London Daily Times
London’s social season is far off, but that hasn’t stopped everyone from gossiping about the upcoming wedding of London’s premiere socialite Lady Vanessa LeRoux to billionaire tech mogul Paolo Sartori. They are to be married at the chapel in the belly of St. Paul’s Cathedral. A large celebration is expected at the bride’s parents’ compound near Richmond after the conclusion of the church ceremony. Adrienne Papillon, the bridal designer, says that the dress will make her the “bride of the century”. Everyone expected that but they also expected Prince Duncan to have proposed years before. Instead, she is the one who got away.
The one who got away.
Oof. I hated that term, even if I agreed that Vanessa very much fit that bill. I had a love-hate relationship with the thought of her making her way down the aisle to me. Sometimes, I worried she might leave Paolo and return to me. I knew that would end poorly, but I was a weak man for Nessa.
A year ago, when their engagement was announced, I began a mental countdown until the day of reckoning. But until mid-week leading to their nuptials, I’d been too focused on my new distraction to worry. Ella remained the plaything that brightened every day. The more I begged, the more she obliged.
It wasn’t just about her making me work for any slight bit of affection she might grant. No, it became much closer with time. After all, what more was there to do but talk and stare outside at the sea or sheep? I also knew how perceptive Ella was. Lying to her only made for a bad day. She became an integral part of my inner circle in mere weeks.
When I found her home with the telly on that night, she invited me to watch with her. I’d take that response and relax with her. She wouldn’t baby me. She never did. She’d listen.
“You were out of it this morning. Does this have to do with She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, Duncan?”
I groaned and looked at the ceiling.
“She’s gone and you’re free. Even if it hurts, you are free,” she said.
“Don’t go down the rabbit hole of ‘she was never good enough for you’, Ella,” I said.
She leaned over me, looking down as I lay with my head on a pillow. Her face and resolve comforted me. She looked at me with compassion, not pity.
“It doesn’t help. I know. And I’d not say it, Duncan. Because I gather that wasn’t your issue. What I will say is… you deserve happiness. We all do. She does, too.”
“Thanks. And thanks for not blowing smoke up my arse.”
“Anytime.”
I asked, “Want to fly away somewhere?”
She looked pained. “I have plans, Duncan. Sorry.”
“Oh.” I assumed they were plans with a man.
“Not that you’re allowed any ownership of me, Duncan, but no. It’s not with a man. It’s with a friend and her family—my chosen family. I am going to visit them in Switzerland for the long weekend. You said I could go. It was last minute, but they sent me?—”
“Oh, go, go, for sure,” I said, disappointed.
I would miss her. Genuinelymissher.
“Unless, you know, you could play hooky for a couple of days and fly me out?” She chirped.
“I have a long weekend, yes. That’s why I asked. Where are you going?”
“Andermatt,” she answered.
“Oh, posh!”
“Fuck off!” Ella giggled. “You’re one to talk! My friends’ parents have a chalet. They’re still there and they are desperate to see me. Well, it’s more of a compound. They get passes to the resort.”
“So you like to ski?”
“No. I loathe it. It scares the shit out of me. However, I love the spa and eating cheese and chocolate. Switzerland is great. Also, my friend Monique—she’s like my sister—I would go to the ends of the earth to see her.”
I smiled. “I get that.”
“You have a friend like that?”
