How Not to be a Bride

by Portia MacIntosh

  I woke up this morning and stretched out fully in my bed, and, even in full starfish formation, I couldn’t even reach the sides. It was glorious and, just when I thought this hotel couldn’t get any better, there was a knock at my door and waiting behind it was breakfast. I’m afraid to even begin to consider how much Dylan must have spent on a trip like this, but I feel very fortunate to be invited. I know burying my head in the sand isn’t exactly the smartest thing I can do right now, but if Leo thinks he can kick me out of our house for a few days to ‘think about what I’ve done’… well, if he thinks I’m just gonna sit around being upset, he can think again. Ever since I regained my self-confidence, and became more like the girl he fell in love with in the first place, I’ve seen him panicking. Why doesn’t he want me to be happy? I don’t know, but if he can test me, then I can test him. Let’s see how he copes without me.

  Today, Dylan joined me in full-blown tourist mode, visiting all the sites Gay Paree had to offer. It’s been a blur of a day, vising museums and taking selfies in beautiful places.

  Annoyingly, Leo has been on my mind all day. Tugging at my heart, all day long, has been this feeling, this thought, that I wish he were here, enjoying it with me.

  My favourite moment of the day came when we visited the Arc de Triomphe. We headed into the underpass with the intention of coming out under the Arc; however, somehow we wound up heading into the underground walkway and then coming out the way we went in. I’m not sure how exactly we got turned around, but I couldn’t stop laughing. There was a homeless man in there with a kennel-worthy number of dogs, which must be a nightmare for him, but they all looked happy enough. When we finally made it out of the Arc end of the tunnel, I was blown away by how crazy the traffic was around the roundabout, it was just lawless. Bikes and motorbikes were weaving in and out of stationary cars, and when the cars weren’t stationary they were nearly crashing into one another.

  My second-favourite part of the day was the incredible four-course dinner we just enjoyed at Le Marguerite restaurant, the highlight of which was the crème brûlée – my God, every last calorie was entirely worth it.

  ‘I still can’t believe Leo was OK with you coming,’ Dylan said as he polished off the last of his dessert, scraping every last bit out with his teaspoon.

  ‘Well, he didn’t exactly let me,’ I confessed.

  ‘Oh,’ he replied.

  ‘In fact, I probably shouldn’t have come,’ I said. ‘He thinks I don’t want to marry him.’

  ‘And do you?’

  ‘It’s not a conversation for now,’ I said, before quickly trying to change the subject.

  Now we’re on our way to what Dylan keeps calling my surprise. I don’t know where we’re going, but he’s currently leading me through the breathtakingly beautiful Jardin des Tuileries. It looks gorgeous at night. I’d love to stop and take pictures, but Dylan says we have an appointment. Well, I suppose it’s evening now, and he does keep saying he has his work thing later, although I feel like he’s being purposefully vague about what it actually is.

  ‘OK, eyes closed for the last stretch,’ he insists.

  ‘You want me to close my eyes?’ I ask. ‘In Paris, in the street, at night, you want me to close my eyes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I can’t argue with that,’ I laugh.

  With my eyes closed I have to rely on my other senses for clues as to where we are. The first thing that hits me is the warmth, moving from outside in the cold December air to inside where the heating is cranked. The next thing that hits me is the smell: it’s a beautiful, sweet vanilla scent, subtle but delicious. Classical music is playing, but none of these things gives anything away about where we are. I’m so intrigued, but I said I’d close my eyes so I’m keeping them tight shut.

  ‘OK, open them,’ Dylan says.

  I open one eye slowly, then the other, before twirling around on the spot.

  ‘Wow,’ I say. ‘Wow.’

  I am in the middle of the most beautiful bridal boutique, surrounded by rails of dresses, all laid out ready for me to look over. Other than Dylan and me, there’s only one other person here.

  ‘Hello,’ she says. ‘My name is Sylvie.’

  ‘Hi,’ I reply.

  ‘Your friend says you would like to try on some dresses?’

  I look over at Dylan who gives me an encouraging nod.

  ‘Come on, Mia, you’re not gonna find dresses like this in the UK. If this doesn’t get you excited about getting hitched, nothing will.’

  He’s got a good point.

  ‘OK,’ I say. I mean, I’m not even sure my fiancé still wants to marry me, but when in Paris, right?

  ‘I could make some suggestions,’ Sylvie suggests. She’s a very tall, very slender lady with a sharp, dark, inverted bob that’s so perfectly sculpted I can hardly believe it’s real. I love her French accent, it makes her seem effortlessly sophisticated, unlike my Kentish accent that is more Kelly Brook than Coco Chanel. ‘Or you could just browse?’

  ‘Erm, I think I’ll just browse,’ I tell her. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Of course,’ she replies. ‘I’ll give you some privacy.’

  ‘Am I a genius or what?’ Dylan says. ‘All this time people have been trying to make you plan your wedding, they never thought to show you a few dresses to get you excited.’

  ‘You are a genius, Dylan King, congratulations.’

  I browse one rack, then the next. It’s only on the final rack that I find a dress I love. It’s an ivory ball gown with a sweetheart neck and a sheer lace insert from the bust to the waist. I think the thing I love about it the most is the cascading skirt with horsehair trim. I admire the dress on its hanger, unsure I’m even worthy of trying it on.

  ‘Is that the one?’ Dylan asks.

  ‘It’s stunning,’ I tell him. ‘Just… wow.’

  ‘Perhaps this is more of a winter dress,’ Sylvie points out. ‘Mr King said your wedding is in the summer.’

  I sigh. I’m so crap at this wedding stuff that, even when I do think I’ve found the dress of my dreams – the first wedding dress I’ve looked at that I didn’t find disgusting – I’m wrong.

  ‘So what?’ Dylan laughs. ‘It’s a dress. It’s a wedding dress, she’s having a wedding. You go out in that thing in winter, you’ll freeze. I think you should try it on.’

  ‘Really?’ I reply. Sylvie looks visibly repulsed by our blasé attitude towards wedding-dress culture, but… it is a beautiful dress. Why is the world so insistent that weddings have to be done a certain way? It’s my day, so why can’t I just do what I want and be happy?

  ‘Yeah, I’ll step out. Try it on.’

  ‘OK,’ I reply excitedly. I don’t even deserve to be in the same room as this dress, let alone try it on.

  I slip off my cocktail dress and slip on the most beautiful wedding dress I have ever seen in life – on or off-screen – and, somehow, I look amazing in it.

  ‘Whaaaat,’ I exclaim, loud enough for Dylan to hear me.

  ‘Can I come in?’ he calls from the other side of the door.

  ‘Yeah, come in here,’ I reply. ‘Someone needs to see me in this dress. It’s like some kind of witchcraft. I actually look good it in – well, except for the seatbelt bruises that make me look a bit like a zombie.’

  ‘Wow,’ he says. ‘I mean… just… wow. Mia, you look incredible.’

  ‘I know, right?’ I laugh. ‘I just want one of these for sitting around in my house while I’m writing.’

  I examine the price tag on the hanger.

  ‘Oh, wait, no, I don’t,’ I correct myself. ‘This thing costs a house.’

  Dylan laughs.

  ‘I’ll buy it for you,’ he says.

  ‘Yeah,’ I laugh. ‘I’ll take two of them then. Do you think they have it in black?’

  ‘I’m serious,’ he says. ‘We’ll call it a work bonus.’

  ‘Shut up,’ I reply. ‘Dylan, don’t be crazy.’

  Dylan takes me by the hand
and leads me over to the wall of mirrors, twirling me around in front of them.

  ‘Mia Valentina, you were born to wear this dress, and you deserve to be with someone who can buy you expensive things.’

  I stare at myself in the mirror and, as I look myself up and down, my engagement ring catches my eye as the light bounces off it. My modest little engagement ring, which was everything I wanted. Suddenly, everything makes sense.

  ‘Oh my God,’ I blurt. ‘I don’t want to get married.’

  Dylan takes me by the hands.

  ‘Mia, are you sure?’ he asks.

  ‘I’m so sure,’ I tell him. ‘This has just confirmed it.’

  Before I have chance to explain, Dylan moves in to kiss me.

  ‘Whoa, Dylan, what are you doing?’ I ask.

  ‘I thought…’

  I wiggle free from his embrace.

  ‘Wait, it’s, like, 9 p.m. What work do you actually have tonight?’

  ‘Look, don’t get mad,’ he starts slowly and cautiously, holding his hands out in front of him. Why do I think he’s used to women attacking him? ‘I don’t really have any work, I just really wanted to bring you to Paris. No funny business, I promise. You’ve just worked so hard on this book, and, you know, the whole nearly-getting-you-killed thing. I just wanted to do something nice.’

  ‘So…’ I shrug my shoulders theatrically.

  ‘So, I figured if you really did want to get married, showing you the best dresses on the planet would get you excited, and then you said you didn’t want to get married and…’

  ‘Oh God, Dylan, I am so sorry. I just… I realised something. I know why I’ve been putting off planning this wedding, and it is because I don’t want to get married. Well, I do, but I don’t.’

  ‘I want to apologise for misunderstanding the situation,’ he says, wincing with embarrassment. ‘But I still have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  ‘So, all my adult life I’ve thought weddings were stupid – I’d rather attend the Red Wedding than a white wedding. There was no way I ever wanted to get married. And then I met Leo and fell in love, and I thought I’d changed my mind. But I haven’t changed my mind… well, not about weddings anyway. I do want to marry Leo. I just don’t want the big white wedding everyone has been pushing me into.’

  ‘I see,’ Dylan says sadly. ‘Shit, I’m sorry, Mia. It’s just… I haven’t got on with anyone this well since…’

  ‘It’s OK,’ I assure him. ‘You told me yourself I reminded you of Nicole. But listen, just because you fell in love with your friend before, doesn’t mean you have this time. I know you’re probably so scared of missing your chance at happiness again.’

  ‘Fuck, I’m mortified,’ he laughs. ‘I got it so wrong.’

  ‘So, I’m going to get out of this dress, we’re going to go to a bar, have a drink, sleep and then, tomorrow, we’ll pretend this never happened. Cool?’

  ‘Cool,’ he replies.

  Poor Dylan. It’s probably been so long since he had someone genuinely care about him, no wonder he got his wires crossed. And I don’t know what I was thinking, jetting off to Paris with him when my fiancé is at home, thinking I don’t love him enough to marry him. It’s all going to be OK, though, because as soon as I explain myself… well, Leo knows me better than anyone else in the world, so he’ll understand. I hope…

  It just feels good to know how I feel finally. I do want to be Leo’s wife, I just don’t want to get there via a big, fat wedding.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  If there’s one thing that does not get better with age, it’s hangovers. My God, why are there rabbits burrowing in my brain and how do I get them out, ASAP?

  Dylan and I went for one drink last night, just to clear the air before we flew back home today. It was all going well, until Dylan got a phone call…

  ‘Oh, shit. Mikey is calling me,’ he said, glancing down at his iPhone as it vibrated on top of the bar.

  Shit, I thought to myself. This couldn’t be because I called Nicole the other night, could it? I blocked my number and I never gave my name…

  It turns out that Nicole heard Dylan singing in the background – that unmistakable singing voice of his would, of course, be easily distinguished by his former best friend, even if he was drunk and not exactly nailing the lyrics.

  As the call went on, I could tell from Dylan’s face that I was in trouble. Not only did the look on his face change, but the way he looked at me changed. Up until now, he’d always looked at me like he cared about me, but last night, he looked so angry. He didn’t even reply to Mikey, he just hung up on him.

  ‘I can’t believe I opened up to you, and you started meddling,’ he said, calling me out in the busy bar. ‘You called Mikey and Nicole?’

  ‘Dill, I was just trying to help,’ I explain, but it was no good. He stormed off. That’s when I decided to have a few drinks, to try and take my mind off what an absolute mess I’ve made of everything. How have I managed to push the two men closest to me so far away?

  I grab my phone from the bedside table. The first thing I notice is that it’s only 6 a.m. The second thing I notice are the 18 missed calls from my mum. Shit, something must be up.

  I sit up quickly, so quickly it actually feels like my head spins, and call her back. She answers almost immediately and the first thing I notice is the noisy background – it’s only 5 a.m. there. Where is she?

  ‘Listen, Mia, I don’t want you to panic,’ she starts, but I’m panicking before she’s finished her sentence. ‘Keep nice and calm.’

  ‘I’m calm,’ I lie.

  ‘There was an incident at your gran and granddad’s house. They’re both OK, but your granddad is hurt, he’s in the hospital.’

  ‘Oh no. He’s OK, though?’

  ‘He’s going to be just fine,’ she assures me. ‘The thing is, the fire brigade had to be called and, well, Leo got hurt too.’

  ‘What? How? Is he OK?’

  ‘I obviously don’t know the full story with Leo, no one will tell me anything, but I heard he’s having an operation this morning.’

  ‘Fuck,’ I blurt. My mum doesn’t say anything, clearly forgiving of my profanity during this stressful time. ‘I’ll be right there.’

  I rush into Dylan’s bedroom without knocking.

  ‘Dylan, wake up,’ I say, shaking him lightly. ‘DYLAN.’

  Dylan looks at me for a second and smiles, before remembering that we fell out last night. His face falls again.

  ‘Dylan, listen, I need to get home. My granddad and Leo have been in some kind of accident.’

  ‘Shit,’ he replies, sitting up quickly. ‘Listen, I’ll make some calls. Take my car, take the jet. I’m thinking I’ll spend Christmas here anyway.’

  ‘Thank you. Thank you so much,’ I say, hugging him. ‘You’re an amazing man. I’m so sorry for last night. My intentions were good, I swear.’

  ‘I know,’ he replies. ‘I overreacted, I guess. I was embarrassed and… Leo is lucky to have you.’

  ‘Maybe give Mikey a call back,’ I tell him. ‘And Nicole. Make up with them, spend Christmas with them. Life is short.’

  ‘Maybe,’ he says. ‘See you around, Valentina.’

  ‘See you around, King.’

  Chapter Forty

  Being in a complete state of panic, the return journey on the private jet wasn’t quite so magical. Neither was the trek from the airport back to Kent.

  I hate hospitals, I always have. They make me think of illness and death, and after my last little visit a matter of days ago, I was really hoping I wouldn’t have to set foot in one for a while. And yet here we are.

  ‘Mum,’ I say, hurrying towards her along the corridor.

  ‘Mia,’ she says, grabbing me and hugging me close. I can count on one hand the number of times my mum has hugged me as an adult. My God, it feels good. ‘Your granddad is this way.’

  I follow my mum along the corridor, towards the ward where my granddad is.

 
‘Any news about Leo?’ I ask, petrified something is really, seriously wrong with him.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ my mum assures me. ‘I’ve spoken to Maria. She says he’s broken a couple of bones. He needed surgery to put them right, but he should make a full recovery. She’s going to let me know when you can go and see him.’

  I exhale, finally, after what feels like two hours of holding my breath.

  ‘What the hell happened?’ I ask.

  ‘I’ll let your granddad tell you himself,’ my mum says, nodding towards his bed.

  ‘What the hell have you been up to, hey?’ I ask, trying to sound upbeat, but seeing my little old granddad here in a hospital, with his arm in a sling and forehead stitched and bloody, breaks my heart.

  ‘I’m fine, I’m fine,’ he insists. ‘Just a knock on the head and a dislocated shoulder.’

  ‘What happened?’ I ask, stroking his hand lightly.

  ‘I couldn’t sleep. I was in a lot of pain with my knees, so I went to sleep downstairs, in my chair,’ he explains. ‘Anyway, I woke up a few hours later and the bloody room was full of water, with more pouring in by the minute. Your bloody gran was fast asleep upstairs. She didn’t want to help me,’ he laughs. ‘So I called the fire brigade and then, er… well, I don’t know. I woke up here.’

  ‘Turns out your granddad took a tumble and fell under the water, couldn’t get back up.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ I gasp. ‘Granddad, you could’ve died.’

  ‘I could’ve,’ he agrees. ‘Until a brave fireman came in and saved me. Picked me up, got me out to the paramedics, apparently. I’ve no recollection of this, although I hear he broke his leg in the process.’

  ‘Leo,’ I say.

  ‘They say he insisted he went in,’ my mum tells me. ‘He’s a good man.’

  ‘I know he is,’ I reply. ‘So, what caused this?’