“I suppose it’s a bit too attention-grabbing,” I agreed, ducking back behind the curtain.
“You’d blind the guests and your new client would sue.”
A few minutes later, I emerged in Cara’s pick and her face lit up. We both agreed it was perfect. Classy, elegant, and simple enough to blend in. I paired it with heels I already owned (the dress was floor-length, so they couldn’t really be seen anyway), a black and gold clutch bag, and the gold dangling earrings Nisha had given me. I booked a last-minute blow-dry and spent about an hour getting my eyeliner just right.
Just as I’d been about to leave, my phone started ringing.
“Hi, Mum,” I said, looking at the back of my dress in the mirror to double-check that the Spanx line—so high it was just below my boobs—wasn’t visible.
“Hi, darling, just checking in! How are you?”
“I’m heading out the door to a party. Can I call tomorrow?”
“Oh, wonderful! A party! I’m glad you’re keeping busy. You deserve some fun!”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I said, picking up my clutch.
“You know, after Daniel’s wedding invitation.”
“Oh. That.” I glanced into my office (cupboard) and saw it on the desk, still unanswered. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Your dad is furious. He says it was cruel of him to invite you and that you’re much better off without him.”
“Tell Dad thanks. Anyway, I think my taxi’s here, so I’d better go.”
“Have fun!” she trilled. “You never know who you’ll meet!”
As the taxi pulls up to the Rosewood, I check my dress and take some deep breaths, glancing out of the window at the beautiful hotel ahead. That’s when I see them: a horde of reporters clambering over one another to get closer to the iron gates of the archway entrance to the hotel courtyard. Word must have got out about the party.
“Wait!” I cry to the taxi driver as he gets closer. “Don’t stop, you need to go round the back or something. Keep going.”
I absolutely cannothave my picture taken in the lead-up to this wedding. If I was photographed with Lady Cordelia or going into her party and that was online somewhere, there was a chance that someone who knows me might spot it and be a tad confused when I was captioned as Emily Taylor.
“Round the back?” He frowns into the rearview mirror.
“Yes.”
“But the entrance to the hotel is here.”
“I can’t be seen by those photographers, so I’ll have to find another way in.”
He raises his eyebrows as we drive past the hotel and turn left to go round it. “Are you famous or something?”
“No! I’m nobody.”
“Sure.” He taps his nose. “Don’t worry, love, you can trust me. Are you that actress from the film with the dog?”
“No,” I reply, distracted by trying to spot another door into the hotel.
“I know! It’s the one set on the farm with What’s-his-name!” His eyes widen in excitement. “Hey, your accent was really good.”
“Thank you. I’ll hop out here,” I say, noticing an open loading-bay door with a van pulling into it.
“Sorry your marriage to that old guy didn’t work out,” the taxi driver says, as I attempt to slide out as elegantly as possible in my dress. “Next time, eh?”
I smile graciously at him and shut the door, making a note to check out all films set on a farm tomorrow to work out who the hell he thought I was, before I totter down the pavement toward the loading bay, holding up my dress carefully.
“Good evening! Don’t mind me!” I say cheerily, waving my clutch, when I receive a strange look from the man waiting to unload crates from the van. “Ah, hold the door!”
