“Uh-huh. Eddie and I decided we’re going to tie the knot with a private ceremony in December. The state wedding will be next June. The news about that one will officially break tomorrow. We’re hoping the headlines will squash anything that’s still being printed about you.”
I charge toward the redhead and wrap my arms around her, hugging her tightly. “Thank you.” It’s not lost on me that my brother and soon-to-be sister-in-law are doing this for me. They easily could’ve waited another year, but they didn’t.
“Mm-hmm. It was a no-brainer. The wedding makes everybody happy and gets a huge monkey off our backs with the in-laws. The best bit is that my mom and your mum are doing all the work. All I have to do is find a dress for you and me.”
“You’re not going to be involved in the planning?” My eyes widen.
“I will with the December ceremony. But not the June one. I got a taste of what a royal wedding was like when I helped Clara with hers. I’m totally fine taking a back seat to the parental units this time around.”
“I think that’s brilliant.” For the first time in a week, I’m smiling.
“I’ll fill you in on the details later, but the December wedding is our secret for now. Well, my mom knows, but she’ll keep her lips sealed. Eddie and I were thinking we’d do our small ceremony at Disneyland Paris. We’ll make a long weekend out of it. The castle should be amaaaazing all decorated for Christmas.”
“Will you have a photographer or videographer on hand? I want to see it when you guys get back.”
“You’re going to be there, silly.” She elbows me. “Eddie and I wanted to ask you to be the maid of honor slash best woman. We both agreed you’re going to be the only guest we want there. Clara and David were invited too, but they don’t want to travel due to her pregnancy. And I can’t say I blame them.”
“Count me in.”
“Awesomesauce.” Amanda high-fives me. “Now hurry up. The dress shops of London await us.”
“I’ll be fast. I promise.”
I squirrel the tablet away to the bathroom and flick the lights on. At this point, Icouldsend Arthur a text, but I decide on an email. With how the universe has been conspiring against us lately, I think it’s better to play it safe. Just in case.
Logging into my account, I quickly pull up a blank template and begin typing a message similar to the one I tried to put together last week.
From: [email protected]
Dear Art,
Let me start out by saying how sorry I am for the entire situation you’ve been placed in. I wanted to let you know what was going on before the news broke, but unfortunately, I failed. I’ve felt guilty ever since. I didn’t want you to be caught by surprise. I’m sure it came as a nasty shock.
I also want you to know how much I miss you! I’ve been thinking about you nonstop, and I want more than anything to see you. I’m so very sorry that it’s taken so long for me to reach out to you. I promise it isn’t for lack of trying. Without going into too much detail, let’s just say that I understand how prisoners in the Tower of London must’ve felt.
I wanted you to know that I understand if things might have changed between us, and you feel that you no longer want anything to do with me. Even though I’ve done a crappy job of it, I just ask that you consider letting me remain your friend.
Best,
Alice
It’s not a message written with the grace and elegance of Shakespeare, but rather from a person who’s writing whatever comes to mind. There is so much I want to say, but now that I finally have the chance to write to Art, I’m struggling.
I read the message twice to make sure that it’s at least coherent, click Send, and watch it disappear from my inbox to the virtual world. I click the power button and the screen goes black. I let out a deep breath. That’s one weight that’s lifted off my shoulders.
I only hope Art receives it and knows I do care for him. A lot. It’s what made writing the last paragraph all the more difficult. If he doesn’t want to date me anymore, I understand. I’m probably more trouble than I’m worth. And I care about him enough to let him go so he can be happy. The last thing I’d ever want to do is hold him back.
Dress shoppingwith Amanda is not at all what I expect. Instead of going to a familiar shop, like the Clarissa Lee Atelier, we end uppopping into a series of vintage and second-hand boutiques along Brick Lane in Shoreditch.
“All right, Ali, let’s see if the fourth shop is the charm. Just like the others, pull anything that catches your eye,” Amanda instructs.
I nod, still not exactly certain what she’s looking for. All she’s told me is that she’s open to any dress and any color, which basically means use my best judgment. From past experience, I know that Amanda doesn’t usually wear large, full skirts. I steer away from the princess-y ballgowns in favor of fishtails and sleeker silhouettes.
“Oh, this one’s pretty.” She selects a cerulean-blue chiffon dress and holds it up to my body. “What do you think?”
The dress contains a sweetheart neckline with lace cap sleeves and a ruched bodice that continues down the right side of the skirt. The back has an arched opening that shows off just the right amount of skin. As I run my fingers over the material, I love how light and airy the fabric feels. “The color and the cut are amazing, but it needs a little more sparkle.”
