I Do--Or Do I?

by Karen King

  ‘So how many tiers would you like?’ Tilly was looking at her as if she’d already asked her the question once and been waiting for an answer. Maybe she had.

  ‘Four please, octagonal, and could you trim them with pearl icing the same shade of blue as the bridesmaids’ dresses, do you think?’ She opened her bag and searched for the piece of blue fabric which she’d slipped into a small plastic bag to stop it getting grubby, along with a few other pictures of things she liked. She fished it out of the bag and took out the material.

  ‘May I?’ Tilly carefully took it off her and laid it out on her palm. ‘Isn’t it a lovely colour, Mark?’

  He leant over and stroked the silky material. ‘Beautiful. We could use this colour icing for the edging, and also make some sugar flowers for decoration, if you’d like.’

  ‘Could you make a posy like this as the centrepiece?’ Cassie asked, pulling the bouquet cutting out of the plastic file.

  This time Mark was the one who took it off her. ‘How exquisite. This is your bouquet, yes?’

  ‘Yes. I don’t want a lot of pink in it, and not too bright either. I’d like the colours delicate as in the picture.’

  ‘I understand. No problem. We could do a small posy of this colour on every tier, in the corners, perhaps?’ He glanced at her. ‘Would you mind if I copy this picture? I have a photocopier in the flat if you could wait while I nip up.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Mark disappeared with the picture, leaving Tilly and Cassie to chat about her wedding plans. To Cassie’s relief, the short notice was no problem, and Tilly even offered to personally deliver the cake to the castle on the day of the wedding. Mark returned with the picture, then cut a small sample off the blue material to make sure he matched the icing. Cassie left a deposit and her phone number, and it was all settled.

  That was it, all sorted, Cassie thought as she walked over to her car. Every box was ticked with almost three weeks still to go. Planning a wedding wasn’t so difficult after all.

  ‘How’s your column coming on, Cassie?’ Owen asked when she walked into the newsroom.

  She sighed. This column was getting to be a bit of a bugbear. ‘Just about to write it,’ she told him.

  She’d decided to write about choosing the wedding cake this week, fruit or plain, different designs. Of course she’d have to bring Blake into it again, Owen always insisted on that. She sat down at the computer and opened a new document. Just write, she thought, then she could edit afterwards.

  Almost a Bride

  Three weeks to go and counting. There seems to be so many things to do that I almost wished we’d decided for a beach wedding abroad – just like Blake and I were planning to do all those years ago. I am not going to think of Blake. We are over, dead in the water. I’m marrying Ian and he’s a wonderful man. Worth two of Blake. A wedding abroad would have been far easier though. All we’d have to do is choose our outfits and the rest would be done for us. Maybe I should have gone along with monster-in-law’s suggestion of bringing in a wedding planner, then I could have sat back and left her to it. It didn’t seem right thought, someone else planning my – our – wedding although TBH we have had someone else planning it, Ian’s mother! If she had her way she’d have chosen the cake and flowers too but I resisted, although I could see that Ian wanted her to. None of them trust me to get it right. I mean. How difficult can it be?

  She paused. Owen liked the readers to have a choice so they could vote: encouraging readers to participate increased sales, he said. What could she get them to vote on? She gnawed her lip for a moment. Ah, the cake! They could decide what flavour and style to go for.

  It wasn’t difficult at all, actually. I found a lovely florist and a cute cake shop in a little village. So the flowers and cake are now ordered. Thank goodness. I’ve decided on four tiers, which won’t please monster-in-law. She said we should have three tiers, one to cut up on the day, one to cut up on our anniversary, and one for the christening of our first baby. I don’t think I want to keep the cake that long, surely it’ll be stale? I mean, I’m not intending to have kids for years yet although I know she thinks we should have them ASAP, preferably conceived on our wedding night. She’s so eager to be a gran, not that she’ll let the kids call her gran – it will be Grandmother. I don’t know what Ian thinks, we haven’t actually discussed having children. My best friend Andrea is aghast at this, and says it’s too important a subject not to discuss, but actually I think it’s too important to discuss before the wedding. I mean, what if Ian wants a family right away? There’s no way I’m going to agree to that. Or what if he doesn’t want one at all? I’d rather leave topics like that until we have to discuss them, why go looking for an argument? Not that we argue, Ian doesn’t believe in arguing, but the long silences and clipped replies of ‘yes’ or ‘no’ can be rather hard going.

  Anyway, back to the cake. Monster-in-law said that fruit cake is traditional for weddings but I hate fruit cake. I’d like a chocolate cake. Or at least one layer of chocolate. What do you think?

  Here’s a few wedding cake designs the lovely bakers make. Which one would you choose?

  Cassie pasted three wedding cake photos in the document and read it through again. There, that sounded OK. She might as well send it over for subbing now: she was due to go home in half an hour.

  She looked over at Owen’s office. The door was open as usual and he was sitting at his desk. ‘I’ve sent it to sub,’ she called.

  He put up his thumb and grinned.

  He wasn’t grinning when he called her into the office the next morning. ‘Look, Cassie, you need to up the stakes with this column a bit. We need more reader interest, more conflict. You need to add another meeting with that photographer. Let Paige doubt her decision to marry Timothy. The readers like that.’

  Damn the photographer. She wished she’d never written that mock column. It had turned into a monster she couldn’t get away from. ‘Look, he’s a photographer. There’s no need for me to see him every week. The readers won’t buy it if I keep bumping into him. Surely they want to know more about the wedding plans? That’s what the column is all about.’ She paused for breath. ‘Anyway, I have mentioned him.’

  ‘Not enough,’ Owen shook his head. ‘You’ve set the precedent now, there’s no going back. You’ve got to build up the tension. The readers want a “will she or won’t she?”. They want to be kept guessing as to whether the wedding will go ahead.’

  Cassie stared at him, horrified. He’s insisted on her upping the attraction between her and Blake every week but she’d no idea he was planning this angle. ‘You’ve got to be kidding.’ She knew he was right. Her email box was full of messages asking the same thing, and wanting to read more about Paige and Blake. What had she started? ‘Just tweak it a bit. Bring in another meeting with Blake. Maybe she can run into him at a coffee shop or something. And Cassie …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s a newspaper column, not a diary. You need to distance yourself from it a bit, stop comparing it to yourself and that bloody photographer ex of yours. Give the public what they want. Make things up.’

  Cassie sighed and went back to her computer. Half an hour later she sent over the new column featuring Paige having to visit Blake, because she and Ian had changed the wedding album design, and leaving the studio wondering what her wedding to Blake might have been like and whether she was doing the right thing marrying Ian. A completely fictional account. Apart from the last bit. She’d found herself wondering what her and Jared’s wedding would have been like quite a lot lately. It wouldn’t have been so stressful, she was sure. And she’d have been a lot more excited about it. Excitement was something lacking from her and Timothy’s wedding preparations. And that unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

  Jared pulled up outside the little newsagents, turned off the engine, and got out of the car. He stepped inside and looked around for Cassie’s newspaper, eager to read her column and find out if he was mentioned agai
n. He devoured her words over and over again, a smile playing on his lips as he spotted the subtle digs at him, letting him know that she was so over him.

  He never mentioned the column when he saw her, not since the first time. He didn’t know if she thought he still read it, but he guessed she did. It was unspoken between them; something they both ignored, like the frisson that ran through them when they both touched. He knew Cassie was still attracted to him. It was in her eyes, her posture, and he was still attracted to her. He also knew that neither of them would do anything about it, they would continue along the paths they’d chosen for themselves. She would marry Timothy and become a lawyer’s wife, probably give up work, have a couple of kids. He felt a wrench in his gut at the thought of Cassie and Timothy’s kids. Would they have her blue eyes and golden hair? Timothy’s smooth, sculptured good looks? They’d never be short of money, that’s for sure, would probably be sent to public school, their careers mapped out in front of them as soon as they were born.

  He wondered what their children would have been like, his and Cassie’s. An image of a little girl with his dark hair and Cassie’s twinkling eyes flashed across his mind. He thrust it away and picked up the newspaper. Their time had gone.

  It was midday before he had a chance to read her column. He smiled as he read it. She had such a fluid, chatty style, he could imagine the scenarios she recounted – Sylvia with her pursed lips and tight face trying to take control over everything, Timothy the twat trying to keep the peace with his mother and Cassie determined to do things her way. He wondered how long it would be before twat and monster-in-law wore her down and turned her into a Trophy Wife.

  Then he saw it, the bit about him at the end. He’d been wondering what she’d put, as she hadn’t seen him this week, but had guessed her boss wanted her to keep up the tempo so she’d had to make something up. The column was getting a lot of hits. He read the last paragraph a few times. Was there any truth in it, he wondered. Was Cassie asking herself what her wedding to him would have been like? Because he was sure as hell asking himself the same question.

  Twenty-three

  ‘Dresses.’

  ‘Sorted,’ Cassie said. She’d had another fitting the weekend and miraculously, the dress still fitted. A bit snugger than last time, yes, but she’d soon lose that extra couple of pounds now she was cutting out chocolates and wine.

  Well, trying to anyway and so far she’d managed two whole days.

  ‘Flowers.’

  ‘Sorted.’

  ‘Horse and carriage?’

  ‘Emma’s got it all sorted.’ Timothy and Sylvia didn’t know that she was turning up at the castle in a horse and carriage. It was her little surprise. She’d given them the impression she’d booked a limo.

  Sam read out the list of the wedding preparations and ticked them off one by one. ‘I actually think we’re done.’ She sounded surprised. ‘We’re all ready for your wedding.’

  ‘Which is a relief as I’m flying out tomorrow.’ Cassie gave her a worried look. ‘Are you sure we haven’t forgotten anything?’

  ‘We’ve ticked it all off. Three weeks to go and you’re ready to roll,’ Sam grinned. ‘So you can go and relax. You lucky thing.’

  ‘It’s work,’ Cassie said defensively. ‘Owen will be expecting me to write loads of articles about this, and to bring in some advertising revenue.’

  ‘I know it’s work, but lucky you to be able to do it in France.’ Sam slipped the notebook in her bag and took a sip of her coffee. ‘Seriously, Cassie, it will do you good to get away. Take your mind off the wedding.’ She paused. ‘And Jared.’

  Cassie raised her head in indignation. ‘Who says I’m thinking about Jared?’ she demanded.

  ‘Your column says it. You mention him every week.’

  ‘That’s because I have to, Owen insists on it. He drives me mad with that perishing column. Thank goodness I don’t have to write it for much longer.’ She stirred a sweetener into her black coffee and gazed earnestly at Sam. ‘You don’t really think I’ve still got feelings for him, do you?’

  Sam studied her thoughtfully. ‘Haven’t you? Even if it’s only a little smidgen of a feeling?’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ Cassie said emphatically. ‘Now can we please stop talking about him? I’m getting married in just over two weeks and the last thing I want to do is talk about my ex.’

  Sam still looked thoughtful but changed the subject to the forthcoming trip, making Cassie promise to take loads of photos and bring her a souvenir back.

  ‘I must go now.’ Cassie pushed her chair back and rose from the table. ‘I haven’t packed yet and Timothy wants to take me out for a meal tonight. We’ve barely seen each other all week.’

  ‘That’s normal for you two. I’ve never known a couple to spend so much time apart.’ Sam rose too and gave Cassie a hug. ‘Have fun. Message me and let me know how you get on.’

  ‘I will.’ Cassie grabbed her bag and with a final wave to her friend, hurried out of the coffee shop. She’d already been longer than she planned and didn’t want to keep Timothy waiting.

  It would be a relief to get away for a few days. She needed some space to clear her head. The wedding was practically upon her and all she could think about was Jared. And it was all the fault of Owen and his bloody ‘Almost a Bride’ column. Writing about Jared – Blake – meant he was never out of her mind. She was constantly comparing how much she and Jared had been in love, how excitedly they’d planned the future, with the almost distant relationship she had with Timothy. Sam was right, they were both so busy working that they hardly seemed to spend any time together, although Timothy always made sure that they had their two nights of sex a week, usually Saturday and Wednesday night. Regular as clockwork. Timothy had discussed this with her when she’d first moved in, telling her it was important that they made time for each other in their busy schedule. So Saturday nights and Wednesday nights they always spent the last hour together drinking a glass of wine and catching up, then off to bed for sex. Not that she was complaining, the sex was OK. Pretty good, in fact. Timothy was an accomplished lover, but it was all so … mechanical. Sometimes she wished he’d be spontaneous, sweep in on a Monday or Tuesday night, pick her up, and carry her off to bed.

  Like Jared used to.

  Jared, who was so spontaneous he ditched her to go off and take photos the other side of the world. At least with Timothy she could rely on him.

  She shrugged. She was done with thinking about Jared. She was going to concentrate on Timothy and their marriage. Starting right now.

  To her surprise Timothy was home, showered and changed when she got in.

  ‘I’m not late, am I?’ she asked. ‘I thought the table was booked for eight?’ Timothy had insisted on them having a meal together the night before she went away. She knew what would be for dessert – it was Wednesday night – and wondered if he’d change his routine if she was going away on a Friday. And would he leave it until Wednesday for them to make love next week or insist on doing it Monday when she returned seeing as he’d missed his Saturday night session?

  ‘It is and no, you’re not.’ He curled his arm around her neck and pulled her into his body, kissing her forehead. ‘I wanted to make sure I finished early so we could enjoy the evening. Why don’t you go and freshen up while I make you a coffee?’

  ‘That would be lovely.’ She snuggled into him, breathing in his warmth. It was unusual for Timothy to be so demonstrative.

  ‘Black?’

  ‘Please, no sugar.’

  He kissed her on the cheek then released her and went into the kitchen. A few seconds later she heard him whistling as he filled up the kettle. He sounded in a good mood. She guessed that the case had gone well. She’d ask him about it over dinner, but right now she needed to get showered and changed. She hurried into the bedroom, placed her bags on the floor, opened the wardrobe door, and took out her crimson dress. She’d been thinking what to wear on the way home and decided on this one. With it
s spaghetti straps and fitted bodice which then fell into fine pleats that sashayed sensually when she walked, it was one of Timothy’s favourites. She wanted to make sure that tonight was really special.

  Timothy obviously had the same idea. He’d booked them an intimate table in a secluded corner of the restaurant and was very attentive all evening, even showing an interest in her trip – something he rarely did.

  ‘Owen is hoping I’ll sell some advertising space as well as get material for a few features,’ she told him as she tucked into her pâté starter.

  ‘I’m guessing that’s holiday features?’ Timothy sounded genuinely interested.

  ‘Yes, and weddings.’ The words were out before she could stop them. She’d deliberately avoided mentioning that the paper was running a wedding section, as she didn’t want Timothy to get curious and read it. She had two more articles to do and then it would all be over. Thank goodness, the strain of anyone she or Timothy knew reading it and putting two and two together was telling on her. Although, she had to admit that she was delighted with the reaction to her column. Owen said circulation figures were going through the roof, and there was a constant stream of emails about her column every week. In fact, Owen was talking about giving her more features in the weekend supplement. None of this she could tell Timothy, however.

  ‘Weddings?’ Timothy repeated curiously.

  ‘Yes, some of the châteaux I’ll be visiting are wedding venues so Owen’s hoping I can talk them into buying advertising space if we run a feature on a few of them.’ That was basically true.

  ‘I thought you just reported on local news. I didn’t realise you did features too.’ Timothy wiped his mouth with the napkin. ‘I really should take more interest in your work.’

  Nooo! Her mind screamed. Not now! Oh, the unfairness of it. The times she wished he would talk to her about her work, read her columns now and again instead of dismissing it as irrelevant. And now, the very time she didn’t want to discuss it, he’d decided to bring up the subject. It’s just because you’re going away for a few days, so he’s making an effort, she reminded herself. She smiled sweetly and placed her hand on his. ‘You’re far too busy winning important court cases. I take it the one you’ve been working on has finished? Did you win?’