Chapter 3 The Fool
Ten minutes into lunch with Sasha and her prospective mother-in-law, and Ari was just about ready to admit defeat. Discomfort sat heavily in the air, weighted down by Sasha’s tightly leashed fury and the groom’s mother’s all-too-evident disapproval. Ari sipped at the glass of white wine that had been put in front of her, trying to settle the knot of unease that was slowly growing in her stomach.
Sebastian was trying his best, Ari knew. He sat beside Sasha, elegant and poised, playing his role of English gentleman with aplomb. He was all charm and suave style and simpering compliments for the bride, who licked them up like a show pony at the trough. Sebastian knew how to play Sasha — knew to be friendly enough to win her trust, while being just distant enough to leave her wanting more. Watching Sebastian charm a bride was like watching an artist at work, Ari always thought, but today his work was spoiled, soured by a disapproving mother-in-law and an inexplicably absent groom.
“I’m sorry,” Sasha apologised in her sharp American twang. “I told him to be here. He knew how important this meeting was to me. I can’t believe he’s late.”
“Oh, darling, it’s nothing,” Sebastian purred with a wave of his hand. “You know, sometimes it’s better if the groom isn’t here. Quite often they just get in the way. Besides, Mum’s here, isn’t she?”
He gestured to the groom’s mother, and Ari saw Marnie stiffen, her face like stone.
“ Mum? ” she repeated icily.
Sebastian reddened. “Well, yes. In Britain, we always refer to the mother of the bride or groom as Mum. It’s a compliment, in a way.”
“Well, you aren’t in Britain now.” Marnie’s voice was as sharp as the wine in Ari’s glass. “So I would appreciate it if you addressed me as Mrs Somerset.”
Marnie Somerset. Something in Ari’s mind stirred, the edge of a memory within grasp, and she frowned, staring at Marnie openly.
“Can I help you?” Marnie asked her, and now it was Ari’s turn to blush.
“Oh, no, it’s nothing—”
“You’ve been quiet,” Marnie mused, still staring at Ari with hard, unflinching eyes. “You let him do all the talking.” She glared openly at Sebastian.
“Well, he’s the client manager,” Ari explained.
Marnie only stared at her harder, and Ari squirmed in her seat. “He’s the client manager? Fine. So, tell me, what do you do in this...” she gestured to the air between Ari and Sebastian “. . . outfit?”
Ari cleared her throat. “I’m the artistic director,” she said weakly. “I plan the visuals of the wedding. Colour scheme, aesthetics, table settings...”
“Really?” Marnie asked her coolly. “And what does Sasha, the bride, plan in all of this? Does she get a say at all?”
“Oh, yes,” Ari replied instantly, sitting up taller. Where her work was concerned, she was always the consummate professional. “I take all my cues from the bride. Quite often, brides know exactly what they want for their wedding, they just don’t know how to make that vision a reality. That’s where I step in. I take their ideas and source all the pieces, putting them together like a puzzle to make a perfect day.”
“I see,” Marnie said slowly, nodding. “And you’ve seen the woods now, I take it? What did you, as the artistic director , make of them?”
“Well, it’s a raw setting for a wedding.” Ari took another sip of wine. “But I think we have a plan that might work. Of course, I’d like to speak to Sasha and...” She trailed off awkwardly, suddenly unable to say the groom’s name under Marnie’s critical eyes. It was ridiculous, she told herself. It had been eight years.
“Tom,” Marnie filled the silence icily, and Ari blushed.
“Yes, of course, Tom . I’d like to speak with them both and get a feel for how they see their special day.”
“I want it big,” Sasha piped up. “I want the best of the best. Exquisite food, a French patisserie cake, champagne and a bespoke Luis De León dress on my back.”
Sebastian spluttered into his wine, and Ari shot him a look. “You want a De León dress?” he asked, wiping his mouth, and Sasha nodded.
“Of course,” Sasha replied emphatically. “Luis De León is the biggest wedding dress designer of our generation. I told you — I want the best of the best. And Luis De León is the best.”
Sebastian seemed to recover himself, sliding a hand across the table, taking hold of Sasha’s fingers. “Yes, my darling, but Luis De León has a four-year waiting list for bespoke wedding gowns. If you’re determined to have one of his dresses, we could probably alter one of his collection gowns for you, but a bespoke dress is quite impossible.”
“But I want one.” Sasha pouted. “I’ve already seen one I like, in fact, and I know you’ve worked with him... look...” Sasha drew out a copy of French Vogue from her bag.
Ari groaned internally. She knew that magazine, and knew exactly which article Sasha had read. It was a four-page spread on Luis’s gowns, modelled by the newest supermodel, with photographs by Stella Snow. She remembered Luis coming back from the shoot, casually mentioning to her and Sebastian that he’d mentioned their business in the magazine, at which point Sebastian had exploded.
“It’s tacky to tout for business in Vogue , Luis,” he’d shouted.
“It’s Vogue .” Luis had shrugged, completely perplexed. “The whole magazine is wall-to-wall adverts. I thought I was doing you a favour, Sebastian.”
“A favour?! A fuc—” Quickly, Ari had shot Sebastian a stern look, before nodding at her daughter, Reine, who had been lying on the floor, casually colouring in. Now, the little girl was looking up at her uncles, crayons temporarily forgotten, wide-eyed and curious. Sebastian stopped, taking a deep breath. “A fudging favour? Look, I don’t mind when you send your brides in our direction, Luis. A casual mention here and there is one thing, but a full-blown call-out in Vogue is quite another. We’re meant to be a classy, exclusive establishment. Not a tacky, grubbing-for-business—”
“ Vogue is classy and exclusive!” Luis had yelled. “Why do you think they wanted me?”
“Oh, let’s not get too big for our britches, shall we?” Sebastian had retorted.
Luis then stepped towards Sebastian, his anger no longer explosive but smouldering. “You like the fact that I’m too big for my britches, Sebastian.”
“That’s it.” Ari had stood up and gathered her things. “You’re veering into PG13 territory. I’m taking Reine and going.”
Both Luis and Sebastian spun to look at her, guilt flashing across their faces.
“No, honey.” Luis had cleared his throat. “The two of you can’t leave. I brought back apricot nectar from Paris. We’re going to have poulet aux abricots et riz sauvage tonight.”
Now, Ari watched with dismay as Sasha passed the magazine to Sebastian, whose face was pale.
“You want this dress?” He pointed to a frothy white number, and Sasha’s face lit up.
“That’s the one,” she squealed. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
Sebastian nodded slowly. “She wants a De León dress, Ari.”
“Of course, I’d like to make some changes,” Sasha carried on. “But that’s easy enough, right?”
For a moment Sebastian was silent, and Ari could see him mentally weighing up his options in his head. Turn Sasha down, and risk losing their biggest potential client to date — as well as their move into the North American market — or call his husband and ask for a monumental favour, sealing the deal on this wedding.
“We can probably organise something,” Sebastian said quietly. “I should tell you, Luis De León is actually my husband.”
For a moment, both Marnie and Sasha were quiet. But it was only for a moment. Then Sasha squealed, throwing her arms around Sebastian and hugging him tightly.
“You had one of those gay weddings?” she asked excitedly.
Sebastian shrugged. “Well, we had a wedding.”
“Well, this is just perfect ,” Sasha clapped her hands. “Now you can get me my dress. And obviously I’ll want Stella Snow to take the photographs, so...”
At that, Ari held up a hand. “You want Stella too?”
“Well, yes, obviously. I told you—I want the best of the best.”
“Stella is . . . very difficult,” Ari began slowly.
But Sasha shrugged. “If you can get me my De León dress, you can get me Stella Snow.”
Ari paused. She hadn’t been lying — Stella Snow was difficult, in every sense of the word. But she glanced at Sebastian, who nodded slowly. Clearing her throat and breathing deeply, aware of Marnie Somerset’s sharp eyes upon her, she gave Sasha a soft smile.
“She’s also horrifically expensive,” Ari carried on, “we know so many other photographers who are just as good, and—”
“I don’t want good,” Sasha cut in, her tone suddenly razor sharp. “I want the best . Why isn’t she listening to me?” she whined to Sebastian, who tutted and gave Sasha a good-natured pat on the shoulder.
“Ari, darling, if Sasha here wants Stella, we’ll get her Stella,” he said. “After all, if the wedding is going to be on...” he glanced at his notebook surreptitiously “. . . the twenty-ninth of October next year, then—”
“This year,” Sasha corrected him. “Tom and I want to get married this year.”
Ari’s mouth dropped open. “But that’s... seven weeks away. We can’t get Stella in seven weeks. We can’t get a De León bespoke dress in seven weeks. We can’t do anything in just seven weeks. Are you sure you can’t push the date back?”
“Oh no,” Sasha replied immediately, shaking her head. “It took years for me to get a proposal out of Tom. Now that he has, I want to seal the deal ASAP.”
“Seven weeks . . .” Ari breathed deeply. “That’s impossible.”
Next to her, Ari heard Marnie give a satisfied sigh. “Oh dear, never mind. Well, we’ll just get in our usual event planners then. I’m sure they can organise a wedding in the woods in seven weeks.”
Sebastian sat bolt upright, shaking his head emphatically. “They can’t get a De León dress though, can they? No. We can do it.”
Ari stared at him in disbelief. “ Sebastian. We just can’t. Stella, maybe, is a possibility, if we call in the world’s biggest favour... but Luis? He has other brides. We can’t just swoop in and disrupt his timetable like that.” She turned to Marnie and Sasha, shaking her head. “Sasha, I’m sorry, but getting a bespoke De León dress in seven weeks is impossible. We couldn’t get one for love nor money, and trust me, Sebastian here can try both.”
“But I want one,” Sasha said sharply. “And I always get what I want.”
Dislike for this woman, hot and intense, slid down Ari’s spine. Taking another deep breath, she opened her mouth to reply, when Sebastian piped up.
“If you want one, my darling, we’ll get you one.”
“ Sebastian, ” Ari exhaled, shocked. “You can’t promise that.”
“Look, if we fly Luis out here tomorrow, start the fittings right away, get the fabric ordered, it’s not impossible.”
Ari shook her head. “He has other responsibilities, Sebastian.”
Sebastian shrugged. “He can put one of his junior designers to work on the other brides for a few days. So long as he’s there for their final fittings they won’t even know he didn’t work on their gowns personally.”
Ari stared at him through narrowed eyes, hoping against hope he would read between the lines. “No. He has other responsibilities, Sebastian.”
Sebastian, suddenly startled, clearly understanding her, while Marnie frowned.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “What other responsibilities? He’s a wedding dress designer.”
Sebastian smiled at Marnie pleasantly. “Oh, I’m sorry, this is more of a... personal matter. Ari and I, well, we don’t like our personal lives to impact our business. Ever. We have a good work ethic.”
Marnie opened her mouth to reply, but Sasha cut in. “I want a bespoke De León dress.” She sounded dangerously close to stomping her feet. “So I don’t care what personal shit you two have got going on... I want him here, this week, for my first fitting.”
At that, Ari stood. “I’m sorry. On this we’re quite firm. Luis De León has other responsibilities, and if we’re going to plan this wedding, there is no way we can get him here.”
Sebastian also stood, abruptly pulling on Ari’s arm. “One moment, darlings,” he chirped to Sasha and Marnie, before leading Ari to the side.
“Are you fucking insane?” he hissed. “We can’t turn this wedding down.”
“We can’t get Luis here,” Ari insisted. “You know that. And I can’t be here for seven weeks. A few days here and there, yes, but seven whole weeks? I can’t be away from Reine for that long.”
“Yes, I know,” Sebastian said. “Fuck, I wish I could smoke right now.”
“Well, you can’t.”
Ari watched as Sebastian took a deep breath. “Okay. Hear me out.”
Ari shook her head. “No, don’t say what I think you’re about to.”
“Ari,” Sebastian said patiently. “So, Luis brings her with him.”
“No,” Ari’s response was instant. “She has school, she has violin, she has Brownies on Thursday. You should know that, your husband is Tawny Owl.”
“Honey, listen.” Sebastian was using his calmest, most sincere voice, and Ari chewed on her lip, willing to hear him out if nothing else. “Forget Brownies. I know I do. Besides, school doesn’t begin for what... six days? Luis brings her tomorrow, does the first fitting, gets the dress started, and flies back with her. Or you can. We can work a schedule out so one of us is always at home. And the wedding is late October, which is half-term. We can all be here that week with her. This can work, Ari.”
Ari took a deep breath, looking at Sebastian intently. “She’s my baby, Sebastian. Flying all this way... with school about to start...”
“She’s seven years old,” Sebastian replied calmly. “We’ll give her that iPad she’s been banging on about since Christmas. She’ll be fine. It’ll be like a holiday for her.”
Ari chewed on her lip. “I don’t know...”
“Please Ari,” Sebastian whispered. “We need this wedding. We need this business.”
“We don’t really.” Ari sighed. “But I know how much you want it.”
“Look at this place.” Sebastian gestured around them to the sprawling estate, the stately manor and the glass summerhouse. “This is American money at its finest, and I’d like a piece of it.”
“Sebastian—”
“Think of Reine,” Sebastian added quickly. “If you do this wedding, we’ll make enough money that you can cut back your hours. We could hire more people and take fewer clients.”
Ari felt a twinge of guilt. She knew she worked hard and saw her daughter too little. She recalled the look of disappointment in Reine’s eyes when she’d left for the airport, recalling her downturned face and sad tears.
“All right,” Ari agreed with a reluctant sigh. “Okay.”
Sebastian stopped, looking down at Ari with concern. “Ari, Luis and I love that girl. She’s our niece. I would never do anything that might adversely affect her, you know that.”
Ari nodded. “I know.”
“This can work, for all of us,” Sebastian continued. “I’ll put your daughter at the front of all the plans we make. I adore her. Luis and I have been like the father she doesn’t have. Now come on, let’s give Sasha the happy news.”
At that Ari shook her head. “She has a father,” she reminded Sebastian. “He’s coming back for me.”
Sebastian nodded, but Ari could see from the look on his face that he didn’t believe her. Sometimes, when she was at her very lowest, she didn’t believe herself either.
* * *
The last time Tom had been in a plane that stalled, his father had been in the cockpit. Sitting in the back of the aircraft, Tom had heard his father shouting and swearing, a litany of curses as he rebuked the plane for failing him. But Doug was nothing if not an accomplished pilot, and Tom had watched, completely unfazed, as his father started the usual stall procedure. Nose down, increase engine power, level the wings, pull up. Through wide eyes, Tom heard and felt the plane respond to his father’s methodical flying, and when the plane levelled and began flying at full power once more, Doug gave him a wide smile.
“She never lets me down,” he’d said to Tom with a wink, before giving his full attention to the plane again.
When they were on the ground once more, Doug had slung an arm around Tom’s shoulders as they walked away from the hangar. “You can always recover from a stall,” he’d explained. “Sometimes it’s just one of those things. Sometimes it’s just a bump in the road. But if you keep your head, you can always get back to where you need to be. Remember that, okay?”
Over the years, Tom had been through many stalls. He’d experienced more bumps in the road than he cared to remember. The biggest bump of them all — his runaway years, Marnie sneeringly described them — he tried not to recall at all. His father’s death was another bump, just another stall.
He recovered from them all. Nose down, full throttle, level wings, pull up, fly once more. Every stall in life was always the same. Doug had been right... all Tom had to do was keep his head, and all would be fine.
The only time he hadn’t kept his head was when he’d been presented with a blue pair of eyes and pink lips curved in a smile, a smile that was only for him. Tom had lost his head and his heart in a big way, and he’d never really recovered. Nose down, full throttle, level wings, pull up and fly... For the first time in his life, it hadn’t worked. Some stalls, it seemed, you couldn’t recover from.
He didn’t know why, but when Doug’s plane stalled that morning, with Tom flying solo in the cockpit, he thought of Ari. As the blue sky dipped away, and the plane glided into the dark clouds, dangerously out of control without an engine, her face crossed his mind.
The ground loomed before him, getting closer and closer with every passing second, and all Tom saw was Ari. He steered the plane as best he could, knowing he would crash with her face in his mind.
* * *
“If I’m your queen of spades, what does that make you?” she asks him one night, her head turned in his direction. She’s naked, just a sheet draped over her legs, lying on her front, her hair falling over her shoulders like a Botticelli angel. He sweeps it away, pressing a kiss to her shoulder blades, sighing warm against her skin. “The king?” she suggests with a smile.
But he shakes his head. “Not the king.”
“The knight then,” Ari suggests, “protecting the queen in her castle.”
He shakes his head once more. “Nope. Not the knight either.”
“The ace?” She laughs. “Or . . . I don’t know . . . the seven? The eight? Tell me.”
He grins back at her, pulling her into his arms and rolling on top of her. He presses his lips to hers, marvelling once more at the feel of her in his arms. She’s soft and warm and lovely and his, and each and every one of these facts is like a small miracle to him.
“The joker, the fool,” he tells her, and she laughs.
“You do yourself a disservice. You aren’t a fool.”
“But I am, where my queen is concerned.” He lays his head on her shoulder, breathing in the smell of her. “Always the fool, now and forever and always.”
“I don’t want you to be a fool for me,” Ari whispers softly, and he sighs.
“But I am. And I always will be, Ari.”
* * *
When he realised his father’s plane wasn’t just stalling but was in full engine failure, Tom prepared for impact. Nose up, level the wings. The ground was close, and he was hurtling towards it at speed. From his pocket he pulled out the playing card and glanced at it quickly.
The fool. Faded, old and creased in places, as well as worn where he’d stroked it thoughtfully over the years, but still undeniably obvious. Even now, at the very worst of times, it made him smile.
And so, with a card clutched in his hand and Ari’s face in his mind, Tom braced for impact, still the fool, now and forevermore.