This isn’t me. I look down at the dress. This wedding, it’s all a show. I’m Lianne Williams from the Welsh Valleys, more used to scamming my way through life than living in luxury. Just like when I first arrived here with a load of made-up stories of all the places I’d waitressed in. The only time I’d actually done any table clearing was when I was in detention at school and had to clear the canteen after lunch. I did have to do it quite a lot, mind.
It’s no good. I can’t pretend any more. I’m never really going to fit in here. Deep down I’ll always know it’s not my home. I groan just thinking about my Mum’s disappointment when I tell her I can’t go through with it. There’s another song playing now. It’s the duet from the Pearl Fishers; that was meant for when we were signing the register. It’s all going wrong. Jean Pierre must be wondering what on earth is going on. I hate to embarrass him like this, but it’s for the best. One day he’ll settle down, start a family with someone far more suitable than me. I let out another long, deep groan at the thought of Nicole’s face, her humiliation in front of all her guests. But it really is for the best, she’ll see that one day. She’ll probably be relieved.
When I first set eyes on Jean Pierre I fancied him rotten. I really wanted him, in spite of Nicole’s warnings and probably to spite her a bit too. I look at the little bowl of white roses on the table in the corner of the washroom, hand-picked by Nicole that morning. Things are different now. I’ve come to respect her. Her attention to detail is what makes this place. And more importantly I surprised and terrified myself by not just fancying Jean Pierre, but actually falling in love with him. I realised it on the day I thought Nicole was going to sack me. I packed my rucksack and headed out onto the main road. I wasn’t going to give Nicole the satisfaction of sending me home. Stubborn to the last, that’s me. I didn’t know where I was going, just running away I guess. But he came after me in his 2CV; found me hitchhiking and told me he didn’t want me to leave. I think it was when he offered me his sleeve after my loud and noisy tears that I realised I didn’t just fancy him, I loved him.
From that day on we’ve worked side by side, him running the chateau and the vines, Nicole organising the bookings and greeting guests and me taking over on evening events.
But now, this wedding, it feels as if it’s meant for someone else. I know how much a wedding like this would cost. More than my Mum’s house is worth! I’ve got to get out of here, got to get away, as far away from here as possible. I feel like an imposter. I’ve been kidding myself I could pull it off.
I turn with renewed drive and with all the force I can muster I try the door again. But it still won’t budge. Right, Plan B! The window. I have to give it a go. I get one foot up on the toilet seat and push open the window. I start to clamber up onto the window sill, one foot up but I can’t get the other one up. I’m stuck. I’m going to have to lose the skirt. I slide back onto the toilet seat and reach for the dress fastenings at the back. I pull off the netted overskirt and step out of it quickly, tossing it into the corner of the cubicle by the loo. Underneath is just a plain silk, cream, straight skirt with a split up the back. I hike it up and climb back up onto the toilet seat and try again. I lift one knee up and get my foot on the window sill and try to lever myself out. I have to bounce a couple of times to get enough momentum, but I do it. I’m lying on the tiled window sill with one foot out of the window when there’s a knock on the door. I freeze. My heart starts racing. I don’t want to be found now. I don’t want help getting out of here. I want to leave, without anyone knowing.
‘Lianne, are you in there?’ His familiar voice gives me butterflies and goosebumps. But I must be strong for all our sakes. I hold my breath. My heart is thundering so loud I’m sure he must be able to hear it.
‘Lianne, are you there?’ he asks again in his soft, French accent.
‘Noooooooo,’ I mouth silently and shake my head. Cedric squawks again. It’s getting near his feeding time. Oh god! I’m going to be outed by a peacock.
‘Lianne?!” Jean Pierre sounds anxious. My stomach flips over and back again. I feel absolutely wretched. I’d promised myself I’d never let this happen, never let myself fall so much in love that I’d end up broken, like a jigsaw that needed putting back together again. I’d seen that happen when my Dad had left us. I swore I’d never let myself be hurt like that but I’ve set myself up for the biggest fall ever. I’m running out on a man I’ve fallen in love with before he realises I’ll never fit in and drops me. I’ve been a fool.
They’re probably all out there now, all the wealthy vineyard owners listening to the theme tune from Once and laughing at me. Gosh, it was hot, but then this was South West France in September. I push the window open further. I can see Cedric now, his plumage spread out and his chest puffed up. He’s still squawking. Large fat tears are filling my eyes and spilling down my face. It’s making it hard for me to judge my escape route. I use the back of my hand to swish them away, taking my mascara with it, but they keep coming. The white rose corsage around my wrist covering up my rose tattoo gets battered and sheds its petals. I pull it off and toss it behind me into the corner to join the reams of netted skirt.
My vision is blurred. I have to do this now. I swing my other leg up and out the window and let myself drop down with an ‘oomph!’ into the flower bed below, squishing a lavender plant with my kitten heels, by the smell of it. I stumble backwards trying to wipe away the waves of tears blinding me when I feel someone catch my elbow to stop me falling further. He’s standing right behind me. A handkerchief is pressed into my hands. I run my thumb over the initials and then I put it to my face and breathe in his smell.
‘Merci,’ I whisper, the word barely making it out.
‘Je t’adore,’ he whispers back. I bite my lip. I want to believe him so much. I want to believe that this could be forever, not just a day of perfection, full of false promises.
‘This doesn’t happen to people like me, Jean Pierre,’ I wipe away the tears and the last of my make-up and then turn to him. ‘Let me just go, explain for me. Don’t make me believe in something that isn’t real.’
‘If you go, I’m coming with you,’ he answers simply.
‘Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll meet someone else, someone who fits into all of this, so much better than me.’ I tip my head back trying to stop more tears falling and my tiara tips up. I pull it off and my hair falls down with it.
‘I mean it. If you don’t want all this, then we’ll walk away, start afresh somewhere new. But we do it together. I just want you, Lianne Williams,’ he says, making my name sound so much more beautiful with his rolling French accent.
‘You can’t! This is your life, here at the chateau. But it’s not mine.’ I have to make him see sense.
‘My life is about being with you, no matter where,’ he says. I blow loudly into the silk hankie, knowing Nicole would have a fit if she knew it had been used for actual nose blowing.
‘I couldn’t open the door,’ I say quietly.
‘You were just scared you couldn’t. We can’t be scared to try Lianne. You just have to trust me.’
I wipe my eyes and look up at Jean Pierre. The man I love. It’s simple. I love him. Not the chateau or the setting. I love him.
‘You just have to trust that we can work. Are you sure you want me?’ he asks.
‘Without a doubt,’ I say quickly.
‘Then marry me and if you still don’t want any of this,’ he waves his arm around the big stone walls, the lawns and the field of sunflowers below, ‘then we’ll go, together. Life wasn‘t always like this, Lianne. My mother married for the wrong reasons. He left her, ran away; leaving her here with a half-finished dream. A nightmare. This place isn’t some fairy tale. Each one of those guests out there might put on a face of perfection, but they all have cracks of their own. I’m not saying we’ll have a fairytale life together, but as long as we are together, we’ll get through it. I know.’
I look at his honest blue eyes, his falle
n fringe.
‘I look a mess,’ gesturing at my simple dress and feeling my hair brush my shoulders.
‘You look like my Lianne.’ Jean Pierre pulls me to him, not worrying about the dress, hair or make up and hugs me, and I finally feel I’m home. We look at each other, smile and then together we turn and walk back into the converted barn, the wedding room and up the aisle to ‘Love is All Around Us’. It was due to be our first dance together on the CD compilation I’d made up. But that doesn’t matter now. We’ve made all the promises we need to make to each other. I know that however we get through life I can only be myself and that Jean Pierre loves me for it. I catch my Mum’s eye, her face proud and shiny. Nicole looks shocked at my new appearance at first, but then gives an accepting nod and a smile.
As we leave the wedding room as Monsieur and Madame Obels and step out into the warm late afternoon sunshine, the yellow sunflowers wave in the soft breeze. The vines stretch out in front of us and a pair of white doves are set free from the turret, facing their uncertain future together as a pair. And Cedric’s squawking is suddenly drowned out by the throbbing beat of Gangnam Style, meant for much later on in the evening, to which everyone laughs, and the wedding party and my life with Jean Pierre begins.
About the Author
Jo started her broadcasting career as a reporter and presenter on BBC Radio 5, reported for BBC Radio 4’s Woman’s Hour and went on to produce at BBC Radio 2 and BBC Radio Wales. She now lives in the Vale of Glamorgan with her writer and producer husband, three children, three cats and a black Labrador. She writes light-hearted romances about food, family, friendships and love; and believes every story should have a happy ending. Her first book The Oyster Catcher is about a runaway bride who finally learns to come out of her shell in amongst the oyster beds of Galway Bay.
Website: www.jothomaswrites.blogspot.co.uk
Twitter: www.twitter.com/jo_thomas01
Facebook: www.facebook.com/JoThomasAuthor
Visit www.sunloungerstories.com to discover more about the authors and their story destinations.
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The Accidental Bridesmaid
***
Stephanie Wahlstrom
DESTINATION: Cape Town
Booking a trip to Cape Town seemed like a good idea at the time. According to my confirmation email, that time was precisely 3:42am on a Friday when pretty much everything seemed like a good idea.
My best and most fabulous friend Lucinda and I had been out for our typical after-work drinks, which with Lucinda around was hardly a quick one at the pub. We’d stopped at her immaculate flat just off King’s Road to nibble on the Whole Foods takeaway we’d picked up and drink some champagne. For Lucinda, Friday in London was enough of a reason to celebrate.
‘So, darling, are you coming to the most beautiful place in the world with me?’ Lucinda sipped her green juice between bites of sushi.
‘How is drinking fruit and vegetables better for you than eating them?’ I stared at the bottle with miscellaneous green chunks and read the label. Ginger, apple, spinach, kale and kiwi? That did not sound appetizing, yet Lucinda had the same look on her face that I got when eating bacon.
She laughed, ‘It’s probably not. But stop changing the subject. Please come to the wedding.’
Lucinda had been going on and on about her cousin’s wedding in Cape Town for the last week and how I just had to come with her even though she was in the bridal party and I’d be, like, the twenty-fifth wheel.
But after leaving Raffles at three am and Lucinda sweetening me up with a trip to the kebab shop, she tucked me into the couch of her Chelsea flat and pulled out her laptop.
‘Paige, darling, you can drink wine and pet a cheetah in South Africa.’ She showed me pictures of baby cheetahs and sprawling vineyards. South Africa sounded just like Canada except warmer. The chances of me getting another all-expenses-paid (except for the cattle class flight) invite to one of the most exotic and simultaneously glamorous cities on earth were very slim.
‘OK, lets go to Cape Town.’ Several clicks later, I was well into my overdraft and on my way to Africa.
Lucinda and I were about as opposite as you could get which is why we seemed to click. At almost six feet tall and a former model who worked in finance, Lucinda had most men, and a fairly large chunk of women, eating out of her hand. At barely over five foot three, and definitely not a former model, most people assumed I was her PA. Generally, she hooked the big fish while I made inappropriate jokes. Her no-nonsense, confident South African attitude was the yin to my quirky and awkward Canadian yang. She’d guided me through my first year in London which, if I’m honest, was less than ideal. The least I could do was accompany her to a fancy wedding in South Africa.
‘Here we go,’ Lucinda sighed deeply as the wheels of our red-eye flight from London touched down. She was standing before the little ding went off to tell us we were allowed to do that. Her normally shiny and tousled blond hair was matted to the back of her head and the dark circles under her eyes deepened her glare at the flight attendant motioning for her to sit down. My own chestnut brown hair was piled into a messy bun at the top of my head and I haphazardly ran my fingers under my eyes to clear away the inevitable smudged mascara. Expecting to look good after breathing recycled air on a twelve-hour overnight flight was just unreasonable. Screw you, Posh Spice.
‘This bloody thing.’ Lucinda wrestled with her carry on as it flopped out of the overhead compartment. This was not the confident and carefree Lucinda I knew and loved.
‘Luc, you OK?’ I finally asked as we waited in line at border control. She was used to the finer things in life, but I didn’t expect having to drink twist-top wine for twelve hours to send her into a tailspin.
She glanced at me quickly. ‘Chicken, I have a confession to make. I asked you here because, well, obviously this will be fun. But I also asked you to come because the best man is my ex-boyfriend and I haven’t seen him since we broke up and I moved to London.’
‘File this under stuff you should have told me before I went into my overdraft. Please elaborate on “we broke up”.’
‘He cheated on me with my former best friend and I ran away. But while we dated I introduced his best friend to my cousin, and now…’ She let out everything left in her lungs and stared at the floor. ‘I have to see him for the first time in almost three years at a wedding.’
So, this was going to be awesome.
A rugged blond man in the arrivals hall smiled broadly as we walked in. Lucinda dropped her bags and lifted her arms as he ran towards her. They spoke excitedly in gibberish, which Lucinda later told me was Afrikaans, and hugged tightly.
‘Paige, this is my older and much wiser brother, James. James, this is Paige.’
I ogled and giggled at the same time as I shook his ginormous, perfectly tanned hand. He had muscles I didn’t even know existed showing through his white t-shirt and his green eyes had a permanent squint to them which made me feel like he thought I might be extremely interesting and sexy.
Lucinda laughed and bumped me with her hip as James picked up our bags. ‘He’s gay.’
I shrugged my shoulders. ‘Well, then it looks like I have a crush on your gay brother.’
Warm air hit me as if I’d wandered under the hand dryer at my gym when we walked out of the airport. It was so overwhelming I stopped and gasped for air. We’d left London on a typical mid-February day, which meant it was just above freezing and generally drizzly. Lucinda pulled off her cardigan to reveal her bronzed shoulders and a light pink camisole. I took off mine to find my grey-ish skin already sweating through my black t-shirt. Note to self, keep a healthy glow at all times just in case a last minute trip to South Africa comes up.
James’ silver Mercedes was parked in the sun and when I hopped into the leather-clad back seat I was fairly sure I got third degree burns on the back of my legs. I yelped an
d rolled out of the car and onto the pavement, which wasn’t much of a relief.
‘Sorry, I’ve been here for a while. Didn’t want to keep you waiting.’ He turned on the air conditioning and coaxed me back into the car. Out of the window I could see the buildings and cars in the distance distort from literal heat waves. This was easily the warmest place I’d ever been in my life.
‘How hot is it?’
James looked at his dashboard. ‘Thirty-eight.’
‘Above zero?!’ I gasped, reacting the same way people normally did when I told them it was minus thirty-eight back home in Edmonton. If it was possible to melt a human, that was probably going to happen to me on this trip, although I hoped to pet a cheetah before that.
James was beyond excited to see us and had planned a full day of sightseeing, whereas Lucinda wanted to sit by the pool and top up her already perfect tan.
‘James, nobody wants to see the penguins.’
Wait, they have penguins? I stuck my head between the front seats and interrupted their argument. ‘I want to see the penguins!’
‘Chicken, they smell and can bite your finger off. It’s vile.’
Hadn’t she seen Happy Feet? I was willing to risk a finger to pet a penguin.
The rest of the drive was spent listening to James and Lucinda argue in a language I didn’t understand while I watched Cape Town open up before me. The roadside was filled with exotic and vibrant flowers that all looked like they were from another planet. The flora seemed to match the vast and colourful townships put together with gleaned metal and stolen electricity. I watched a little girl climb out of a house made from bright red corrugated metal with the Coca Cola logo inscribed in white, and then she was gone in a haze of highway.
SUNLOUNGER 2: Beach Read Bliss (Sunlounger Stories) Page 63