She does a double take and then, rolling her eyes dramatically, returns to looking straight ahead without slowing down on the cross-trainer. Gyms already make me nervous, what with everyone being very sporty and the intense trance music they always play, but with Cordelia there, it’s much more intimidating than usual. I’m trying to act as nonchalantly as possible, like I go to the gym all the time and I’m totally at ease around all this spaceship-style equipment.
“Are you stalking me now?”
“Your mum mentioned you’d be here after your early business meeting this morning, so I thought I’d pop by to see if you wanted to go for a coffee afterward,” I explain, as she continues her workout. “We can discuss dress ideas. Lady Meade tells me you’re deciding on which designer to go with. We can brainstorm together.”
“Don’t you have another bride you can annoy?” she grumbles, beads of sweat forming on her forehead.
“You are my priority today,” I reply.
“I thought the deal was that if I need you you’re there for me. And I don’t need you. So you can leave now.” She presses some buttons on the screen in front of her to make the workout harder, her eyes focused on her reflection in the mirrors lining the wall.“And I’ll be speaking to whoever’s on the front desk about them letting just anyone walk into this supposedly exclusive gym.”
“Your mum put in a word for me. And, technically, you’re right, but I got the feeling you might not think to call me when you need help. Sometimes it’s hard to ask,” I say brightly, determined to keep putting a positive spin on everything. “I thought it best to be here, just in case.”
“I don’t want you here.”
“I can understand that—you seem very focused, which is great. Keep those knees up! Ha-ha. Do you want me to wait outside until you’re done?”
She looks at me strangely, then slows down until she’s stopped altogether. She steps down from the cross-trainer and I hand her the towel hanging over the handlebar.
“Don’t you ever give up?” she asks, patting the towel across her face.
“Why would I want to?”
“For one thing,” she says, raising her voice so everyone else in the gym can hear, “all the wedding guests now think you’re either a high-class hooker, an uninvited mime artist, or a pan-flute teacher who was trying to pitch your services for the wedding.”
“I didn’t hear the pan-flute one. That’s kind of cool.”
“And for another thing,” she continues, ignoring me, “I plan on making your life hell until you’re forced to quit. It’ll be much easier for both of us if you give up now.”
A tiny part of my brain thinks,She has a point.We’re only at the beginning of the process and, so far, this has been the worst wedding experience of my life. I’ve had to deal with demanding brides and even more demanding grooms, disorganized bridesmaids, crude best men, last-minute rips in dresses, hair disasters, and bored children running riot through church services and fancy receptions, not to mention animals.
Don’t get me started on the time the goats got loose andwe discovered them on the tables before the wedding breakfast, munching on the centerpieces.
But I’ve never been in a situation where the bride is so determined to attack me personally every chance she gets.
I will not let her defeat me, though.
Lady Cordelia Swann is my biggest challenge yet, and I’m going to face it head-on. If I can win her over, I can winanyoneover, and before I know it, I’ll be organizing high-society weddings left, right, and center, with the best contacts and suppliers the UK has to offer.
That’s what’s keeping me going. That’s what I have to keep telling myself.
“I don’t think I’ll give up quite yet,” I say, shrugging.
“I’m not joking when I say I’m going to make your life hell,” she threatens.
“And I’m not joking when I say I’ll be waiting outside for you when you’re ready. I’ll get you some fresh water. Enjoy the rest of your workout.”
I turn on my heel and march out, my smooth exit marginally ruined by tripping over the corner of one of those stupid gym mats on which a woman is stretching. I exhale once I’m through the door to Reception, then stroll over to speak to the man behind the front desk.
“How many exits are there from the ladies’ changing room?”
“Um… one.”
“Are you sure? Just the one? No fire escapes or anything?”
“Oh, well, there’s a fire door at the back, but that’s only to be used in an emergency.”
“And that exit leads into which street?”
