Queen of Babble Bundle with Bonus Material

by Meg Cabot

  Luke reaches over, drags me toward him, and kisses me on top of my head. I keep my gaze on the tabletop. I’m afraid that if I look up, everyone will see the tears—and shame—in my eyes.

  I can’t believe I wanted to kill him.

  Also that I still sort of want to.

  I don’t even know why. Or what’s wrong with me. Oh God.

  What’s wrong with me?

  “Aw,” Chaz says about the kiss. “That is just so sweet.”

  “Shut up, Chaz,” I say, still not meeting anyone’s gaze.

  “Yeah, shut up, Chaz,” Luke says. He’s grinning again and helping himself to another oyster.

  “So, September,” Valencia says. “That’s quite soon, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know about September,” I say, digging through my purse again. I’m looking for my lip gloss. “I have a couple of gowns due in September. I don’t know if I’ll have them ready in time…let alone my own gown.” The words “my own gown” cause my stomach to give a lurch. If there’d been anything but wine in it, I’m pretty sure it would have come up.

  “Lizzie,” Luke says in a warning voice.

  “Well, what do you want me to do, Luke?” I ask, knowing I sound petulant, but not caring. “I’m just saying, things are going really well at the shop and if it keeps up like this, September should be a busy time for me as well—”

  “When isn’t a busy time for you?” Luke wants to know. “I feel like I hardly ever see you anymore.”

  “Well, you’re not exactly Mr. Availability yourself, taking a job in Paris for the summer,” I snap.

  “Hey now, kids,” Chaz says. “Can’t we all just get along?”

  “I took that job for us,” Luke says. “To pay for our wedding.”

  “Oh, right,” I say. “A wedding we’re having at your house, apparently. Which is a vineyard. The booze and venue are already paid for. How much can it cost? Stop using the cost of the wedding as an excuse for why you’re leaving.”

  Luke stares at me. “Hey,” he says, looking hurt. “Where’d that come from?”

  The truth is, I have no idea. I really don’t. I just know the words are out there, floating around, already said.

  And there’s nothing I can do to stuff them back into my mouth.

  And I don’t really feel like apologizing for them this time.

  “Has it ever occurred to you,” I demand instead, “that I might rather have a smaller wedding, one that doesn’t require my fiancé having to be gone for the whole summer, working in France, to pay for it?”

  “Is that really what you want, Lizzie?” Luke asks, a bit of acid in his tone. “Because I think that can be arranged. I think your mother already said we could get married in your family’s backyard, with your sisters fighting over who can make the tackiest Jell-O mold, or whatever it is, and your grandmother passed out on the lawn for the entertainment.”

  For a second, it’s as if all activity in the restaurant freezes. I suck in my breath.

  Then Chaz groans, dropping his face into his hands, “Tell me you didn’t just go there, man.”

  But Luke only glares at me across the table, his expression defiant. He’s not backing down.

  I am, though.

  Because suddenly, I know what’s going on with me. I know exactly what’s going on with me.

  And what’s going on with me is that I’m done. I can’t take it anymore.

  I snatch up my bag, scoot out from behind the table, and say, “You don’t even know my family. Because in all this time, you’ve still never even bothered to come home with me to meet them.”

  Luke’s expression has lost some of its defiance.

  “Lizzie,” he says. “Look—”

  “No.” I thrust a heavily callused finger in his face. I may not have a pretty manicure like Valencia, but I bet my fingers have created way more lace ruching than hers ever have. I’ve worked my ass off for these calluses. And I’m damned proud of them. “No one disses my grandmother. Especially if they’ve never even met her.”

  “Lizzie,” he says, his expression contrite. “I’m—”

  “No,” I interrupt him. I can barely see him, my vision is so cloudy with tears. But I’m hoping he isn’t noticing that part. “If that’s how you feel about my family, Luke, why don’t you just go marry yourself? Since that’s who you’re obviously so in love with anyway.”

  Okay, not the wittiest of comebacks. But it’s all I can think of in the heat of the moment, what with the tears and all.

  I do see Chaz raise his eyebrows, as stunned as I am by my outburst. Valencia can’t seem to raise her gaze from her wineglass, she’s so embarrassed to be seen with me. But I can’t back down now. I don’t want to back down. Instead, I turn on my heel and stalk out of the room, ignoring Luke as he stands up and says, “Lizzie. Lizzie, come on.”

  Fortunately a waitress bearing a huge tray of Cosmopolitans swoops past me, blocking his path, and I hurry downstairs and outside, toward Perry Street…where a black stretch limo is pulling up just as I step off the curb to look for a cab to flag down. As I peer past the limo, hoping to see a cab with the TAXI sign lit up, meaning it’s available, one of the limo’s rear smoked windows rolls down and a familiar voice calls, “Lizzie? Oh my God.”

  And Ava Geck, wearing a spangled pink tube top beneath a pair of what appear to be white rubber lederhosen, leans out the window and says, “Get in, quick, before anyone sees me.”

  “Ava, what are you doing here?” I am not unconscious of the fact that everyone has already seen her. Everyone gathered in front of the Spotted Pig has looked up from his or her BlackBerry and is whispering, Oh my God! It’s Ava Geck! You know, Get it at Geck’s!

  “Why,” I ask, thoroughly confused, “aren’t you in Greece, Ava?”

  “I’ll tell you in the car,” Ava says. “Please. Just get in.”

  “Ava.” I rub at the tears still sliding around in the corners of my eyes. “What happened? You’re supposed to be getting married tomorrow.”

  “I know,” Ava says. “Just get in, and I’ll explain.”

  “Lizzie!”

  I throw a frantic glance over my shoulder and see Luke coming out the door of the Spotted Pig, his napkin still in one hand.

  I’m surprised—I really hadn’t thought he’d follow me—but I don’t hesitate a second longer. I fling open the closest door to Ava’s limo and dive in.

  “Go,” I yell to the driver. “Please, just go!”

  “Hey,” Ava says as I scramble over her in my haste to grab a seat. “Is that your boyfriend? He’s cute.”

  “Yes,” I say. “Please, can we go? I have to get out of here.”

  “Lizzie.” Luke hurries up to the limo’s still-wide-open window. “Where are you going?”

  “Please go,” I beg Ava’s driver, who surprises me by doing just that.

  And soon Luke, the Spotted Pig, and all the hipsters standing outside it, busily texting with their BlackBerries, are just tiny specks in the distance.

  A HISTORY of WEDDINGS

  The Victorians were the ones who took weddings—as they did almost everything—to a whole other level. The industrial revolution proved that just about anything could be mass-produced, and soon savvy merchants realized that they could convince their wealthier customers not to be content with mere home-baked wedding cakes and homespun bridal gowns…no!

  Now, instead of needing bridesmaids to trick evil spirits or as armed warriors, the modern bride needed them to help with invitations, choosing the cake, floral arrangements, her gown, their gowns—you name it. Pretty crafty of those shop owners, huh?

  And so the wedding as we know it today was born. Alleluia…or curses, as the case may be.

  Tip to Avoid a Wedding Day Disaster

  Wedding costs breakdown, or—who pays for what (Remember, this is traditionally. With today’s more modern couples opting to pay for their weddings themselves, things are changing. But up until recently, the norm was the following):

&n
bsp; The Bride:

  Thank-you gifts for the maid of honor, bridesmaids, and hostess

  The wedding gown, headpiece, and accessories

  The groom’s ring

  Flower-girl basket and ring-bearer pillow

  Hotel accommodations for any attendants who will be arriving from out of town

  The Groom:

  The marriage license

  Thank-you gifts for the best man and groomsmen

  The bride’s engagement ring

  The bride’s wedding ring

  Clothing (tuxedo rental) and accessories

  The bride’s flowers

  Corsages for mothers/grandmothers and boutonnieres for groomsmen

  Clergyman/officiant fee

  Limousine service/transportation to and from the wedding and reception

  Hotel accommodations for any groomsmen who will be arriving from out of town

  The Bride and Groom:

  Wedding pictures

  Miscellaneous accessories (wedding favors, goblets, napkins/ printed items)

  Thank-you gifts for the flower girl and ring bearer

  Thank-you cards

  Any overnight accommodations for themselves

  Their honeymoon arrangements, unless another relative or friend offers to pay for it as a wedding gift

  Parents of the Groom:

  Dress/suit and accessories

  The rehearsal dinner

  Their hotel accommodations

  Bridesmaids:

  Dresses and accessories

  Wedding shower

  Groomsmen:

  Clothing (tuxedo rental) and accessories

  Bachelor party

  Parents of the Flower Girl/Ring Bearer:

  Dress, suit/tuxedo rental, and accessories

  Hotel accommodations if arriving from out of town

  Parents of the Bride:

  Everything else

  LIZZIE NICHOLS DESIGNS™

  • Chapter 11 •

  Marriage is the perfection of what love aimed at, ignorant of what it sought.

  Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803–1882), American essayist, poet, and leader of the Transcendentalist movement

  What are you and Luke fighting about?” Ava wants to know. She’s cradling Snow White on her slim, tanned thighs. Besides the tube top and white rubber lederhosen, she is also wearing pink suede platform boots. I suppose I should be grateful that both her boobs and crotch are completely covered for once, but rubber and suede…in late June?

  “Just wedding stuff,” I lie to her, although I know I should be nicer and tell her the truth, since she has, in a sense, just rescued me. The only problem is…I don’t know what the truth is, exactly.

  And I actually have more pressing concerns at the moment. Like why I’m in a stretch limo with Ava Geck.

  “Ava, what are you doing here?” I ask. “Why aren’t you in Greece?”

  “I couldn’t go through with it,” Ava says simply, then gasps and seizes my arm. “Oh my God! What happened to you? Lizzie—has Luke been beating you?”

  I look down at the hives, which have now broken out all over the insides of both my arms. In a way, they do resemble bruises.

  “No,” I say with a laugh, because the idea of Luke ever hitting me is so absurd. I could probably knock him clear into New Jersey. “They’re just hives. I get them every time I think about…you know.”

  “Butt sex?” Ava asks understandingly.

  “No,” I cry, ripping my arm from her grasp. “My wedding. And what do you mean, you couldn’t go through with it? You mean you just…canceled your wedding to Prince Aleksandros?”

  “That’s about it,” Ava says with a sigh, patting Snow White on the head as the poor dog trembles in the icy blast from the limo’s air conditioner. “I was just boarding Daddy’s private jet, and suddenly it hit me: I’m about to become someone’s wife. I was like…are you shitting me? I’m only twenty-three! I haven’t even been to college. What am I doing, becoming someone’s wife? So I jumped back into the car and I’ve been riding around ever since, trying to get my head together.”

  I gaze at Ava, truly touched by her words. Especially since I’m twenty-three too. “So you’ve decided to go to college? Ava, that is so great!”

  “Hell, no, I’m not going to college,” Ava says, looking shocked. “Are you kidding me? I’m just saying there’s so many things like going to college that I haven’t done. I’m not throwing my life away yet on some guy, even if he is a prince. I have shit to do. I don’t know what, but…like, I was thinking I should cut an album. Something classy, you know? Like Hilary Duff.”

  I blink at her. “Well…yes. Yes, that is definitely something you could do.”

  “And I don’t even have my own clothing line yet,” Ava goes on. “My parents own one of the biggest discount department store chains in the world, and I don’t have my own clothing line yet? What the hell am I thinking?”

  “Exactly,” I say. “What the hell are you thinking? Although, Ava…you can do all these things and still be married, you know. It’s not like Prince Aleksandros would try to stop you. Not if he really loved you. He’d probably be proud of you.”

  “But that’s just it,” Ava says, looking down sadly at Snow White. “I don’t think he would be. You know…this is partly your fault, Lizzie. My having to cancel my wedding, I mean.”

  “Me?” I gape at her, horror-struck. “What did I have to do with it?”

  “Because since I’ve been coming to you, and you’ve been, like, helping me with my public image and stuff, Alek’s kinda…I don’t know. Lost interest in me. Like he keeps asking me how come I don’t show my cootchie anymore. I think he liked it when I did stuff like that. Because it drove his parents completely insane. They were totally against his marrying me, you know. Which I think only made him more into me. But now that I’ve started to act a little classier, they’ve been a lot nicer to me. And that’s made Alek completely lose interest.”

  My jaw sags. Although I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. This explains so much about Ava’s very conservative choices when it came to her wedding gown. And why she’d come to me in the first place. Sure, she could have gone to Vera Wang, but there’d been a small part of her that had still been rebelling…just a little.

  It’s all beginning to make sense. She’d wanted to please her fiancé’s parents while still retaining some small part of herself.

  But in doing so, it sounded like she’d turned off her fiancé.

  Oops.

  “So you’re calling it off,” I say, “before Aleksandros can?”

  “That’s just it,” Ava says in disgust. “I don’t think he ever was going to call it off. That’s how gutless he is. Like, he’ll stand up to his parents by marrying a total slut. But he would never call off the wedding to that slut, because that would make him look bad in the press.”

  I reach over and give her warm, bare shoulder a reassuring pat. “Ava,” I say. “You’re not a slut.”

  “Oh, I totally am,” Ava says matter-of-factly. “But that’s okay. I’d rather be a slut than a dickless hypocrite, like Alek. I’m just sorry about your dress.”

  I shake my head. “My dress?”

  “The beautiful wedding dress you designed for me,” Ava says.

  “Oh,” I say, laughing. “Don’t worry about that! I’m sure I’ll find someone else to buy it. Ava Geck’s wedding dress? Are you kidding? I’ll probably be able to sell it for a fortune on eBay.”

  Ava pouts at me. “I’m not giving it back,” she says. “That thing is mine. I was thinking maybe you could make it shorter, dye it purple, slap some sequins on it, and I could wear it to the MTV Video Music Awards in September. That way tons of people will see it, and you’ll still get the exposure you deserve. I should get lots of airtime, because I’m giving out the Viewer’s Choice VMA. And Tippy asked me to go with him ’cause he’s still got that restraining order out on his wife. That was going to be a problem before—you know, being his escort if I was
married to Alek—but now that I’m not, it should be all good.”

  “Oh,” I say, taken aback. “Um…sure. I could do that. No problem.”

  “Awesome.” Ava looks a lot happier. The limo has made its way uptown via Sixth Avenue, and now we’re snaking our way through Central Park, one of my favorite drives in Manhattan—which I certainly never thought I’d be making via limo. We’re gliding past couples taking romantic horse and carriage rides, and less romantic pedicab rides. I wonder if they’re looking at the smoked-glass windows of the limo and trying to guess who the celebrity is inside.

  I’m betting none of them is guessing Ava Geck and her wedding gown designer.

  “So what are you going to do now?” I ask, conscious that my stomach is growling a little. There’s nothing in it but white wine. I’m hoping Ava’s going to say that she’s dropping me off at home so I can get something to eat…or at the very least, that she’s going to suggest the two of us grab something somewhere. I don’t know how much longer I can go without sustenance of the nonalcoholic variety. Ava may be able to go for hours on just a PowerBar, but I’m not that kind of girl.

  “Um,” Ava says. “Yeah. That’s why I was trying to reach you.”

  I perk up. “You want to grab some dinner? You want to get some sushi or something?” Another thing Tiffany, Monique, and I have managed to do is expand Ava’s dining horizons, so that she now eats more than just cheeseburgers and protein bars. She has consequently developed an almost pathological love for sushi…which isn’t actually unusual for someone who’s never tried it before. Wasabi has known addictive qualities. “There’s Atlantic Grill right over on Third Avenue. Or Sushi of Gari…”

  “Not exactly,” Ava says. “I mean, we can totally get something to eat if you want. But I actually need a favor.”