Max shook his head. “No. I’m going to…” He gestured vaguely along the road, and I nodded.
“Okay, well, see you tomorrow, I guess,” I said, attempting a smile.
“Yes,” Max said. Then he frowned. “Unless…”
“Unless?” I looked toward the turnstile, then back at him.
“Unless you…you want to go for a drink?” he said suddenly. “If you don’t have to get home. I mean, not for long, if you’ve got other things…”
I thought for a moment. “No. I’d like that. I’d like that very much.”
“Good!” Max’s face lit up. “That’s…well, good.”
“Just one thing,” I said, wincing slightly.
“Yes?” Max’s face was earnest.
“You mind if we pop back to the office so I can change my shoes? These high heels are killing me.”
“Of course,” Max looked relieved. “I never understood why women wear those things anyway.”
“They make your legs look longer,” I said as we turned around.
“But your legs are perfectly long enough.” Max caught my eye and blushed. “For walking, I mean,” he added immediately. “A perfectly practical length. In my opinion. I mean…To be clear, what I was trying to say was that your legs…”
“Thanks, Max,” I said, smiling to myself as I hobbled along. “I know what you were trying to say. So where shall we go?”
“There’s a nice pub around the corner,” Max said, shooting me a little smile. “It’s nothing fancy but they do a great pint of bitter.”
“Bitter?” I raised an eyebrow teasingly. “Don’t old fuddy-duddies drink that?”
“Yes, we do.” Max grinned. “And what about you? Bitter not good enough for you, is it?”
“A glass of wine will do nicely, thank you.” I smiled.
He nodded as we walked. Then, suddenly, he stopped.
“So you’re not serious about Anthony?”
I stopped, too. I wasn’t prepared for that question. Not from Max.
“Not serious?” I asked. “What do you mean?”
He wasn’t looking at me; he was still looking straight ahead.
“I mean, are the two of you serious. In a serious relationship. One that might go somewhere?”
I gulped. Only down the aisle, I was thinking. But that would never happen. Not really.
“I don’t think so,” I said quietly. “No, I would say that we’re not serious.”
“Good.”
“It is?” I looked at Max tentatively.
“No, not good. Well, sort of good. I mean…” Max put his hands through his hair awkwardly. “Good for work relations. You know, no complications. Office politics, that sort of thing.”
“Oh, right,” I said, a little stab of disappointment hitting my stomach. Disappointment seemed to dog me where Max was concerned: you’d think I’d have learned by now.
“Actually—” Max stopped walking. “Actually, that’s not true.”
“It isn’t?”
“I…I had Marcia’s style sheet all along,” he said.
“Style sheet?” My forehead creased in incomprehension. “Which style sh…?” And then I realized what he meant. What I thought he meant. “You did? I mean, you came…”
“To see you, yes.”
“Because…” I could hardly breathe.
“Because I was hoping that I might pluck up the courage, maybe, to…But then I didn’t, of course. I bottled it. Like I always do. But sometimes you’ve got to be brave, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” I said, my voice hardly audible. “Yes, I think you do.”
“So, I’m pleased,” he said. “About you and Anthony.”
“Yes,” I said. Max started walking again and I followed after him, my mind racing. He was pleased. He came to see me. And he was only telling me this now? Why? Why didn’t he tell me before. And then I knew why. It was the same reason Anthony was interested in me—because someone else was. Anthony was jealous of Sean; Max was jealous of Anthony. Although jealousy wasn’t a bad thing, not always.
Max stopped again. “I just wondered if you…if you…”
I stopped, too. My eyes met his, and neither of us could look away. His lips were just inches away; if I moved my head just slightly we’d be kissing. It was what I’d hoped for since I met him, what I’d wanted since I’d set eyes on him at my interview to Milton Advertising.
Except it wasn’t, I realized suddenly. It wasn’t what I wanted, not really. If I kissed Max, if I let him kiss me, everything would change. I’d lose Grace’s inheritance. But more importantly, I’d be vulnerable to so much more disappointment. Too vulnerable. And all for a man who was probably only interested in me because someone else was.
Steeling myself, I pulled away. “No,” I said, my voice barely audible. “No…” And, drawing on every piece of strength in my body and mind, I turned around and ran down the street toward the tube.
Chapter 20
PROJECT: MARRIAGE DAY 21
To do
1. Um…
The next morning, I was woken up by a loud ringing. Pulling my pillow over my head, I did my best to ignore the sound, which I worked out in my sleepy haze was the doorbell and therefore very unlikely to be anything to do with me. I felt myself drifting back into a delicious sleep. A few moments later, though, I felt the pillow being pulled from my head.
“It’s for you,” Helen said, her voice strange and brittle.
“For me? What’s for me?”
“The door. You’ve got a visitor.”
I stared at her.
“For me?” I asked again stupidly. “Who is it?”
Then I frowned. “It’s not Mr. Taylor, is it?” I asked anxiously.
I swung my legs out of bed and lowered my head onto my knees. “Tell him I’m not here,” I said pleadingly. “Tell him I’m still out of the country.”
“Still out of the country? When did you leave?” Helen asked.
“I told him I was going away a week or two ago,” I mumbled. “Please, Hel. Tell him you don’t know where I am. I can’t face him now. I really can’t.”
“It isn’t Mr. Taylor,” Helen said, pulling me out of bed and smoothing down my hair. “But put something on first.” She scanned my wardrobe and pulled out some clothes. “Here, put these on.”
She handed me a pair of jeans and a pretty cashmere cardigan, and I looked at her cautiously.
“Why?” I demanded.
“Just do it!” Helen said irritably. “Quickly!”
“If it’s Ivana with some new activity for me to try, I’m not doing it,” I said sulkily. “I’m really not. I need to talk to you about Project Marriage, actually. You see, I’ve been thinking and I don’t think it’s going to work. Seriously.”
“Fine. Suit yourself. Just go down to the front door.”
“You’re okay with that?” I asked in amazement. “You don’t mind if I abort the whole thing?”
“Not at all,” Helen said vaguely. “Whatever you want. Just do me a favor and answer the door.”
Curiously, I walked toward the front door and opened it. And just before I did, I got a little jolt in my stomach. Because maybe it was Max. Maybe he wasn’t going to take no for an answer and he was going to sweep me off my feet…
The hallway was empty. Of course it wasn’t Max. Which was good. I mean, it was never going to be him anyway. I didn’t know why I’d even thought that.
“There’s no one there!” I sighed, turning around to frown at Helen.
“The proper front door. Downstairs,” Helen said, urging me toward the staircase.
Tentatively, I made my way downstairs. It could be Max. I mean, it was possible. Slowly, I opened the door. And then my mouth fell open.
“Anthony?”
He smiled awkwardly and presented me with a bouquet of flowers, which I took uncertainly. I could smell wine on his breath. Or maybe it was champagne.
“I know you’ve had too many of these, but I was
n’t sure what else to get.”
I looked at him skeptically. “You got these for me?”
“Yes. Yes I did. You see, the thing is—”
He stopped in midsentence, and I looked at him curiously.
“The thing is,” he began again, “I got to thinking last night. After you left, I mean.”
“You did?”
Anthony smiled uncertainly. “Yes, well. You see, I was at this party, and it was crap, as parties always are, and I got to thinking about my life.”
“Your life,” I said, squinting against the early-morning sunlight. “Yes, well, it’s always good to do that.”
“Right. Exactly. And your life, in fact.”
I frowned. “My life?”
“You just said no to that party yesterday. You just walked away. I can never do that. If there’s a party, I have to go. It’s a weakness.”
“Maybe you just like parties,” I suggested.
“I do!” Anthony’s eyes lit up. “But they’re never as good as I think they’re going to be. That’s the point. Things never are. Except you.”
“Me?” I looked at him suspiciously.
“Yes. You’re better than I thought you were going to be. You see? Better, not worse.”
“Right,” I said, not knowing whether to be flattered or insulted.
“And then I thought about Sean. You know, missing the boat, full of regrets. And I thought: you know, Anthony? That could be you one day. Running from party to party and missing the boat right in front of you.”
I frowned. “You mean a boat party?”
“I mean your boat,” Anthony said, his eyes shining.
“I don’t have a boat. I’m just ordinary. Look, Anthony, why don’t you go home. Why don’t you ring up Tamara, or Selina, and talk to them about this?”
“I don’t want to talk to them. I want to talk to you.”
Anthony was staring at me goofily, swaying from side to side.
“Are you drunk?” I asked.
“A bit. Drunk with love.” Anthony grinned.
“You’re in love?” I sighed. Of course he was. He was coming to tell me it was over. Good. I wanted it to be over. It would be a relief.
“Yes I am. With you!”
“Good. So, good-bye then…” My voice stalled as I realized what he’d said, and I took a step back. “You’re what?”
“I’m in love with you. It suddenly became clear.”
“In love with me?” I asked incredulously. “But why?”
“Why?” Anthony frowned with confusion.
“Yes,” I asked, genuinely baffled. “Why? I’m not a supermodel. I don’t like parties. Yesterday we were meant to be having dinner and you went to a party with Tamara instead.”
“Exactly!” he said, as though I’d just solved a difficult mathematical equation. “And it was awful. I drank too much, I stayed too long…And if I’d stayed with you, I’d be at home now, I wouldn’t be hungover, I’d be comfortable.”
“You’re sure you’re not still drunk?” I asked. He wasn’t making any sense. He wasn’t in love with me. This whole thing was just…bizarre.
“Hair of the dog,” he said, winking. “Best cure known to man. So anyway, what do you think?”
“Think? About what?” I was beginning to think I needed a drink myself.
“About us? About my proposition.”
“What proposition? You haven’t proposed anything as far as I can remember.”
“Proposition? Oh my God. Has he proposed? Are you two getting married?” I turned, to see Helen rushing toward me, her arms outstretched to give me a hug.
“No,” I managed to say before she hurled herself at me. “No, he hasn’t. We’re not—”
“We could!” Anthony said suddenly, his eyes shining.
“What?” I stared at him in horror.
“Get married,” he said, grinning. “Settle down. What a brilliant idea.”
“No, it isn’t,” I said firmly.
“Yes it is!” Helen put her hand over my mouth. “It’s a brilliant idea. Wow, how exciting.”
“But…but…” I extricated myself from Helen’s grasp. “But…”
“But nothing!” Anthony swung around and grabbed me in a bear hug. “Your friend’s right. It’s a brilliant idea. I’m not going to miss the boat anymore. I’m going to get on the boat.”
“I’m the boat now?” I asked, reeling slightly.
“We’re the boat,” Anthony corrected me. “Marriage is the boat. HMS Commitment.”
My mouth fell open.
“I…I…” I looked back at Anthony. “You seriously want to marry me?”
“Of course he does!” Helen squealed. “You’re going to be Mrs. Milton. Oh, I can’t wait to tell Ivana and Sean.”
“Sean?” Anthony swung around. “Yes, you tell him. You tell him that she’s taken now.”
“I’m not taken,” I said firmly. “You’re not telling anyone anything.”
“Yes you are. Anthony just asked you to marry him. I heard him,” Helen said immediately. Then she turned to Anthony and stuck out her hand. “I’m Helen, by the way. I’m going to be her bridesmaid, aren’t I, Jess?”
I rolled my eyes. “I think there’s the small matter of me saying yes.”
They both turned to look at me expectantly, hopefully.
I shook my head. “I can’t…” I started to say, “I can’t…”
“Can’t what?” Helen said impatiently. “You can, Jess. Come on, Deal, for God’s sake.”
“But…” I could feel my heart thudding in my chest. Helen grabbed me and pulled me to one side.
“What’s the matter?” she hissed. “You’ve got everything you want on a plate in front of you. Anthony Milton is proposing. You get him, you get the money, you get the house, you get to fulfill your promise to Grace. Why on earth wouldn’t you say yes?”
“Because…” I took a deep breath. “Because it’s all fake,” I said. “I’m not Jessica Wiiild.”
“No you’re not. Jessica Wiiild is you,” Helen whispered, firmly. “Jess, you can’t turn this down. Do you really want to walk away from four million pounds?”
“No!” I said defensively. “I just don’t want to…I don’t want to do something I’ll regret.”
“Regret? Jess, you’d only regret saying no. Marrying Anthony who, incidentally, is utterly gorgeous, is the best thing that would happen to you. And you’re going to be a millionaire. What is there to regret?”
I swallowed. Helen was right.
“Nothing, I guess,” I admitted.
“Exactly,” Helen said, folding her arms. “So?”
I turned back to Anthony. “I can’t…” I turned back to Helen, who glowered at me. “I can’t quite believe it,” I continued. And I couldn’t. Anthony Milton had just proposed. There was nothing in the project plan to deal with this.
“Believe it,” Anthony said, taking my hand. “Jessica Wild, I want you to be my wife.”
“Your wife.” I said the words, but they still sounded strange in my mouth. Any minute now I expected someone to jump out and shout, Surprise! It’s all a joke! But no one seemed to be jumping. Not that I could see, anyway. I squinted at Anthony. “You really want me to marry you? Really and truly?”
“Absolutely.” Anthony nodded. “It’ll be a blast. Everyone’ll be gobsmacked. Me, married. Brilliant.”
I stared at him for a few seconds, and then I looked past him to the early-morning sky. I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t. Could I? Maybe I could. I’d be Mrs. Milton, after all, just like I told Grace. And it would put an end to any dangerous romantic thoughts once and for all. I didn’t love Anthony; I didn’t have any expectations of him. In many ways it was perfect. If he left me, I wouldn’t care. I’d be insulated from disappointment for the rest of my life.
“Okay then,” I said, my eyes shining. “What the hell. Let’s do it. Let’s get married.”
Chapter 21
“AND THEN HE ASKED HER to ma
rry him. Just like that!” Helen poured some more champagne into her glass and looked triumphantly at Ivana and Sean, who were stretched out on our sofa. It was Sunday evening and after a weekend spent drinking champagne with Anthony and trying on engagement rings, I was exhausted.
“He ask you merry him?” Ivana looked surprised and I nodded defensively.
“It was all because of you two,” Helen said quickly. “You’re amazing.”
“Yes,” Ivana agreed. “Yes, is true.”
“And now,” Helen said tentatively, “all we need to do is make sure that the wedding happens soon. Like, in twenty-seven days.”
“Just under four weeks,” I added helpfully, taking another sip of champagne. I found that my comfort with the whole wedding business correlated exactly with the amount of champagne I consumed—if I waited too long before taking a gulp, the doubts and demons all began to surface again.
Ivana raised an eyebrow. “Is not longk,” she pointed out.
“Not long at all,” I said thoughtfully. “Actually, it’s virtually impossible.”
“Not impossible,” Ivana said firmly. “We find way.”
“Tell him you’re up the duff,” Sean suggested. “Shotgun wedding.”
“Shotgun?” Ivana turned to him, her face curious. “We heff shotgun wedding in Russia. But what is point in dead people here? I no understand.”
“Not real shotguns,” Helen said. “If he thinks she’s pregnant, he’s more likely to…you know, get on with it. The wedding, I mean.”
Ivana looked unconvinced. I stood up. “I’m not telling him I’m pregnant,” I said firmly. “No way.”
“Fine, but do you have any alternatives?” Helen asked.
I shook my head.
“Say you are romantic,” Ivana said suddenly. “Say you no want wait.”
“A romantic?” I looked at her dubiously. “I don’t really see that working, I’m afraid.”
Ivana shrugged. “Okay. Maybe you say no boom boom until wedding?”
Sean raised an eyebrow. “You could try saying no boom boom period.”
“You kip being jealous, you get no boom boom,” Ivana said irritably. She turned to Helen. “He know my job. Why now he heff to be jealous?”
The Importance of Being Married: A Novel Page 19