I just…we were teenagers. I didn’t really know who she was once she became a superstar, you know?’

  ‘It’s just a cool thing to say, Chels. Don’t worry about it.’

  They sat in silence for a few more moments, Chelsea noticing how the houses seemed to get bigger and further away from the road. As Kit turned into a side road, and down a long, wide road, Chelsea’s eyes widened. It was a huge, terracotta-coloured villa edged with marble facades and fronted by a bright green lawn. Directly in front of the house was a gravel driveway, circling an ostentatious fountain. Chelsea took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

  ‘What do these people know about me?’

  Kit shook his head, smiling as he swung around the fountain and honked three times. ‘They know that you’re successful, impressive and the best thing that’s ever happened to me.’

  ‘So…absolutely nothing then,’ Chelsea sighed to herself as Kit jumped out of the car and ran over as the front door opened, a loud rabble suddenly emerging.

  ‘Bella bella!’ Kit laughed, taking a slender, diminutive girl into his arms and swinging her around, her loose blonde ponytail swinging languorously as she laughed. Celia had the look of a horse who would bolt if you looked at her the wrong way. She looked up at Chelsea with huge grey-blue eyes, sitting above razor-sharp cheekbones. She was beautiful, Chelsea thought, but in a fragile way.

  ‘Ceels, this is Chelsea.’ Kit led her over and waited expectantly. ‘My two favourite people get to meet finally!’

  Chelsea smiled at Celia, who smiled back shyly, dipping her head and shrugging her shoulders.

  ‘Oh cheers for that, you ungrateful bastard, don’t give a shit about any of us then?’ a voice boomed from the doorway and, as Kit raced over, Chelsea took the chance to touch Celia’s hand awkwardly, almost immediately sure that the young girl would be her only ally over the next few days.

  ‘It’s so great to meet you, Kit talks about you all the time. He’s so proud of you.’ Chelsea spoke in a low voice, trying to ignore the squawking loudness mere steps from them, and how Kit seemed to be swallowed by the two older men in the doorway.

  ‘I have no idea why,’ Celia shrugged but smiled softly. ‘He was really nervous about asking you, you know. I’m glad you said yes.’

  Chelsea tilted her head. ‘What if I’m some terrible mistake he’s making?’

  ‘Kit doesn’t make mistakes,’ Celia laughed softly, ‘and you haven’t turned up head to toe in designer gear, patted me on the head and given me fifty pounds to get my hair styled into something resembling a style.’

  Chelsea’s eyes widened in horror. ‘Who would do that?’

  ‘My eldest brother’s girlfriend did, about six months ago. Thankfully she found a Count, or a Lord or someone who could get her a weekly 9pm booking at Nobu, so she’s no longer wasting her time with us.’ Celia snorted quietly and Chelsea slipped an arm through hers, walking slowly with her towards the door.

  ‘I will tell you a secret – I am absolutely terrified by all of this.’

  The young girl looked at her in surprise. ‘I thought Kit said you just saved a five million pound deal at work single-handed?’

  ‘Well not exa—’

  ‘And didn’t you just help your friends set up an art gallery whilst it was being attacked by the media?’

  ‘My friends are no one to be messed with,’ Chelsea shrugged, feeling vaguely uncomfortable.

  ‘Neither are my family. But just treat everyone like they’re two more Martinis away from passing out, and you’ll be just fine.’ Celia grinned and pulled Chelsea in through the doorway, into the cool of the hall. The grey marble was cold, the air conditioning kissing each tile. Chelsea wanted to press her face against the floor, but settled for tilting it upwards and closing her eyes as the shade settled around them. When she looked, she took in the huge winding grand staircase, edged with wrought-iron banisters, and looked at the huge paintings on the walls. She’d never seen anything that huge that wasn’t on a museum wall.

  ‘Come on, get it over with.’ Celia tilted her head towards the back of the villa, and started walking through, her light grey dress crumpled and trembling in the breeze. ‘A couple of drinks and it’ll seem easier.’

  ‘I thought Kit said you were shy.’

  ‘I am,’ Celia shrugged, leading the way through to a kitchen with a huge American refrigerator. She filled a glass with ice and chilled water and handed it to Chelsea.

  ‘Doesn’t seem like it…’

  The teenager shrugged again, her moon-like face housing those strange eyes that were nothing like Kit’s, except the tiniest twinkle at the corners. ‘Maybe I just feel comfortable with you. And when someone more interesting comes along, the two dragons don’t notice when I disappear into the background.’

  ‘I’m not interesting.’ Chelsea grasped the cool glass desperately, pressing it against her neck.

  Celia bit her lip. ‘If you’re marrying my brother, I’m afraid you are.’ She tilted her head towards the door. ‘They’re sitting out on the deck I imagine. Let’s go face the wolves.’

  Chelsea pulled her sunglasses down from the top of her head and took a deep breath, following the young girl out into the sunshine.

  ‘Bella bella!’ voices yelped and huzzahed as they stepped out onto the veranda, with a long wooden table beneath a cover. The men sat at the end, glasses and bottles on the table. Kit walked over and met her halfway, kissing her cheek. ‘You okay?’

  Chelsea smiled and went to answer, but she was interrupted.

  ‘Of course she’s okay, she’s in paradise!’ a deep voice boomed from the end of the table. A man with a red face and salt and pepper hair grinned at her, his bushy eyebrows wriggling above his sunglasses. ‘Welcome to the family, darling!’

  ‘Chels, this is my dad, Bartie,’ Kit said, pulling out a chair for her before sitting next to her.

  ‘Thanks for having me,’ she smiled, safe behind her own sunglasses. ‘You have a beautiful home.’

  ‘Nyaaaah!’ Bartie mad
e a buzzer sound, then took a sip of his drink. ‘Boring first lines, darling, try again.’

  ‘Pleasure to meet you?’ Chelsea frowned.

  ‘You can do better.’ The older man shook his head, waiting.

  Chelsea paused, looked at Kit, who shrugged.

  ‘Holy fuck, it’s hot. I’m sweating like a nun who just read Fifty Shades of Grey,’ Chelsea said coolly, taking a sip of her water.

  ‘Haha! Yes! Fantastic!’ The older man slammed his glass down, liquid sloshing from the sides.

  ‘Don’t take it personally, darlin’,’ another man said, ‘he only obnoxiously demands things from people he likes. It’s a terrible personality quirk.’

  This man looked different somehow, his greying brown hair cut short at the sides, his face like a jagged cliff face, with a light, thin scar across his left eyebrow. His voice was rougher, a little more East End, but held upright by politeness. He sounded like Jez, if Jez had been an officer in the army.

  ‘Alistair,’ she guessed and he held out her hand.

  ‘An absolute pleasure.’ He held her hand and kissed it briefly. ‘Can I get you a drink, Miss?’

  ‘Miss?’ Chelsea frowned, then raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Don’t bother trying to stop him, fifteen years and he still insists,’ Kit laughed, nudging his old friend.

  ‘I only get the choice of calling you “sir” or “annoying pain in the backside”,’ Alistair said simply, ‘the first is shorter. Now, drinks?’

  ‘Whatever is fine,’ Chelsea shrugged, looking with distaste at the whisky that seemed to be the drink of choice.

  It was Kit’s turn to frown. ‘Chelsea likes Prosecco, hates Aperol, and would probably down a Mojito with no problem right about now, Al.’

  Chelsea nodded, shrugging.

  ‘One Mojito coming up,’ Alistair nodded, winking at her as he got up. She noticed his own glass was simply full of water, and wondered what the rules were in such a house.

  ‘Mojitos? Did we suddenly transport to Mexico, Alistair?’ a voice rang out behind Chelsea, and she winced, turning to face the sudden, colourful apparition of Jemima Monroe wearing Prada sunglasses and a green scarf wound around her head.

  ‘Jem, Cuba, darling. Mojitos are from Cuba,’ Kit’s father drawled, ‘and young Chelsea here is not a fan of the local cocktails.’

  Jemima looked unimpressed, pausing before she waltzed over to the end of the table, sighing deeply. ‘Well yes, but there’s a reason the phrase is “when in Rome”.’

  Chelsea tilted her head. ‘But…we’re not in Rome?’

  Jemima sighed, walking round to stand beside her husband. ‘Yes, darling, but there’s a reason Italian culture is badly impersonated around the world, and that’s because you can’t fake true style.’

  Chelsea frowned, sensing a jab in there somewhere. ‘So the lesson here is?’

  ‘Drink the Aperol and don’t say a damn thing,’ Celia grinned. Chelsea snorted slightly.

  ‘Jem, if you could put aside your style guru mantras for a moment, you might have noticed your son and his girlfriend are here,’ Bartie laughed and Chelsea could almost hear him roll his eyes.

  ‘Yes of course.’ She reached out her arms to Kit, kissing him loudly on both cheeks and cradling his face. ‘How are you, my darling?’

  ‘I’m good, Mum. This is Chelsea.’

  Jemima’s gaze seemed to go through her. She held her head high behind her sunglasses and waited.

  ‘It’s wonderful to meet you finally, Chelsea. I’ve heard almost nothing about you.’

  ‘Mum! I’ve talked about Chelsea loads!’ Kit’s voice was laughing but Chelsea could always tell when there was an edge beneath the good humour.

  ‘Yes, about her work and her hobbies and how you adore her. I’d like to know the real person!’ Jemima was light-hearted suddenly, perching on the edge of her son’s seat.

  ‘Well, I’m glad because…’ Kit looked at Chelsea, smiling nervously as he reached for her hand, ‘we’re –’

  ‘– getting married,’ Jemima said shortly, finally taking off her sunglasses to reveal a well made-up face and eyes that were lighter than Kit’s. Kit’s were like the sea, hers were ice. ‘Yes, gathered that, darling, judging by the huge ring Chelsea has on her finger.’

  She reached across her son and took Chelsea’s hand, squinting at the ring, twisting her hand back and forth sharply. ‘Christopher, you know you’re meant to spend at least three months’ rent on this? It’s too big, it looks cheap. It’s trying too hard.’

  Chelsea watched as Kit’s lip twitched, but he said nothing.

  ‘Well, it’s perfect for me!’ Chelsea said, giving her voice a cheerful inflection.

  ‘Cheap?’ Jemima asked innocently.

  ‘Trying too hard,’ she replied, her teeth bared in the slightest impersonation of a smile.

  ‘Jem,’ Bartie sighed, ‘Kit’s come home. He’s brought this beautiful, smart young woman who has decided to be part of the family, God help her. Don’t send them bolting for the hills in the first thirty seconds.’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Chelsea’s eyes never left Jemima’s. ‘I’m not a bolter.’

  Jemima’s perfectly tattooed eyebrows arched, then she shrugged and put her glasses back on. ‘Sorry, darlings.’ She patted their hands. ‘Must be the heat. I might take a nap before dinner.’

  Celia coughed as her mother walked past them, waiting to be acknowledged. Her mother simply looked at her.

  ‘Anyone actually say congratulations?’ Celia asked.

  ***

  ‘Oh god, Eves, it’s awful!’

  Chelsea had locked herself in the en-suite in Kit’s room whilst he napped. Everyone had retired for a siesta, which meant that Kit’s mother had dramatically exited and his father was involved in a poker game, gradually getting more drunk.

  ‘Oh yes, a big proposal and a huge ring,’ her friend’s voice drawled down the phone, sounding a lifetime away, ‘poor you.’

  ‘His mother is like Patsy from Ab Fab meets Audrey Hepburn, as raised by that drill sergeant from Full Metal Jacket,’ Chelsea sighed, looking out of the window. She saw Celia lying in the hammock in the shade, headphones in, her long blonde hair splayed out behind her.

  ‘The dad?’

  ‘Think him and Jez would actually get on well. Poker and whisky.’

  ‘There’s a terrifying theme for your wedding then,’ Evie laughed. ‘Seriously, Chels, Kit’s wonderful, you’ve just got to let yourself be happy. You were worried when he found out about Jez’s background, but he was fine. He’s proven he can deal with it. I don’t know why you’re panicking.’

  ‘This is a different world.’ She shook her head. ‘They said it was time to get started on dinner and I offered to help.’

  ‘Yeah, so?’

  ‘They have people for that,’ Chelsea intoned, ‘they looked at me like I was an idiot. Only the poor, unwashed masses cook their own food on holiday. His mum has a chef flown in from Rome for three weeks every summer, whenever they come over!’

  ‘Woah.’

  ‘Yeah! This isn’t just your average “let’s list my top three favourite flavours of hummus from Waitrose” rich, this is proper rich.’

  She could feel Evie getting bored. ‘Well, bully for them. Tell them if they want to support a little arts centre, we’d be really grateful. You’ve always been good at playing that part, Chels. Just trust yourself.’

  ‘I don’t fit in here,’ Chelsea said in a quiet voice, ‘I want to come home.’

  The silence sat around them for a moment. ‘Then do. Put up with his family, because you know how awful it is to have a family you’re ashamed of. And then get the hell out of there and come back so we can all coo over your jewellery and be jealous as hell.’

  ‘Molls and Esme okay?’

  ‘They’re good, we’ve got an opening night tomorrow for an exhibition, so Mollie’s cooking. Esme made friends with some of the local kids. She’s into skateboarding now, they’re at the skate park
all day.’

  ‘God, that sounds so normal,’ Chelsea sighed, ‘I want to go back to work.’

  ‘Could you just relax! Have a couple of glasses of fizz and every time his mum makes a snarky comment, imagine the imprint of that massive rock of yours on her face.’

  Chelsea couldn’t help but laugh as she hung up, thinking about how to face the evening. She walked back into the bedroom, where Kit was asleep on the bed, snoring lightly.

  His face was crumpled against the pillow, lines across his perfect face as he smiled, laughing into the bed, rolling back and forth a little. Chelsea couldn’t stop herself from smiling as she looked at him, reaching across to stroke the blond strands of hair at the back of his neck.

  ‘Huh?’ He yawned at her, his eyes blinking open. ‘You okay?’

  ‘You were doing it again.’ She smiled at him, stroking his cheek, even in the clammy heat of the room.

  ‘Sleep laughing?’

  ‘That’s not a thing.’

  Kit laughed, leaning back, hands behind his head. Chelsea watched as his biceps bulged at the movement, somehow still managing to make her mouth dry just looking at him. ‘It is a thing, ’cause that’s what I’m doing.’

  ‘That is one of my top five favourite things about you.’

  ‘Oh really? What are the other four?’ He reached for her, pulling her onto the bed with him.

  ‘Can’t tell you, you’ll get a big head.’ She laughed against his lips, his hands on her waist.

  ‘Aw come on.’ Kit kissed her neck, flipping her onto her back and taking control. Chelsea closed her eyes, feeling her pulse race, the same way it did every time Kit traced his fingers along her collarbone.

  The door knocked loudly, before it swung open. ‘Christopher, I was thinking –’

  Kit’s mother stood in the doorway, holding a glass of white wine and looking unimpressed.

  ‘Well, I guess you’re busy. We’re having dinner in half an hour.’ She shrugged and walked off, leaving the door wide open.

  ‘Mum! The door!’ Kit yelled after her, sounding so much like an irritated, horny teenager that Chelsea couldn’t help but laugh.