‘I finished early, stopped to get some supplies to make you dinner on the way home,’ he tells me, raising his shopping bags so I can see them.
‘You’re amazing,’ I tell him.
‘I know,’ he replies jokily.
‘You still upset about yesterday?’ he asks.
I get up and follow him into the kitchen, pausing for a second as all the blood drains from my head.
‘Yeah and a few other things,’ I reply honestly. ‘What’s for dinner?’
After visiting the hospital with Dylan yesterday, I went for food with him, his manager, Mark and Charles. We went to a Chinese restaurant, where they’d set up a private room, just for us. They laid out the enormous table with all kinds of different dishes and sides that all smelled just too good to resist. After yesterday’s blowout I need to be sensible today, but whatever Leo is making, I will happily eat. It’s so amazing of him to do this.
‘Calabrese-stuffed chicken breasts,’ he tells me. ‘And salad. I know you’re being healthy at the moment.’
‘My God, you’re amazing,’ I reply. ‘I spent my entire life believing that men who listened were an urban legend, but you pay attention to every little thing I say.’
‘Because I love you,’ he laughs. ‘It’s not unreasonable for you to expect me to listen when you talk.’
Don’t think I don’t know how lucky I am to be marrying Leo, because I do know it, and not for one second since we started dating has it even crossed my mind that he wasn’t worth giving up my life in LA and moving back home for.
‘Can I help?’ I ask.
‘Sure, want to make the salad?’
I nod.
‘I’m sorry what you saw yesterday has left you so upset,’ he tells me. ‘But you wouldn’t be you if it didn’t. You’re such a sweet, caring person.’
I give him a half-smile before turning my attention back to chopping tomatoes.
‘I just… I can’t believe kids have to go through that, and parents have to watch their kids go through that,’ I reply. ‘I couldn’t imagine watching my kids go through that.’
‘Hey, Mia…’ Leo stops what he’s doing and comes up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. ‘You know that if we had kids, the chances of something being seriously wrong with them would be small, right? And even if something was wrong, there are amazing hospitals, charities and people like your buddy Dylan to make everything OK, you know?’
‘I know,’ I reply, placing my hand over his.
‘But, hey, does this mean you’ve decided you do want kids?’ he says.
‘I do,’ I reply. ‘Whether these kids were sick or not, seeing how happy Dylan made them, I want to make my own kids happy like that. And you’d be too much of an amazing dad to not have kids.’
Leo turns me around, picks me up and spins me around.
‘Oh my God, Mia Valentina, you don’t know how happy you’ve just made me,’ he says excitedly. ‘I feel like the final piece of the puzzle has finally fallen into place.’
I laugh joyfully as he twirls me.
I know Leo wants to be a dad more than almost anything else. I might not have been sure before, but who am I to stand in his way? And why should I sit around telling myself I’d make a terrible mother – I’ll make an amazing mother. I certainly won’t be cold with my kids, or favour one over the other, and if anything did happen to one of them… Leo is right. I’d be there for them, and there’s so much support available. You can’t not do things in life just because you’re scared they’re not going to turn out the way you wanted them to.
‘I mean, we don’t even have to think about this stuff until after the wedding,’ he replies. ‘But you’ve made me so happy.’
I can tell he means it. He looks almost as happy as he did the day he proposed, after I said yes.
‘If you think I have time to wait,’ I tease.
‘What?’
‘Last time we spoke about kids, you reminded me women only have so long—’
‘Mia, you’re only 33,’ he interrupts me. ‘I didn’t mean you were running out of time.’
‘I know, I know, I’m just kidding,’ I reply. ‘Now get back to making my chicken, I’m starving.’
Leo laughs as he stuffs chicken breasts with mozzarella, tomato and fresh basil. The kitchen smells amazing already and he hasn’t even started cooking anything yet. I cannot recommend marrying an Italian highly enough.
‘Before I forget, I told Debbie we’d go look at a wedding venue with her tomorrow,’ he says.
I suddenly feel my happy buzz drain from my body.
‘You’ve been talking to Debbie?’ I ask.
‘Yeah, well, she was having trouble getting in touch with you, so she called me.’
That will be all those calls I rejected.
‘It seems like a cool place and we can have the ceremony there too,’ he says. ‘So, don’t worry, you’re not going to need to go to church and convince anyone you should be allowed to marry me. I told my mum we didn’t want to get married in a church, and she was fine with it.’
‘Your mum is cool,’ I tell him.
While my sister, Belle, may not have got married in a church, she still had a vicar conduct the ceremony, so her wedding was a religious affair. I’m sure my family expect nothing other than a secular ceremony as far as I’m concerned, much to their disappointment. I come from a very churchy family – you know the type, besties with the local vicar, church every Sunday, etc. I don’t discuss my beliefs with my family, nor do I chat God with my Catholic, soon-to-be mother-in-law, because what do a person’s beliefs matter to another person? It’s an entirely personal thing. If we were to have a religious ceremony, would we go for my family’s Anglican vicar or Leo’s mum’s Catholic priest? Religion has already caused enough wars so, rather than cause a rift between our two families trying to please people, we’ve decided that it’s best for us to have a non-religious ceremony, because it has no bearing on our relationship, our wedding, or if we will or won’t uphold our vows.
‘Do I need to be up early?’ I ask.
‘Not especially,’ he replies. ‘You tired?’
‘Kind of,’ I reply. ‘But I wanted to get up and go for a run first.’
‘I fancy a run too. I could wake you up early, come with you?’
‘That would be great,’ I reply.
‘I also bought breakfast, so I’ll cook you something up while you’re in the shower and then we can get straight off.’
‘Did I mention you were amazing?’ I ask him.
‘Once or twice,’ he laughs. ‘I love you.’
‘I love you too,’ I reply.
‘Oh, by the way, I’ve got a stag do tomorrow night,’ Leo says. ‘Completely slipped my mind.’
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘People from work?’
‘Yeah, shouldn’t be a late one, though.’
My phone buzzes with an email. I grab it at the speed of light to see what it says.
It’s from Skinner. It says: ‘Sorry you feel that way, Mia. Please send your home address so I can send release forms. Regards, D.’
Skinner, whose first name is Donnie, always signs off his messages with a ‘D’. I think he likes to think he’s too busy to write his full name. He’s the kind of guy who feels self-important enough to have a stamp made of his signature, to save him time signing things. At least he respectfully accepted my rejection without a fuss.
Well, that’s that then. But, do you know what? I know I’ve made the right decision. And I’ll be reminded it was the right choice every time I look over at Leo, the most amazing man I’ve ever met, a man who will always be worth more than any amount of money, or any job.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Beach Tree Hall is a Grade I-listed building, sitting at the top of a long, leafy driveway, in eight acres of stunning grounds. Based on this information alone, I can safely say that Beach Tree Hall is too expensive for my wedding.
Also, the suite we’re currently viewing – the Orch
id Suite – can accommodate 200 daytime guests and 250 evening guests. Meanwhile, I can’t even think of one person I can ask to be a bridesmaid for me.
Even their smallest suite – the Daffodil Suite – accommodates 80 for the wedding breakfast and 120 for the evening do. I haven’t even attempted to make a list of people we’ll be inviting, but I can assure you, it won’t be that many.
I whispered this to Leo as Debbie let the events coordinator know we were here. He suggested we politely view the place, even though it will likely be out of our price range.
‘And we have 100 rooms that your guests can stay in, if they choose,’ Camille, the events coordinator, tells us. If they take out second mortgages, I assume.
‘Lovely,’ I reply.
‘Well, I’ll leave you to look around the room and talk among yourselves,’ Camille says.
‘You could be more enthusiastic, Mia,’ Debbie ticks me off.
‘You could be more in tune with our price range, Debbie,’ I reply. ‘No way can we afford this.’
‘Between us – and so you start taking this more seriously – I think your parents are going to offer to pay,’ Debbie tells us.
‘That’s way too generous,’ Leo replies. ‘Incredible, but way too generous.’
‘She paid for your sister’s wedding, didn’t she?’ Debbie says.
‘Yeah, but that’s not the point,’ I reply.
My dad enjoyed a long and successful career as a private dentist before retiring with a very good pension. Money isn’t a problem for my parents but that doesn’t mean I’d happily accept their help.
‘We weren’t going to invite too many people,’ I continue.
‘But your parents plan to,’ she points out. ‘Your big day isn’t just about you two, you know.’
I bite my lip anxiously. This wedding feels so out of my control. What I want doesn’t seem to matter. It seems to be more important we please everyone else.
‘We can talk to them, don’t worry,’ Leo assures me, squeezing my hand.
‘Can you give us a moment alone, please?’ I ask Debbie.
She frowns, but obliges, leaving us standing in the centre of the dance floor, in the middle of the huge room. The walls are adorned with white fabric, with tiny LED lights that twinkle like the night sky, and the tables and chairs are all covered with white material, with a golden sash wrapped around each chair. It really, really is a truly stunning venue, but (even if it were in my price range) it’s not me.
‘This is all too much, right?’ I say to him, once we’re alone.
‘I know your parents want to invite all their friends, but we can talk to them, tell them this is just too much,’ Leo assures me. ‘Don’t worry, OK?’
‘OK,’ I reply.
‘I’m sure we can figure something out that makes everyone happy.’
Sometimes it really is like he doesn’t know my parents at all.
‘Shall I call Debbie back in?’ I ask.
‘Give it a few minutes,’ Leo says, pulling me close. ‘Can you imagine us having our first dance in a place like this?’
He holds me close, slow dancing with me – well, attempting to. My lack of rhythm and my four-inch heels make it tricky.
The truth is, I can’t imagine having a first dance with Leo at all. Not because I can’t dance – although that is a pretty good reason – but because the thought of everyone’s eyes on me fills me with dread. Most people have dance lessons now, at least, and then there’s people who learn an embarrassingly cringey choreographed routine, which means everyone is expected to be good. Everyone will be watching us, judging us…
As Debbie walks back into the room I pull the neck of my dress from my body a couple of times to let some air in. It’s so warm in here, with the windows covered and the door closed.
‘Ready to see some more of the hotel?’ Debbie asks hopefully.
‘I’m just going to step outside and make a quick call,’ I lie, my chest tightening by the second.
‘Can’t it wait?’ she asks.
‘No, I’ll be right back,’ I say.
‘Want me to come?’ Leo asks, sensing something might be wrong.
‘No, no, you stay here, I won’t be long,’ I call back as I dash out of the room.
Once I’m outside I clutch my chest and gasp for breath. As the cold air fills my lungs and cools my cheeks, breathing slowly starts getting easier again.
It’s been so long since I had a panic attack, I’d forgotten how awful they felt. It never fails to terrify me, that the symptoms of panic can so easily mimic the symptoms of something much more serious. If I didn’t know what panic attacks were like, I would’ve thought I was dying.
Is this normal? Should I be getting so upset while planning my wedding? Am I just suffering with cold feet or is it something more? Do I actually want to get married? People keep calling it the happiest day of my life but, with all this stress, I don’t see how it can be.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
‘Mamma Mia,’ Rory, my next-door neighbour calls out as I walk down the street.
I’ve had another day hanging out at Dylan’s house, asking him questions, taking notes. I have a lot of stuff to work with now, but there are still particular things I need from him – the things he doesn’t like talking about. Amazing, that you can get him to talk openly about the time he kissed a man in a dress because he thought it was a woman, but you can’t get him to talk about his feelings.
This evening Leo and I are putting our Christmas tree up – our first time doing it in our new home. He was at a stag do last night and I don’t know what time he got in, but it was late, and I was up and out before he woke up – hopefully his hangover has passed now because I’m so excited for this evening. This morning, before I set off, I cleared out the living room so we could make the room perfect for the festive period. Well, as close to perfect as possible. We were going to decorate the living room this weekend but now, to take the pressure off, we’re going to wait until after Christmas. So I’ve moved all the boxes and filled the room with the furniture we’ll need, as well as a few decorative items. I’ve left a space for the Christmas tree in the corner. The room might be white, but it’s going to look amazing once the decorations are up. I’m not one of those girls who goes crazy for Christmas, but this year I’m excited about our tree.
Rory and Iwan are walking along the opposite side of the street, obviously on their way home from work too.
‘Hello, boys,’ I call over to them.
They make a move to cross the road so I wait for them. We might as well walk the last five minutes together.
‘How’s it going, Mia?’ Iwan asks. ‘We never see you these days.’
‘I know, sorry,’ I reply. ‘I’ve been so busy with work, and Leo has been doing so much overtime.’
Iwan shrugs.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ he assures me. ‘Just come out with us this weekend – Leo too.’
‘I think I might be working this weekend.’
The boys boo me.
‘You got your wedding business sorted now?’ Rory asks.
‘Not quite,’ I reply.
‘I’ve gotta tell you, Mia, I can’t see you in a white dress,’ Iwan chimes in.
I stop in my tracks.
‘Erm, because you don’t think it’s my style or because I’m not virginal?’ I ask, semi-offended.
‘Well, both,’ he laughs.
He’s not wrong.
As we approach our houses, I notice a large white van parked outside.
‘Does that look like a TV licence van to you?’ Rory asks me, eyeballing it cautiously, but as we get closer we see the driver get out and knock on my door.
‘Hello,’ I call out to him. ‘Sorry, I’ve just got back from work.’
‘Don’t worry, darling,’ the driver says. ‘Mia Valentina?’
‘Yes.’
‘Got a delivery for you. Sign here.’
The driver hands me a small electronic device, which I si
gn my name on.
I hover on my doorstep, rubbing my hands together to fight off the cold as I wait for my delivery.
The driver emerges from the back of his van with a large bunch of flowers, all tied together with Christmassy colours, sparkly ribbons and a dusting of glitter.
‘Wow, they’re beautiful,’ I say.
‘Mate, you’re engaged now. Doesn’t Leo know he doesn’t have to bother with flowers any more?’ Rory laughs.
Leo never actually buys me flowers.
Just when I think the driver is leaving, he pulls out another bouquet of flowers, even more beautiful than the last.
‘Oh, I know what this is,’ I tell the boys. ‘I told him I didn’t have a favourite flower a few days ago. This is probably just his cute way of helping me realise which one is my favourite, so I can have them at my wedding.’
‘Soft git,’ Rory laughs. ‘You’ve got yourself a keeper there.’
I’m just about to agree and say goodbye to my friends when I notice the driver dragging a large wicker basket up my garden path.
‘More?’ I asks.
‘A few more,’ the driver replies, plonking the chest down in front of me.
Another two baskets, one box and a four-feet-tall cuddly toy later, the driver seems just about done.
‘Is that it?’ I ask.
‘Oops, don’t forget the balloons,’ he says, grabbing a bunch of balloons with a small envelope attached to them. ‘Here you go.’
‘Tell Leo men like us don’t stand a chance, competing with stunts like that,’ Iwan laughs.
I smile, although I’m a little confused. It’s a lovely gesture. I just don’t understand why.
I pull the little card from the balloons, careful not to let go of them, which would send them floating off into the dark sky.
I’m just about to read the card when I notice my handsome fiancé arriving home from work.
‘Hey, you,’ I say brightly. ‘What’s all this?’
‘I was just about to ask you,’ he laughs. ‘Figured you’d been Christmas shopping.’
‘So this stuff isn’t from you?’ Rory asks.
‘Erm, no,’ Leo replies, suddenly sounding a little suspicious.
How Not to be a Bride Page 14
