by Paige Toon
I walk to the window and look out. I’m bothered by the room revelation. His mother knew we’d been sleeping together when she came to visit almost two and a half years ago. She hasn’t returned since, but surely she knows we’ve been living together for nearly two years. Things are obviously serious between us. I take a deep breath and try not to let it get to me. My room overlooks the back gardens. There’s a rectangular, man-made lake directly behind the house, and beyond that is a natural lake that seems to reach for miles.
‘We go waterskiing in the summer,’ Lukas says and I jump at his voice because I didn’t realise he was right behind me.
‘Sounds fun.’
We’re going skiing in a few days. I’ve never skied before and I’m slightly dreading it. I’m not sure I’d fare any better at waterskiing. I look back at the lake in the garden. It’s frozen and there are swans walking on it.
‘Hah!’ I point. ‘Look at those swans!’
He chuckles and pulls me away from the window.
‘I’d better go and get changed,’ he says. ‘I’ll come and get you before we go downstairs.’
‘I’m scared,’ I admit.
‘Don’t be,’ he says gently, kissing me on my nose. I kiss him on his lips, not wanting him to leave. He slowly pulls away.
‘Can I come with you?’ I ask desperately.
He regards me with amusement.
‘Do you really have to get changed?’ I know I sound a bit manic. ‘Am I supposed to get changed? I hope not, because this is my best outfit.’
‘You look beautiful,’ he says.
‘You look fine too,’ I tell him. ‘You don’t really need to change, do you?’
I kiss him and push him onto the bed. He starts to laugh and tries to get up again, but I keep pushing him backwards until finally he gives in and lies there, with me in his arms.
‘Okay, I won’t get changed,’ he says.
‘Phew.’
‘But we should go downstairs soon.’
‘Okay.’ Not yet, though.
I hold Lukas’s hand as we walk down the corridor together, going back the way we came. There’s not a soul to be seen as we step down the sweeping staircase, and turn left at the bottom. Lukas drops my hand and I follow him to a large door. He pushes it open. I instantly hear voices and instinctively step behind him, before berating myself for trying to hide. He reaches out and takes my hand again, leading me into a huge room where the walls are dark red and hung with oil paintings. There are several unfamiliar people seated on antique gilded chairs and once more I feel like I’m in a dream, then, suddenly:
‘LUKAS!’ A dark-haired man in his late twenties shouts with joy and leaps to his feet, rushing over to swamp my boyfriend in a bear hug. They pat each other’s back and slap each other’s cheeks with delight as they chatter away in German. I am too on edge to concentrate on understanding, and before I know it the man has turned to me.
‘You must be Alice,’ he says affectionately, taking my hand. ‘I’m Markus.’ And all of a sudden we’re surrounded by people. I meet Markus’s wife, Eva, who is serene and beautiful, but seems nice. Their son, Max, is a cuddly toddler with blond hair and a cheeky grin, and Lukas’s sister, Frieda, is warm and welcoming. I barely have a chance to speak to Lukas’s matronly aunt, gruff uncle or two cousins, one of whom has a wife and a little girl of about five, because Frieda ushers me away to one of the antique sofas. She’s taller than me by a couple of inches and is reasonably big-boned. She has light-blonde hair cut in a jaw-length bob, her eyes are green and her smile is blinding. She’s two years older than Lukas, which makes her twenty-six.
‘I’m so happy to finally meet you!’ she exclaims as soon as we’re seated. Lukas is in the midst of his extended family. ‘I can’t believe my little brother kept you from us for so long!’ I laugh awkwardly and shrug. ‘But you’re here, now.’ She pats my hand. ‘Tell me everything about yourself!’
‘Um . . .’
‘Frieda, leave her be!’ Markus exclaims as he and the rest of the family return to join us on the opulent chairs and sofas.
Frieda snaps something in German which I can’t understand and Markus tuts. She quickly turns back to me.
‘Ignore my brother. He’s a bore.’
He seems nothing like a bore to me, but I think she’s joking.
‘We have so much to talk about!’ she cries.
‘You have four days,’ Markus says in German, before apologising to me in English.
‘It’s okay, I understood,’ I tell him. ‘My German is not very good, but I’m trying to learn.’
‘Aw!’ Frieda rubs my arm with great affection. ‘She’s so sweet, Lukas!’
‘Never mind,’ Markus says. ‘We will speak in English for the duration of your visit.’
I feel bad. ‘You don’t have to . . .’
‘Absolutely we will!’ Frieda exclaims. ‘It gives us a chance to practise.’
‘It doesn’t sound like you need to practise,’ I say. Their English appears perfect to me.
The door opens and everyone starts as Lukas’s mother walks through, accompanied by a slight grey-haired man about ten years her senior. Along with everyone else, I quickly get to my feet. The atmosphere is wholly changed.
‘Be seated, be seated,’ Frau Heuber says in German, waving her hand to illustrate her words. Lukas nods at me to indicate that I should remain standing. I do so, trying not to fidget.
‘Aah, Lukas,’ she says, spying her younger son.
‘Hello, Mother,’ he replies. ‘Father.’ He goes to kiss her hand and shake his father’s, before beckoning to me. I step out through the feet of his extended family, aware, as though in a dream, that even the children have fallen silent.
‘Welcome to our home, Alice,’ his mother says with an icy, penetrative stare.
‘Thank you.’ I find myself bowing slightly. What the hell?
‘Father, this is Alice.’ Lukas speaks in English. I hope they don’t mind too much.
His father grunts an acknowledgement.
‘Perhaps we should go through,’ his mother says. It’s not a question. Once more the others scramble to their feet. We wait patiently as Lukas’s parents lead the way to the adjoining dining room, where a long mahogany table has been laid with china. His mother sits at one end of the table and his father at the other. Lukas sits beside me and squeezes my hand under the table.
Afternoon tea is a formal affair, and it’s hard to enjoy the many delights that appear on the table because I feel too ill at ease. Frieda tries to make conversation with me, but whenever she gets too animated her father snaps at her in German. It’s uncomfortable to see. Eventually his parents take their leave, along with the matronly aunt and gruff uncle, and the room visibly relaxes once only the twenty-somethings and children remain.
‘Sometimes I think we live in the nineteenth century,’ Frieda jokes, and I can’t help but giggle, even though Markus frowns at her. I’m glad to have found a like-minded person. I think we’re going to get on well.
Later I manage to escape with Lukas for a stroll around the garden. The light is quickly fading and it’s cold, but there’s no wind so it’s not unbearable. We wander past the man-made lake to the lake at the end of the garden. There’s a summerhouse there, lit with fairy lights; icicles hang from the eaves. We stand on the porch and Lukas pulls me close.
‘It’s beautiful here,’ I say, permanently awestruck. ‘I can’t believe you grew up with all of this.’
He shrugs. ‘I didn’t know any different.’
‘Don’t you ever feel homesick?’ I ask, studying his face.
‘Sometimes,’ he admits.
‘I didn’t know that.’
Why didn’t I know that? Isn’t that something I should know?
‘I’ll take you to the Christmas market in Munich tomorrow,’ he says.
‘That would be great.’ Pause. ‘Would you like to move back here?’
He thinks for a moment before answering. ‘Yes.’
The thought sends a chill through me.
‘But not yet,’ he says.
‘What does Markus do?’ I ask suddenly. ‘And Eva?’
‘Markus works with my father.’
‘Eva?’
‘She’s a lawyer, for now.’
‘For now?’
‘Once Markus inherits she’ll run the house and the estate.’
‘Why can’t she be a lawyer too?’
‘It wouldn’t work.’
I give him a perplexed look.
He sighs. ‘It’s okay if you don’t understand, but when she married Markus she took on certain responsibilities. This is her life now.’
‘I don’t understand,’ I say firmly. ‘But never mind. I don’t suppose it matters if everyone’s happy about it.’
‘They are,’ he says.
Four days later we drive to Ischgl in Austria to go skiing. Lukas’s father lends him a black four-wheel-drive Mercedes G-Wagen, and I grip the armrest tightly as he navigates the Alps with a look of satisfaction on his face. I know he misses his Porsche. The money from its sale has long since been spent on our rent and living expenses, but it’s only a matter of time before he’ll buy another car.
The journey along the winding mountain roads is far from relaxing, yet with every mile I feel weight slide from my shoulders. We weren’t with Lukas’s parents for long, but it felt like forever. The pressure to perform was immense. I went there with the attitude that I would not be bowed by them – that they’re no better than me – but I felt far less brave once I was there in that enormous mansion. Luckily Lukas’s siblings, partners and children continued to make me feel welcome, even if I never felt comfortable enough to truly be myself.
We’re staying at a modern five-star hotel with big windows looking out over the snow-covered mountains. There’s an expensive bottle of champagne waiting on ice for us in our super-luxurious suite. I fall onto the bed and sigh with happiness as the last of the weight slips away.
‘Happy?’ he asks.
‘Mmm.’ My eyes are closed, but I feel the mattress move as he hovers above me. I open my eyes to look into his.
‘You did really well,’ he says earnestly.
‘With your parents?’ I ask.
‘Yes. With everyone.’
I prop myself up on the pillows so I can converse with him more easily. ‘The others were easy to get along with,’ I say.
‘I’m glad you liked them.’
‘I did. I do,’ I correct myself. ‘I hope your parents don’t disapprove of me too much,’ I add with a smile.
‘No.’ He shakes his head and looks grave. ‘They’ll get used to you with time.’
What an odd thing to say. ‘Let’s hope so,’ I say. He fails to spot the sarcasm. ‘So what do you want to do now?’ I ask. He’s going to hit the pistes tomorrow, while I plan to take to the nursery slopes with a personal instructor. Lukas is keen for me to learn as quickly as I can so we can go skiing together – that won’t be this trip, though. I hope I enjoy it – the spa and heated pool looked pretty damn enticing to me – but I reckon I could just about manage tobogganing if all goes wrong.
‘I thought we’d take a ride up the mountains and watch the sunset,’ he suggests.
‘Sounds lovely.’
We manage to secure a cable car all to ourselves and it glides up, up, up the mountain to the very top, where the snow is the purest white and the sky is the bluest blue. Ischgl is a tiny dot far below. I notice Lukas watching with envy as skiers shoot off down the slopes. I bet he’s a brilliant skier – he’s good at everything else.
‘Tomorrow,’ I say with a grin, squeezing his thickly gloved hand. He turns to face me and his expression is a mix of emotions. ‘What are you looking like that for?’ I tease, but he doesn’t smile.
‘I love you,’ he says.
‘I love you too.’
‘No, I love you, Alice.’ I’m shocked to realise that he’s close to tears. ‘When you said Rosalinde was my first love . . . You were wrong.’ He shakes his head fervently. ‘You’re my first love. I love you. I’ve never loved anyone more.’
I swallow. I so want to be able to say the same about him. Out of the blue I feel like screaming with frustration. JOE IS GONE! He’s in my past. Lukas is my future. He may not be perfect, he may be a bit aloof at times, but he’s also smart, sexy and anything but ordinary, And. . . he’s here. He’s never left me. He’s never deserted me. He has always come back to me when he’s said he would. I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that he loves me. I want to slap myself around the face for not being able to accept that this is enough.
Suddenly Lukas pulls off his glove and delves into his coat pocket. He doesn’t meet my eyes and it’s like the world around us has come to a standstill as he kneels on the brittle snow and presents me with a diamond ring.
‘Alice Simmons,’ he says in a clear, precise voice. ‘Will you marry me?’
He sounds so formal, so . . . nervous, I realise with a flood of love for him. Finally he meets my eyes and I know that I can give him no other answer.
‘Yes.’
Goodbye, Joe.
‘That is the most enormous fuck-off diamond I have ever seen.’
I smile at Lizzy and take my hand away.
‘Seriously, how do you lift your arm?’ she asks.
‘Oh, stop it,’ I chide.
‘Husband. Husband,’ she emphasises the word. ‘Husband,’ she repeats.
‘Stop it!’ I say again. ‘He’s not my husband yet.’
‘It won’t be long, though. You may as well get used to calling him it.’
‘Stop going on and help me find a wedding dress.’
We’re waiting in a bridal shop for an appointment I booked six weeks ago. I’ve gone to London for a weekend of shopping.
‘Are you sure the Husband isn’t going to have one made for you?’ she asks wryly.
That’s a really good point. ‘He’d better not,’ I say. ‘This is one dress I’m choosing myself.’
‘I hope he knows that,’ she mutters.
‘He does,’ I say firmly, making a mental note to double-check later.
The sales assistant flourishes through and invites us into the hallowed boutique, where rows and rows of white and cream gowns are lined up on padded silk coat hangers.
‘Whoa,’ Lizzy says, looking around.
‘Let’s start over here,’ I direct.
‘You seem remarkably calm considering the wedding is only months away.’
‘Why shouldn’t I be calm?’ I ask, not really wanting an answer.
‘I still don’t understand what the rush is,’ she says.
‘Lizzy, can we please not go there again?’
I’ve had this discussion before, both with Lizzy, and with my parents. Lukas’s father turns sixty next summer, and apparently things are growing serious between Frieda and her boyfriend, who I didn’t meet at Christmas. Lukas persuaded me that we should secure a date for this year before any other family commitments got in the way. And so we’re getting married in August. This August. Five and a half months away.
AAAARRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!! Deep breath.
‘I can’t believe you agreed to get married in Germany,’ she says.
‘Neither can I,’ I admit. Lukas’s mother insisted. I found out later that he asked his parents for their blessing – or permission, I’m not sure which – when we were at his house over Christmas. His mother agreed to the engagement on the condition that they hosted the wedding. My parents were a little put-out. I’m their only child and my mum, in particular, had always assumed she’d play a large part in organising my Big Day. I feel bad for hurting her feelings, but I hope she’ll understand when she meets Lukas’s family. Things have to be a certain way when you come from high society. Or whatever.
‘Anyway, she’s dealt with most of the arrangements so far, so I’m trying to go with the flow.’
‘You’re a better woman than I am,’ Lizzy says. ‘Ooh, this
one’s pretty.’
I turn to see the glittering gown she’s extracted from the rail. I’ve been pulling out dress after dress and not really seeing any of them.
‘Mmm, it is,’ I agree.
‘Can she try this one on?’ Lizzy asks the sales assistant, who rushes over to take it from her. We continue looking.
‘Are Jessie and Emily coming to the wedding?’ she asks.
‘I hope so.’
‘I didn’t think the Husband was too keen on them.’
He’s not keen on you, either. I keep this revelation to myself.
‘Can you stop calling him that? Anyway, it doesn’t matter what he thinks. They’re my friends and they’re coming to my wedding.’
If they want to. I’m not entirely convinced that they will. News of my engagement went down like a lead balloon. At least Mum and Dad have come around to the idea. They may have expressed some concerns about us getting married so quickly – and in Germany – but they do like Lukas and they know he makes me happy.
‘Did you have a nice time?’ Lukas asks me later.
‘Yes, thank you. Lukas, you do know that I want to choose my own wedding dress, don’t you?’
He frowns. ‘Do you honestly believe I would choose it for you?’
‘No, not really . . .’
‘Is this about your ball gowns?’
Note the use of the plural, here. I attended my second and final Trinity ball in a dress that was once more chosen and paid for by Lukas. Lizzy doesn’t even know about that one, but it didn’t escape Jessie and Emily’s attention. I seem to remember that was the first time Jessie called Lukas a control freak.
‘That’s completely different,’ I say, brushing him off. ‘But this is my wedding dress. If nothing else, that’s the one thing I want to have my say on.’
‘Of course,’ he soothes, helping me out of my coat. I’ve barely got past the front door. ‘And you will have. Did you find anything that you liked?’ he asks casually as he hangs my coat on the hallstand.
‘Not really.’ My shoulders slump. He takes my hands and looks down at me.
‘Listen,’ he says gently. ‘I know you want to exert your authority, but don’t cut off your nose to spite your face.’