I smile and nod in acknowledgement.
‘A cup of tea,’ I say. ‘Eileen, can we get some tea, please?’
‘Right away, my love,’ she says as she dashes past us with an armful of empty plates.
‘What is it they do at weddings, where they feed each other cake?’ Dylan asks, picking up a slice of vanilla sponge. It’s two layers of vanilla cake with lashings of whipped cream sandwiched between them, and a big dollop on top holding a strawberry in place.
Dylan, clearly having seen too many wedding movies, squashes the slice of cake in the direction of my mouth, smearing it all over my face. The bit I do get to taste is phenomenal.
‘Dylan,’ I shriek in horror.
‘Sorry,’ he laughs. ‘I get carried away when I have too much sugar. You want some, Deb?’
Debbie jumps to her feet. Only then do I realise everyone is watching us.
‘Mia, I quit. You’re ignoring my calls, you’re refusing to book anything or tell me what you want, and now you’re turning up with strange men and embarrassing me. This is the final straw. I’ll be telling your mother exactly why I quit. I wish you all the best – but if you do get married, I’ll be amazed.’
Debbie turns on her heels and storms out of the shop.
‘Did she say she’s gonna tell your mum on you?’ he asks me.
‘Yep,’ I reply.
‘No one likes a narc, Debbie,’ he calls after her.
‘Oops,’ I say quietly, realising that everyone in the café is staring at us. Eileen is standing next to us with our pot of tea and two cups on a tray. Her jaw has dropped a little, I don’t suppose she’s had too many couples come in for a cake tasting that has ended like this.
‘Oh, Eileen, you’re here, great,’ Dylan says. ‘Can I get a four-tier cake, two tiers chocolate and two tiers salted caramel, please? Do we think that can be ready tomorrow?’
‘The… the wedding is tomorrow?’ Eileen asks.
‘No, no,’ Dylan replies. ‘This is just for me.’
‘You just want a wedding cake for you?’ she asks.
‘Yeah. Well, not just me. I’m having a Christmas party tomorrow. I might let some people have some.’
The fact that Dylan wants to buy a wedding cake that isn’t for a wedding is a concept too confusing for Eileen.
‘That’s quite short notice,’ Eileen points out politely.
‘I’ll pay whatever it takes to get it made in time,’ Dylan offers.
‘I… I’ll have a word,’ Eileen stutters. She can’t really argue with that, can she?
‘You’re getting a wedding cake for the party?’ I laugh.
‘It’s just a cake, Valentina,’ he replies. ‘Anyway, someone needed to buy one. Even Debbie thinks you’re avoiding planning this wedding. What’s up? You not wanna get married or something?’
‘Shut up and eat your cake,’ I reply. Dylan happily obliges.
I don’t think for a second that Dylan did this to sabotage my cake tasting. I think he was just being Dylan – a little drunk, a lot silly, having a laugh. He doesn’t know what Debbie is like, or the problems she’s been having with me, so why would a little cake mess drive her to quit? Maybe today was my fault, perhaps I annoyed Debbie too much, but it wasn’t the deliberate act of sabotage people are going to assume it was. My mum is going to be so angry, and God knows what Leo is going to think – I mean, it does seem like something LA Mia would do. She’s no stranger to making a mess with a wedding cake.
I’ll just have to plan my wedding myself now, all alone, which is what I wanted in the first place. Maybe I can wait until after Christmas now, when things will be less stressful. And anyway, now I’ve got a Christmas party to plan at short notice. A showbiz party is always going to be awesome but, with Dylan promising me he’ll open up about his personal life afterwards, it means the book I’m writing practically depends on this party… or maybe that’s just what I’m telling myself so I get to have some fun.
Chapter Thirty-One
So it turns out that trying to get a 16-foot Christmas tree in through a front door before standing it upright in the hallway is actually quite a difficult task – one that took lots of manpower, skill and manoeuvring.
Dylan wasn’t all that helpful. He just stood on the mezzanine, shouting instructions to the people doing the hard work, and I wouldn’t exactly say they were helpful instructions, just random bursts of vague advice like ‘lift it better, you fucking mug’. Still, the tree is in, upright and decorated to perfection, if I do say so myself. In fact, the entire hallway, kitchen and living room all look fantastic.
It turns out Dylan hasn’t put up any Christmas decorations for as long as he can remember – probably never, in this house – so he took a little persuading. I explained to him that if people thought they were coming to a Christmas party, they’d probably be expecting Christmas decorations. But then, once we started shopping for cool stuff, there was no stopping him, and now his house is a winter wonderland of twinkling lights, sparkly things, the delicious smell of festive nibbles and, of course, his four-tier chocolate and salted caramel wedding cake. He’s even placed a little Santa figurine on the top, to make it festive.
Leo and I had a huge row earlier today and I can’t get it off my mind. I did tell Leo that I’d been to a cake tasting with Debbie, but I neglected to mention that she’d dumped me as a client. Well, I didn’t want him thinking I’d done it on purpose, and I figured, once I started making my own plans, it would all work out just fine. Except Debbie called my mum and my mum called Leo, and now everyone knows everything and they’re all mad at me. Leo seems to think I’m regressing back to being LA Mia who just wanted to have a good time, who didn’t care about her relationships with her family or men. While I do feel like I’ve gained access to LA Mia’s positive traits, I feel like a new and improved version now. I can’t stress to Leo enough that I do want to marry him, because I do, but I don’t know how to explain what’s wrong with me. I’m trying to plan this wedding, but everything I look at, I don’t want. I don’t want a big wedding, in a big, fancy hotel. I don’t want flowers. I don’t want bridesmaids – hell, I don’t even have any female friends to ask to be my bridesmaids anyway. The thought of a first dance makes me want to walk in front of a bus! Anyway, as Leo started getting on my case about the wedding, and the amount of time I’m spending with Dylan at the moment – supposedly to the detriment of my ‘real life’, whatever that is – something else that was on my mind just came angrily bubbling out of my mouth, before I had time to stop it.
‘Who’s Amy?’ I asked.
‘Amy?’ Leo repeated back to me, a little taken aback by my question.
‘Amy,’ I repeated, like a broken record.
‘She’s one of the girls from work,’ he said. ‘Why?’
‘Because I know you were out with her the other night, when you said you were on a stag do…’
‘And how do you know that?’ he asked.
‘I saw a message on your phone and—’
‘You’ve been checking my phone?’ he asked me angrily.
I explained to him that, no, I hadn’t been checking his phone, but that the notification came through while his phone was next to me and I saw it on the screen. But that wasn’t the point. The point was that he said he was going on a stag do, so why was another girl wearing his jacket?
‘Wow,’ Leo said. ‘I can’t believe you don’t trust me.’
‘What does that mean?’ I asked angrily. Of course, I knew exactly what he meant. He’s talking about the fact I kissed another guy in the run-up to Belle’s wedding, but that was before we’d even got together, days before I was supposed to be jetting back to LA – alone.
It’s like Leo doesn’t realise just what I gave up to be with him. My big house, the job of my dreams, hanging out with movie stars and sunbathing my days away. I loved my old life… but then I found Leo and I loved him more, so, without a fuss, I air-kissed my old life goodbye, and I’d do it again, but I just wish
he’d realise how much I’ve changed for him.
Annoyed by him shifting the blame and more suspicious than ever, I escalated our argument.
‘How to get away with cheating 101: project the blame onto your partner,’ I said.
‘Amy is one of the girls from work – the one who is getting married in a few months. I’ve told you about her before. The lads from work wanted to celebrate with her so we’ve been calling it a stag do. And I didn’t give her my jacket, I left it in the Uber.’
‘Oh.’
Things might not have been so bad, if he’d left it there.
‘I talk to her, because she’s been planning a wedding too. Except, she’s been actually planning hers, not refusing to or having food fights with rockstars at cake tastings. Even Amy thinks it’s weird, that you’re not planning the wedding at all. She says she couldn’t wait to plan hers. She thinks that maybe, deep down, you don’t actually want to marry me…’
‘Oh, so you and Amy talk about our private life together?’ I snapped back. ‘My personal life? Awesome. Wait there, I’ll go get you some bank statements to show her. Maybe give her my iCloud login. In fact, I think I’ve got my last smear test results somewhere…’
Getting nowhere by arguing, Leo went to work and I came here.
Now that the party is in full swing, I can see Dylan is having the time of his life. I am too. I did invite Leo along but it was a firm no – whether he had to go to work or not – because apparently I ‘know’ he hates showbiz types. Even so, I’m having a wonderful time. I’ve seen a few familiar faces – Charles, Mark and Mitch, who I recognise because I’ve met them recently, but then there are also people I recognise because they’re incredibly famous, like Ed Sheeran, who Dylan introduced me to over by the Christmas tree – apparently he’s going to be doing a song or two later. The place is absolutely crawling with famous folk, industry people and an army of servers who are doing an excellent job of making sure everyone has a drink in their hand at all times.
I bought a new dress for the party, a rose-gold, sparkly Pinko dress with cut-out shoulders, teamed with a black pair of heels, rose-gold accessories and just a subtle hint of glitter hairspray in my big, long-blonde locks. When I went shopping with Dylan, who bought a grey pinstriped Vivienne Westwood suit (which he has paired with the most obnoxious Christmas T-shirt he could find in Primark), he was adamant that he pay for my stuff too. I wouldn’t let him, which he didn’t like – I think he’s used to people just taking what they can get from him – but I think he likes the feeling he gets from being generous. Still, I really didn’t feel comfortable letting him pay for a £600 dress, even if we are friends now.
A server removes the empty champagne glass from my hand, replacing it with a full one.
‘Thank you,’ I say. Well, I’m going to need it, seeing as how Dylan has signed us up for karaoke later, singing ‘Baby, It’s Cold Outside’ together. Seems pretty unfair, I think, that he expects me to sing with him when he’s a professional singer and I’m not. A few more drinks and it will be fine, though. My shame will go out the window – well, it would if they were open, but it’s freezing tonight and it’s going to snow, apparently.
With a few drinks in my system, I grow braver and stupider, swiping Dylan’s phone while he’s not looking, ready to do something daft, but well-meaning. I flick through his contacts until I find Mikey King’s number. It’s Christmas, and it makes me sad that he and his brother aren’t on speaking terms. Perhaps if I call him up and invite him to the party, he’ll come along and build some bridges. I always read that Mikey was the smart, sensible one and Dylan was the hot-headed party boy, so maybe if I make the first move…
I punch Mikey’s number into my phone, wandering into the office where it’s quiet before pressing the call button.
‘Hello?’ a woman’s voice answers.
‘Hi, I’m after Mikey King,’ I say as brightly and soberly as possible.
‘He’s asleep at the moment,’ she tells me. ‘I’m his girlfriend, Nicole. Can I help?’
‘Erm, no, it’s OK,’ I reply. She sounds a little suspicious… of the random girl calling her boyfriend on his mobile late in the evening – crazy, right? I’m sure I’ve heard Dylan mention the name Nicole before…
‘Who is this?’ she asks.
Before I have chance to make anything up, Dylan bursts into the room singing an expletive-heavy version of The Pogues’ ‘Fairytale of New York’.
I hang up quickly. OK, this wasn’t my best idea. Thank God I didn’t call his ex-wife too. I just need to mind my own business.
‘Hey, there you are,’ he slurs. ‘I was looking for you, it’s karaoke time.’
I follow Dylan back into the party room, slipping his phone into his trouser pocket as I pass him.
I’ve never been one for karaoke, mostly because I can’t sing, but Dylan assured me earlier that the fun in karaoke has nothing to do with whether or not you can sing – which is easy for the man with the multiplatinum-selling records to say. Then again, it might be the perfect way to let my hair down. I’ve been so stressed lately, maybe a bit of singing is just what I need.
I grab a champagne glass from the tray of a passing server and knock back the contents. If I’m going to do karaoke, I’m going to need some Dutch courage.
‘OK,’ I say, scrunching up my face as the alcohol hits. ‘I’m ready.’
Chapter Thirty-Two
‘Valentina,’ Dylan bellows from the mezzanine. I look up and see my new best friend practically hanging over the banister to wave at me. ‘I just had sex.’
Everyone in the room laughs wildly at Dylan being Dylan. I just roll my drunk little eyes.
In a matter of minutes Dylan is downstairs, placing both hands on my cheeks as he slurs his words at me.
‘I hope you know how fucking awesome you are,’ he says.
‘I hope you washed your hands,’ I reply.
He laughs.
‘Are you having fun?’
‘I am,’ I reply. ‘Even though I sang, amped up, terribly, in front of musical royalty. It was fun.’
‘You think three fifths of the original One Direction line-up give a shit if you can sing?’ he asks.
‘It’s the hottest three fifths, though. But it’s cool,’ I reply. ‘I’m having a blast. I hope you are too.’
‘I am, man. I am. Oh!’
Dylan gets distracted by two guys.
‘Mia, meet Zander and Finn. Boys, meet Mia. These lads are my best mates,’ he tells me.
I shake hands with Zander and Finn, who I recognise from a band called Ganzás who I believe are currently still hanging around in the top-five section of the album chart, after their debut release was an absolute smash.
‘Nice to meet you,’ I tell them.
‘I fucking love these lads,’ Dylan tells me as he wraps an arm around them both.
‘We love you too, dude. We love you too,’ Zander says. ‘We’re going to a club, you guys wanna come?’
‘Yeah!’ Dylan shouts. ‘Valentina, you coming?’
‘Erm, OK, sure,’ I say, giving in to peer pressure. Well, it’s late, and even though Dylan said I could stay in one of his spare rooms, I don’t much want to stay here without him, especially with him leaving while the party is still in full swing. It might be my responsibility to make sure no one does anything wrong and I don’t want that kind of burden.
‘Sweet,’ Dylan says. ‘Let’s do this.’
Stepping outside the front door, I realise it’s snowing.
‘Wow, it’s so pretty,’ I say, watching as the tiny flakes float down, landing on Dylan’s beautifully lit, long driveway.
‘Don’t worry, we’re in the Range,’ Finn says, unlocking his black Range Rover. ‘Hop in.’
Finn and Zander get in the front while Dylan and I get in the back.
‘I’m DJing,’ Dylan insists, leaning into the front to grab the AUX cable.
‘No way, dude, you’ll put your own music on,’ Zander says wit
h a laugh.
‘Oi, I’ve sold more fucking albums than you ever could,’ Dylan corrects him.
As we drive along the road, I snuggle into my heated seat. It feels glorious, but I’m hyped for this swanky club we’re going to, that I’d never be able to get into without a few rockstars in tow.
I take my phone from my bag and see I have eight missed calls from my mum. Brilliant. There’s also a message from her that says: ‘Need to talk you’ve done it this time stop trying to ruin Reading.’ My mum has never been great at texting, so I’m going to assume a combination of anger, lack of texting skills and the ever-helpful autocorrect function has caused her to type ‘Reading’ instead of ‘wedding’ – then again, I wouldn’t be surprised if she thought I had some kind of hidden agenda to ruin Reading. She’s accused me of far stranger things in the past. I decide to ignore her for now, instead opening the one message I’ve received from Leo. ‘Sorry about earlier. Have an amazing time and we’ll figure this our later. I love you xxx’ it reads. I begin typing a reply: ‘Having a great time, but miss you. I lo—’
My body is thrown forwards, only for a split second before my seatbelt does its job, grabbing my body tightly, yanking me back towards my seat, which the back of my head hits forcefully. ‘Merry Christmas Everybody’ by Slade, one of the songs Dylan chose for the journey, is still booming loudly. The only thing louder is the ringing in my ears.
I look to my left to see Dylan clutching his chest as he takes off his seatbelt and climbs out of the car. Amid a cloud of white powder I see Zander and Finn fighting their airbags to do the same. I struggle to unfasten my own seatbelt before gathering with them at the side of the road.
I notice my ankle hurting as I limp over to where the guys are standing. I don’t know exactly what happened but we’ve hit a tree head-on.
‘Fuck,’ Dylan says. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’
‘What happened?’ I ask.
Dylan, wincing in pain, wraps his arms around me and holds me close. I’m shivering, but I don’t know if it’s because I’m out in the snow wearing nothing but a tiny dress, or if it’s because of the crash. I think it’s both.
How Not to be a Bride Page 16