He’s frowning at my hand. ‘So what’s with the nappy sacks?’
I drag in a breath. ‘Don’t ask.’
His brow crumples, then his face clears. ‘Wait a minute, have you got a baby? Is this with the engaged guy?’
‘No, definitely no baby.’ I’m shaking my head. ‘It’s a long story. One for another time.’
He gives a grunt. ‘I’m not falling for that twice. You still haven’t told me about the last one yet?’
I’m going to have to get past him to reach the stairs, and something tells me he won’t be moving until I do. ‘I spent five years planning a wedding that didn’t happen. Is that long enough for you?’
‘Crap, Milla, I’m sorry.’
I make my voice light. ‘It’s fine, I picked up the pieces, we all moved on.’
His brows close. ‘That must be hard when you’re in the trade.’
I’m waving the box at him, aware there’s a taxi waiting downstairs. ‘And the bags are wedding business too, but someone else’s. Now, if you’ll excuse me …’ I’m screaming inside at how like Phoebe I sound.
‘So many weddings!’ He’s laughing now and his eyes are sparkling. ‘Of course, I forgot, every day’s a wedding day at Brides by the Sea.’
‘Great soundbite. But I am working, I really do have to rush.’ I’d rather not push past him with so little space and so much of him on view, but thankfully he steps back into the living room doorway. ‘And you need to get dressed.’ Just reminding him, as he seems to have forgotten.
The corners of his eyes crinkle. ‘I’m actually on my way into the shower …’
So he’s going to get naked, not dressed. That’s one blank I did not ask my brain to fill in. And I could do without the sudden burst of dragonflies in my chest too. At this rate I’m going to need the nappy sacks before Cally.
From the way he’s standing there grinning at me it’s clear he’s enjoying this. ‘Well, after this extra special start to the day, you have a great wedding. And a lovely weekend.’
I’m shouting up from halfway down the first flight of stairs. ‘Back at you.’
‘And watch out for sundaes and waitresses on roller skates.’
I’d tell him to eff off for that, but I’m already too far away. In any case, when I think of what’s in store for me today, on balance I might choose the ice cream.
Chapter 13
Later on Saturday.
At the Waterfront Marina Hotel.
Portion control and musical differences.
The first view I get of the grey façade of the hotel is against an expanse of glassy, dark green sea. The chunky stone, the repeating windows and the sheer scale of the hotel building is so palatial, pretty much all that’s missing is Her Majesty. But then, where Buckingham Palace would be sitting in acres of royal gardens, the massive sweeping lawns here run straight out into a small private marina where the glittery broken water beside the jetties is filled with shiny cruisers and a few over-sized yachts with very tall masts.
Around the front, the taxi draws up outside some wide stone steps topped by columns that flank an entrance portico. Even before we slide to a halt there are doormen in bright blue jackets, their pinstripe trousers brushing the car wings, poised and ready to open the car doors.
The next three hours flash by, with a few exceptions where small shocks make time stand still. Like when we find out the posies are double the size of the ones Cally ordered, that the roses have changed to lilies, and the string quartet has been swapped for an orchestra. And when Nigel’s mum, Patricia, bursts in to inspect us, and she calls St Aidan a dump. Then there’s my first glass of champagne that goes out of the window and onto the heads of some guests down below having a cheeky cigarette.
That’s the thing about wedding mornings – however many light years you allow at the start, by the end it’s always a rush. But we’re here now, and I’m whispering to Cally outside the ceremony room, keeping her calm.
‘It looks like most of Cornwall is in there.’
Holly, the photographer for the day, has gone in ahead of us to join Jules, dropping my bag off for me under my seat on her way, and I’m filling in the seconds as we wait outside the huge double doors. We’ve already noted that the taffeta chair covers and chiffon bows are the right colour of burnished gold and now we’re peeping past a monumental triple pedestal floral arrangement that’s so huge it would suit a lamp post more than a hotel to the sea of dark jackets and exotic hats beyond.
‘And I barely know any of them.’ Cally blows out a breath and clutches her tummy. ‘I feel sick.’
‘So long as it’s only nerves.’ I give her hand another squeeze. ‘The moment you hear theTruly Madly Deeplyentrance music start up you’ll be fine.’ We were singing it at the tops of our voices in the lift on the way down to keep Cally calm.I’ll be your dream, I’ll be your wish, I’ll be your fantasy… You don’t get a more romantic opening line than that.
