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He considers this for only a moment. “Oh! Some of the weddings are themed.”
“Themed?” I repeat, confused. One of my cousins had her wedding at Disneyland when I was a kid, and I thought she was a genius. Something tells me that’s not the case here.
“One’s at a Renaissance Faire,” he clarifies. “There’s a yacht wedding with a 1920s or flapper theme? I’ll send you the itinerary so you can check it out. If… You’re possibly saying yes?”
I nod, trying to play it cool. “I mean… I told Olivia I’d meet the guy when I thought he was two hundred years old with, like, three scary ex-wives in city limits.”
Charlie makes a cough-laugh sound. “So, I’m a slight downgrade but still acceptable?”
“I haven’t decided yet. But… What the hell?” I sigh. “I’m in. Send me the itinerary.”
We shake on our agreement, and I resist a shiver at the feel of his large hand gripping mine.
“First wedding’s tomorrow,” he says. “Boathouse, Central Park. Black tie.”
“I can do that,” I say, sounding more confident than I feel.
“Fine.” Charlie looks at me a moment longer, and mutters something that sounds an awful lot like ‘God help me’, then he turns and saunters away.
I walk toward the train,feeling dazed. A few days ago, I had my personal assistant job and, yes, it was loathsome. But, of all the gigs I imagined taking next, I didn’t see “attending weddings with your high school’s dreamboat” coming.
When I let myself accept that this is really happening, I have to admit that I’m intrigued. What has Charlie Fox—the guy under ‘Best Looking’ in my senior yearbook—made of his life? If he can blow ten thousand dollars on minor convenience, then he’s clearly succeeding financially. Is he happy, though? What’s the deal with the intense, no-commitment thing?
Still, it’s a strange setup, and I feel like I need one last assurance. When I call Olivia’s number, she picks up on the first ring.
“How’d it go?” she asks in a singsong voice.
“I agreed.”
“Excellent!” She sounds pleased, but totally unsurprised. I’m guessing most girls wouldn’t pass on that kind of money. Or the extremely hot guy. “I’ll send over a contract. I’m sure you’ll have a great time. Charlie’s a gem. He’s thoughtful, polite, easy to talk to. A game dancer, actually, as I’m sure you’ll see.”
Slow dancing with Charlie Fox in formalwear. I probably stared at the ceiling of my childhood bedroom and daydreamed about that, in detail. In the end, I never even went to prom. Now, it’s my job to live out the fantasy twelve times.
“Well, thank you for thinking of me,” I tell Olivia. It seems like the polite thing to say.
“Of course!” Olivia replies. And then, “You know, I went on some dates with a client once. So, I do understand the hesitation.”
“Oh yeah?” It’s reassuring that someone as put-together as Olivia has been down this road. “And it went okay?”
She laughs like there’s a joke I’m not in on. “Great! Perfect. Matrimonial, in the end.”
I’m silent for a few seconds, dodging a bike messenger. “You married the client?”
“A little bit. Yep. Sure did.” There’s a brief hesitation in her voice. “So, take a warning from someone who knows: Even if you don’t feel a connection at first, spending all that time together can lead to feelings. And Charlie’s really serious about no commitment.”
I think of Charlie Fox scoffing at me. What were his exact words?Oh God, no—no?
“Ha,” I snort, brushing my hair over my shoulder. My station is in view, waiting to whisk me back to Brooklyn. “Me and Charlie? That’s never going to happen.”
5
GRACE
When Friday rolls around,I’m standing in front of my antique mirror, examining myself from every angle.Not too bad. I smile. There’s not much I’m sure of in life, but I know this is a foolproof wedding guest look. My favorite, slash only real fancy dress is cornflower blue with thin straps and a V-neckline. Not too sexy, not too modest. No bold colors or eye-catching details. Summery, flattering, comfortable: Done.
I carefully apply my mascara, pleased at my thrift. Aren’t the fashion magazines always saying that shopping your own closet is the new big thing? That incidentals budget of Charlie’s can be better spent on a million other things. Like rent. And health insurance.
Charlie… I pause, remembering his surly-yet-still-incredibly-attractive attitude over coffee. I still can’t believe that this evening, I’ll be on his arm at a fancy Central Park wedding. It still feels like an elaborate joke. What would people back home say about Grace Sommerville being Charlie Fox’s date?
