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Find dress of dreams.
Sort hair.
Join the gym.
Decide on menu for wedding breakfast.
Ask Frankie to be Maid of Honor.
Ask Rose NOT to be Maid of Honor.
Somehow befriend Jack’s parents.
Figure out who’s sending anonymous messages, and if they’re true.
Write book.
Survive the meeting of the parents.
Apologize to Jack.
Apologize to Rose.
Apologize to their parents.
Apologize to everyone else I might have inadvertently offended, both last night and during the entire rest of my life.
Jack is already up and out of the house by the time I wake up the next morning, which means only Rose and her parents get to witness my heartfelt apology for the whisky incident the night before. This is a good thing, because, as is the norm for me, my face turns as red as my hair as soon as I start speaking, then I almost knock over the coffeepot as I finish.
“It’s fine,” Rose sighs, reaching out a hand to steady it. “I mean, the dress was dry-clean only, but—”
“I’ll pay for the cleaning,” I tell her eagerly. “Or I’ll buy you a new one. Whatever you like. I just really want you to know that I don’t hate you, Rose; and I’m sorry if I made you think that. It was just a stupid accident, I swear. And Iamvery clumsy; just ask anyone. I’m so grateful for everything you’ve done for us, though. And you, Kathryn,” I add, turning to Jack’s mother. “Thank you for arranging the engagement party for us. It was very… kind of you. I hadn’t even thought of having one.”
“No. Well, I suppose you hadn’t really been in society much until Jack found you,” says Kathryn, speaking as if I’m some kind of wide-eyed debutante from the 1800s, and Jack the dashing duke who agrees to take me off the marriage market in exchange for a handsome dowry. “We must make allowances.”
“Th… Thank you,” I mumble, unable to think of a way to respond to this that won’t make things even worse. I give them both a few seconds, to see if they want to apologize too, for not including me in my own engagement party, then when they both immediately turn back to their phones, I give up and go to get ready for the show.
Let’s just hope I’m not the main piece of entertainment this time.
The wedding fayre Rose has arranged for us to go to is being held in The Northern: a large, Victorian-built hotel, the bar of which Frankie and I used to try to sneak into every weekend as teenagers.
Like the rest of Heather Bay, however, The Northern has come up in the world since then; even Rose coos her approval as we walk up the wide steps and into the white painted building, where Mum and Dad are waiting for us, both looking a little the worse for wear.
Bertie’s opted to spend the morning at home, and Jack’s yet to arrive (“He really didn’t want to come, but he said he’d meet us here if he could make it,” says Rose vaguely, making me wonder why he couldn’t tell me that himself; or even send me a quick message. Iamstill his fiancée, after all. As far as I know, anyway.), so it’s just the five of us who head inside, Rose pulling out a lengthy list of things we need to try to find as we go.
The hotel’s giant ballroom is filled with stalls selling every kind of wedding-related accessory imaginable. I spot Bella McGowan on one side of the room, presiding over a table filled with her home baking, and steer Mum and Dad over to her, Rose and Kathryn tailing us like bloodhounds.
“Oh, look, these are cute,” says Rose, picking up a cupcake with a tiny bride and groom made out of icing sugar on top. “We could have these instead of a tiered cake. Alternative cakes are a big trend in the wedding industry right now. I know someone who had one made of cheese.”
“They’re fully customizable too,” says Bella, beaming at her. “I could do ye a redheaded bride, like Emerald, and a devilishly handsome groom, like your Jack.”
Rose smiles at this, but Kathryn immediately wrinkles her nose and tries to move her away.
“Lovely,” she says, “But I don’t think these will do at all, unfortunately. I was thinking of something more traditional for the cake—”
“I do more traditional cakes too,” says Bella, glancing at me. “If that’s what Emerald wants, of course? I have photos of some of my past creations, if ye’d like to see them?”
“Oh, no, thank you,” says Kathryn, before I can answer. “There’s a delightful little bakery in Paris I know. I think we’ll probably go with them.”
