Imogen stands and walks over to her, leaning over the screen. "This is the first time my software hasn't worked. It’s saying inconclusive."
She picks up the paper versions of the questionnaires and starts flipping through them then gives us both a hard look. "Have neither of you given any thought whatsoever to your wedding?"
"Umm…” I start, but trail off, not wanting to answer in the affirmative.
Imogen shifts her focus to Arabella. "It's normal to have agroomwho hasn't put any thought into this, but for a bride, your answers are unusually vague."
Arabella nods. "To be honest, other than a few small requests, I feel quite comfortable trusting your team to make decisions. Will and I are both far more concerned with our humanitarian efforts than fussing over our wedding. I did write down that I would like to carry on my grandmother's tradition of hiring up-and-coming designers for the wedding attire — you know, give someone new a chance to make their mark in the fashion world. I think it would be nice to extend that same philosophy to the music as well. But otherwise, I'm content to sit back and let the experts do their thing."
Imogen gives Arabella a condescending smile. "I'm afraid there won’t be time to hire a designer. You’d need at least a year for that so everything is going to have to be…” She lowers her voice to almost a whisper. “Off the rack."
I have no idea what that means but it must not be good because Arabella stiffens briefly, then swallows and offers an easy smile that I’m not convinced is real. "That's fine. If it's good enough for the citizens of Avonia, it's good enough for me."
Imogen sits down in her chair, then taps her pen on the papers in front of her while she gives Arabella a long stare. "Really? No preference at all about…say…flowers?"
"Other than having the traditional sprig of myrtle, I think we should go with locally- and sustainably-sourced floral arrangements."
“So, I could pick a bunch of daisies growing in the ditch along the highway and you'd be fine with that?"
"I'm sure ditch daisies would be just as lovely as hothouse roses if artistically displayed."
The meeting continues on like this for another twenty minutes with the cameras zeroing in on our faces. I can't help but notice that Arabella is definitely acting odd. The entire time she goes on and on about keeping it simple and modest and how there are so much more important things in a world filled with injustice than what type of card stock to use for invitations — other than ensuring that they are environmentally friendly of course. I sit next to her, thoroughly confused and more than slightly concerned that she's handing everything over to someone we just met, and I can't help worrying that she's going to end up miserable on our wedding day. But for some reason, she's intent on insisting none of it matters to her. At one point, I jot down a little note for her.Are you sure about this?
She picks up the pen then quickly scrawls100%.
I can't help but get the feeling she's playing to the cameras. The question is, why would she do that?
Finally, the meeting wraps up with Arabella standing and going around the room to shake everyone's hands. As she thanks each person individually on Imogen’s team, she says things like, "I think you'll find me one of the calmer brides with whom you’ll work," or, "We’re going to keep this entire event very simple.” To one of them, she actually says, "The last thing you'll find me is a bridezilla. Honestly. No need to worry about thatat all."
And suddenly, I think I know what's going on.
It's late in the evening, and I leave at four in the morning for Bolivia where I’ll be filming for nearly two months. I should be home packing, but I'd rather drink in every last second I can with my very Zen fiancée before I go. We're seated at the table in her kitchen—her in nothing but a bathrobe and me in only my jeans—eating flatbread pizza by candlelight, having worked up an appetite in the bedroom earlier.
"I wish I was going with you," she says, slicing a dainty bite off her pizza and popping it into her mouth. After she swallows, she smiles at me. “I’m desperately missing life off the beaten track.”
“You are?”
She nods.
“I wish you were coming too. None of these adventures are the same without you there to share them,” I say. “Kind of takes the shine off my career, to be honest.”
Tilting her head, she says, “If only I weren’t so amazing.”
I let out a chuckle. “If only…”
Her face grows serious and she says, "At least this will be the last big trip until you're free."
"Thanks to my quick-thinking fiancée."
We eat in a comfortable silence for a few moments, and my mind starts to wander to the wedding planning session. "Belle, I’ve been thinking about the meeting this morning, and I can't help but wonder if someone perhaps accused you of being a bridezilla?"
Her cheeks turn slightly pink and, instead of answering, she asks, "Whatever makes you say that?"
So, yes, someone did. "Just the number of times you made sure to mention that you were literally going to be the world's most-Zen bride, kind of made me wonder if maybe you had an ax to grind."
She puts her fork and knife down and sighs. "Okay, well, there may have been a news report and maybe some awful bloggers that suggested that I bullied the network and the staff into such a quick wedding, and I just wanted to set the record straight."
She runs her tongue over her teeth before nodding. "Idoknow better than to let things like that get to me, but in this case, I hoped to nip it in the bud before I was given some unfair nickname that I could never shake, like Princess Nasty Bride or…something clever."
