by Clare Lydon
No, Marcus had turned out the way he had despite his upbringing. Which was why their wedding having to involve his family so much was more than just a rub.
“It’s not so simple, is it? According to your mother, there are a lot of family traditions we have to uphold. Ways of doing things was the phrase she kept emphasising, I believe?” By the fifth time she’d said it, Abby had wanted to scream that she got it, but that wasn’t appropriate behaviour towards her future mother-in-law. Not when this was only the fourth time they’d met. Did Marjorie approve of Abby? Probably not.
Abby was pretty sure most mothers thought the woman their son was about to marry wasn’t worthy of them, but Marjorie appeared to take it to a whole new level today. The next few weeks were going to be trying. Especially with all the extra bridal things Abby was expected to do now she was becoming a Montgomery.
She hadn’t even decided whether she was going to give up her surname when she got married. It went against every feminist bone in her body. However, bringing that up today might have tipped Marjorie over the edge, so she’d kept quiet. That battle could wait for another day. Marjorie had enough trouble understanding Abby’s Scottish accent.
Marcus strolled over to her, leaving his club by the driving mat. When he sat, he took her hand in his.
Abby closed her eyes. She always felt safe with Marcus. It was one of the reasons she’d agreed to marry him. That, and the fact she’d turned 36 four weeks ago, and time was ticking if she wanted a family. Which everyone kept telling her she did. Marcus was so far ahead of any man she’d ever dated, that when he’d proposed, she felt like she’d won the jackpot.
This was her life now. Driving golf balls with her future husband. Marcus Montgomery. She’d landed on her feet. Her life from now on was going to be happy.
Neat and precise.
But happy.
When she opened her eyes, Marcus’s gaze was focused on her. He squeezed her hand and sighed.
“You see, this is what I don’t want. This is the countdown to our wedding, and you’re the most important person on that day.” He stabbed his chest with his index finger. “Not me. I’m the luckiest person because I’m marrying you.” He leaned forward to emphasise his point.
“And yes, I know Mother got a bit carried away, but she was right on one thing. You need an assistant for the run-up to the wedding. Someone who’s just focused on you.” He paused. “I thought this after the last time you met her, and today only solidified it. Look at you, you’re all flushed and stressed.” He sat up straight, before fixing her with his I-mean-business stare. “I’ve been doing a little research, and I have a solution. It might sound a little unorthodox at first, but it could be the answer to our prayers.”
Abby could see his mouth moving and words coming out, but she was struggling to make sense of them. “What do you mean by unorthodox?”
“I’ve found a woman who runs a service called Professional Bridesmaid. She’s kind of a bridal PA, exactly what we’re after. So I took the liberty of contacting her.”
“You did what?” They weren’t even married yet and Marcus was already doing things on her behalf? An alarm sounded throughout her body. This was not okay.
“If you’re worried about money, don’t be. It’s my treat.”
“It’s more the Montgomery takeover I’m worried about.” Abby bristled. “You can’t just keep doing things behind my back. It keeps happening with this wedding. Sometimes I feel like a bystander.”
But Marcus shook his head, putting a hand on her leg. “It’s all been done to make things easier for you. I know you’re short on time. You’re working towards a promotion at work. You’re busy. This woman seems very capable. She can even step in to be your bridesmaid if you want her to, which might not be a bad shout seeing as Delta has fallen to pieces since Nora broke up with her.” Marcus wasn’t finished. “But mainly, her role is to be there for you, right up until the end of the wedding day.”
Abby frowned. She still couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “My bridesmaid? Are you mad?”
Marcus gave her a tepid smile. “She’s your personal assistant/bridesmaid. There just for you. Someone on call 24/7.”
Abby was still shaking her head. “I have bridesmaids, Marcus. I don’t need a fake one. Delta is my maid of honour, you know that. And it’s precisely because she’s just been dumped by her useless girlfriend that she needs something to focus on. Being my maid of honour is it. I can’t take that off her. She’d crumble completely.”
Now it was Marcus’s turn to frown. “I’m not saying take the title from Delta. Just the responsibility. You have to admit, she’s already causing you stress, asking you loads of questions about the hen weekend which she should have already sorted. Between Delta and my mother, I’d say this woman could be just what you need.”
He had a point. Abby had tasked Delta with organising the hen weekend trip, but had ended up doing most of it herself. Delta had promised to take on the details, but then her split had happened. Since then, she’d holed herself up like it was the end of the world, forgetting her best friend was getting married in a few weeks, and her hen weekend was fast approaching.
“I don’t know.” But Abby’s brain was already processing.
“I think you do. Is Delta going to be there for you? Or your cousin Taran? Think about it. Someone to confide in, someone to do whatever you need. You only get one go at this, Abs. I want you to arrive at our wedding stress-free. If that means paying for someone to hold your hand for the next few weeks, so be it.”
“I’m a grown-ass woman, Marcus. I can handle this myself.” She could just imagine what her Glaswegian mother would say about a professional bridesmaid stepping in.
He gave her a look. “This woman can deal with my mother for the next few weeks. She can take all the flack.”
Abby stilled. “Can she deal with her totally? And take over the hen do?”
Marcus nodded. “All that and more.” He pulled back, wincing before he continued. “Like I said, I already emailed her, just to see if she was available. And she is.” He held up his hands like Abby was about to shoot him. “Just think about it, okay? For me? At least, have a meeting with her, see what she has to say. Her recommendations are off the chart. If you don’t get on, no problem. We’ll can the idea. But if she can make your life easier, then why not?”
Her insides were still boiling. How dare he do this? But this was Marcus. It came from a place of love, not control. Unlike his mother.
Plus, if this woman could deal with Marjorie, maybe it wasn’t such a crazy idea.
“I’m still mad at you for doing this behind my back.”
“You’d never have agreed otherwise.” He gave her his special smile, the one he reserved for her.
She gave him a long sigh. “You’ve already contacted her?”
He nodded. “I sent the email yesterday, so she’s going to give you a call. Her name is Jordan.”
“Jordan.” What kind of a name was that?
Chapter 3
“Why are we doing this again?” Jordan could barely speak she was so out of breath, but she kept her feet moving. She knew from grim experience that if she stopped, it was doubly hard to get moving again. Beside her, Karen was gliding like she was on roller skates. There was clearly something to be said for regular training, as opposed to doing your first run in at least a month.
“Because you’ve got yet another rich bitch wanting you to pretend to be her long-lost bestie bridesmaid. To fulfil your clients’ wish list, you have to be slim. And hot. Nobody wants a fat bridesmaid, do they?”
How could Karen just chat, like they hadn’t been running non-stop for the past 20 minutes? “You’re being a bit fattist,” Jordan gasped. To her left, the sea bobbed and weaved like the largest waterbed on record. Up above, the sky was grey with white clouds streaked across it. It looked like the grey sweatshirt she’d accidentally sprayed bleach on as opposed to stain remover, and now only wore for home decorating. Which
basically meant never.
“I’m being a realist. Although, you don’t want to get too slim and hot, because no bride wants to be outshone on her wedding day. It’s a tricky balance to hit, isn’t it?”
Jordan said nothing in reply. Mainly because she didn’t have the breath.
Karen glanced at her. “Although you’re not looking so hot right now, with your tongue hanging out like a dog. But you generally do.” She grinned. “You can be an inspiration to brides everywhere. Remember Kate Moss’s words: nothing tastes as good as skinny.”
“Maybe I should get a nasty cocaine habit to aid my quest.”
“All your clients probably have one.”
A sharp blast of wind blew through, almost taking Jordan’s breath away. It might be May, but seasons didn’t matter on the south coast. On the seafront, every day was gusty. Up ahead, she saw Walton’s, the café that always signalled the halfway mark of their run, where they turned and ran home. But today, with the sun battling to come out overhead and the clouds looking ominous, Jordan needed a break. As they drew up alongside the battered, white wooden café, she fluttered her eyes at Karen.
“Can we stop for a coffee?” Jordan clutched her side. “I’ve got a stitch and I really didn’t get all that much sleep last night. Adrenaline from the past month. What do you say? Can I ease back in slowly?”
Karen gave her a look, before nodding. “So long as we run back.”
“I swear on my life.” She had her fingers crossed, though.
Inside the café, Karen nipped to the loo. Jordan got them both a flat white, then took a seat by the window overlooking the sea. The air was coated with the scent of fried bacon and sausages, making her stomach rumble. But she couldn’t give in to her cravings. What Karen had said was true. She had an image to keep up, a story to portray. Being a professional bridesmaid was akin to being an actress who has to be on stage and in the spotlight for weeks at a time. What Jordan didn’t know about being a bridesmaid wasn’t worth knowing.
Karen slipped back into the seat opposite, her short, dark hair and piercing blue eyes sparkling as always. Karen was one of life’s happy people. She sipped her coffee before she spoke. “How was the grand finale of this job, anyway? We didn’t really get a chance to talk about the details last night. Any interesting tales to tell while I was making sure the country still had enough knickers to go around?” Karen was a lingerie buyer for Marks & Spencer, a job that always grabbed the attention of anyone who heard it.
Jordan ran through the past week in her head, playing it out like a movie. All things considered, it had gone fairly smoothly. She’d dealt with far worse than Emily.
“It went fine.”
“Nobody rumbled you?”
Jordan shook her head. She was still surprised that hadn’t happened yet. After all, the people who could afford her services had money, and those people tended to stick together. She was sure she’d seen a few of the same faces around, but Jordan had perfected the art of blending in very well. Plus, nobody was really looking out for a serial bridesmaid, were they?
“On the contrary. I’ve been invited to two other weddings.” She shrugged. “The bride had a wobble when she was getting her make-up done, but I got her to the altar. A minor miracle in itself.”
“And they say romance is dead.”
Jordan laughed. “Weddings are rarely about romance.”
Karen sat back, glancing at the sea through the window. “But you’ve got a bit of time off now, haven’t you?” She turned back to Jordan. “After your cancellation?”
Jordan shook her head, then sipped her coffee. “Not sure. I’ve already got another lead to call back, so my rest might be put on hold. This is wedding season. From now until September at least, I should be working flat-out.”
Karen pouted. “Do I have to start booking in dates to see you? I miss you.”
“You know the drill. Plus, you’ve got Dave.”
“Dave? He’s just my boyfriend. You’re my best friend.”
Jordan gave her a grin. “And I’ll still be your best friend when September comes. Your slimmer, hotter, richer best friend, with any luck. I intend to make the most of this season, because I only have a few more left now I’m 35. As well as people not wanting a fat bridesmaid, they also don’t want an old one.”
“The world is a depressing place.”
Jordan grinned. “Not while I’m still young and pretty enough it’s not. Emily might have been a pain, but she was a lucrative pain. Here’s hoping I get a few more of those this summer.”
“People with more money than sense?”
“It’s a wedding. People are happy to throw money at problems to make them go away. I’m a professional problem-solver. Whoever would have thought that when we were at university?”
Karen grinned. “Not me.” She leaned forward. “How much did you get paid for this last one, then?”
“Enough to buy you dinner later.”
“Excellent.”
“And how is the world of lingerie? Any great strides forward in the past week? Have you managed to get the whole of the UK wearing electric blue bras and matching bottoms yet?”
“Not yet, but it’s all part of my master plan. They will succumb, it’s just a matter of time.”
Chapter 4
Abby’s arms ached after the hard gym session earlier. However, it was a good ache. The sort of muscle fatigue that would morph into strength, and leave her feeling confident when she walked down the aisle, as well as on her honeymoon to the Maldives. Marcus had booked that. Without consulting her.
He’d said it was a surprise, but she’d wheedled it out of him. While most brides would be thrilled about sandy beaches, secluded coves, and five-star luxury, Abby just saw the long flight.
She didn’t like flying.
Scratch that, she hated flying, especially long haul. Plus, she couldn’t focus on the honeymoon yet. The wedding was looming too large.
It was another reason she’d gone to the gym this morning, to work out some of her tension. It wasn’t her usual haunt, but she’d bought a month’s pass to prepare for getting married.
Should she be more excited about two weeks in paradise? Long, lazy mornings in bed, brunch on the deck, afternoons spent languishing in sunshine? Probably.
She focused on the image in her head, concentrating hard as she walked down her street.
Still nothing.
Her phone vibrated in her jacket pocket. She shook her head, fished it out and glanced at the screen. She didn’t recognise the number. Was she about to get an idiot on the phone? She’d had loads of those companies trying to see if she’d had an accident at work recently. She clicked the green button, and lifted her head to the sun trying to peak through the clouds above.
“Hello? Is that Abby?” The voice was strong and sure.
“It is. If you’re trying to sell me insurance or get me to sign up to anything, I’m not interested.”
“I wasn’t going to. My name’s Jordan. Marcus contacted me about helping you out. I run a service called Professional Bridesmaid.”
Abby stopped walking and blinked. Up ahead, a window cleaner was balanced on a tall, terraced house, his ladder wobbling as he made his ascent. Should she walk under the ladder, where there was more space? Or walk around it, but risk getting run over by a delivery rider? She wasn’t superstitious. She was an intelligent woman who believed everything happened for a reason. She walked under the ladder and took a deep breath. No bucket of water fell on her. She’d survived so far. Let’s see what the conversation with Jordan held.
“Yes. Hello. He did tell me, but I have to be honest with you and say I’m not sure you’re going to be needed. Marcus is trying to make things easy for me, but I’ve already got a wedding planner and a maid of honour. I’m not sure what there is for you to do.”
There was a pause before Jordan replied. “It’s not an uncommon response, Abby. I totally get your misgivings. But you’d be surprised at what I can help you with, a
nd in doing so smooth the process so you don’t feel a single bump in the road. But none of it works unless you want me there.”
“I know that, I’m in business. Business is all about relationships.” She sighed. This woman sounded reasonable, and assured. Abby was sure she was good at her job. She just couldn’t nail down exactly what the job was. “Look, Marcus did this without consulting me. I told him I’d meet you and see what you could offer, and I’ll honour that. Further than that, I can’t promise anything.”
“That’s how most of my relationships start out.”
Okay. “Where are you based?”
“I’m in Brighton, but I can travel to you. I understand you’re in Balham, which I could get to in a bit over an hour. I can come and see you this weekend if that’s convenient?”
Abby cast her mind forward to the weekend. She had a barbecue at her friend’s house on Sunday, but Saturday could work. “Can you do Saturday morning?”
Jordan didn’t hesitate. “I can. I’ll connect on WhatsApp. Then I can fill you in on my services, and we can start from there.”
It sounded almost plausible. Not like this was a made-up service. “Sounds good.” She paused. “Tell me, Jordan, how many brides have you been a fake bridesmaid for?”
“Twenty-seven so far. With another five booked for later in the year. You were lucky I had a cancellation, so I can fit you in. But like I say, only if you want it to happen.”
That figure stopped Abby in her tracks. “Twenty-seven? Wow. That’s a lot of bridal help. Who knew there was so much need?”
“You’d be surprised,” Jordan replied. “Does 10am work? I like to leave plenty of time for an initial consultation, at least two hours. Think of it as having a coffee with a friend. Just chatting, getting to know each other. At the end of that, you’ll know whether we can work together. Does that sound okay?”
Abby nodded. “It sounds almost normal.”
