The Wedding Date Disaster

Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

I change into my French LBD – long black dress. I apply thick red lipstick, and wear my hair down in soft waves. There, I think, looking at the mirror, not bad for someone who’s jetlagged and a prisoner. And there’s no way anyone could confuse this bad boy with a nightgown .

Downstairs, the foyer entrance is full of perfume and long chiffon gowns, and men in tuxedos. There are more selfie sticks with that O light around them then I could count. I have to duck several times so I don’t get hit in the head, weaving my way around the line-up of gorgeous people intent on looking at themselves on their phone screens. I take a deep breath and wipe my sweaty hands on my dress, and then glance at myself in the long ballroom mirrors. No awkwardness. I’m attending tonight as the woman I am: happy, successful, confident.

I look around the entrance for Weasel. It’s imperative that we prep a little. Get our story sorted, like how did we meet? How long have we been together? I have to prepare him for the onslaught that’s my family. But he’s nowhere to be found. I’m just about to call his room when a voice calls out, ‘Gemma!’

‘Mum.’ She trots across the foyer, wearing a spearmint-coloured suit with a diamond necklace and a giant smile.

‘It’s so lovely to see you.’ She reaches her arms around me for a hug, her blonde bob, straight-edged and glossy, tickling my neck. ‘It’s been too long, Gemma.’ She looks like she’s going to get emotional, the way she does after a Sauv Blanc. ‘Has it really been two years already?’ Her eyes get teary.

‘I think so.’ I find myself getting a little teary too, so I swallow hard and say, ‘Fancy necklace. You look nice.’ I grin; it feels nice to see her again.

‘Oh thank you, darling. Have you seen Lulu though? She’s stunning, of course.’ Mum nods. ‘The perfect bride. And Chip, he’s a darling. Have you met him? Have you seen Dad?’

‘I haven’t yet.’ I brace myself.

Mum steps back and looks at me. ‘You know, Gemma, I have to say this. Really. I’ve been emailing you and I just don’t hear from you at all. You have to be better at communicating, especially for a writer!’

‘ Editor, Mum. I edit books.’

‘But I… Haven’t you’ve always wanted to write too?’ She looks confused. Mum has always been a bit absent-minded when it comes to what I actually do for a living.

‘Well, I did write something about six months ago, about food and community. I gave it to Tony, my boss. But,’ I shrug, ‘I guess not.’

‘Oh darling, that’s a shame.’ She picks a piece of non-existent lint off my dress. ‘Now I hear you brought someone with you. Is it serious?’ She smiles with hope.

‘Uh…’ I think of Adam back at home; is it serious? Yes, I suppose it is. He wants us to move in together, have babies, get married, and that’s exactly what I want too. But then I think about Weasel here, which is the complete opposite, to the point that it’s practically comical. ‘Kinda, I guess.’

‘So, where is he?’ she says, looking over my shoulder. ‘Didn’t you come down together?’

God, my first lie. ‘Yeah. He’s just a bit held up.’

‘Well, let’s go in, he can find you inside.’

She pushes open the ballroom doors. The only word I can use to describe the entire place is ‘spectacle’. Everything is silver and sparkly: silver sparkles on the tables, silver sparkle somethings hanging from the ceiling, silver adornments on all the walls, and a wall of white flowers, where people are instagramming themselves against the floral backdrop.

A flower wall is one of those things you go to order online and click ‘put in basket’; you get to the checkout and it costs like a thousand pounds, and you think, Do I really need this? and most people would say, Oh, not really. But Lulu would think, Give me two . And here they were, two very large flower walls, and they were gorgeous. Simply stunning.

I look around and spot Lulu at the other end of the room in a silver sparkly dress. At her side is obviously Chip, a man who looks identical to a Ken doll, holding her blush-coloured drink in a coupe.

Across the ballroom I catch sight of my Aunty Janice, who can talk the ear off anyone, and her husband, my Uncle Jonathon, who’s deaf. Also a few cousins – Harry, and David – who both look older but still familiar. But still no Weasel.

Maybe he’s done a runner. Maybe, and more likely, he’s found a bridesmaid to flirt with, possibly bed. Yes, for Mister I-Love-Supermodels, that seems entirely more plausible. Knowing Lulu, all her friends will probably be perfect model types, and Weasel will love it.

‘Where’s your man?’ Aunty Janice joins Mum and me. She’s short and stout in a floor-length gown that makes her look like she’s dressed in the hotel’s heavy drapes. When she opens her mouth, her jowls flaps around a bit, and she holds her hands over her very portly stomach.

‘Hello, Aunty Janice,’ I say sweetly. ‘You look lovely in purple.’

‘So what about this chap? Is it serious?’ Aunty Janice says with a look like a bulldog; she’s clamped her jaws around this subject and she’s not letting go.

This is so painful. ‘I … um…’ I start to say, wishing the floor would open up and swallow me. I was pleading for Weasel to stay away, because this is not the kind of conversation I want him to be part of – at all. He’d blow my cover easily. And then I’d be the laughingstock of the entire wedding.

‘Gemma Bear!’

I turn around. ‘Dad!’ He gives me a large hug and kiss on the cheek, his grey beard scuffling my face. I know he’s the one who almost single-handedly tore the family apart, but I have a soft spot for my dad, always had.

‘I heard the commotion, what’s happening without me?’ Lulu and her silver sparkles appear in the centre of the circle. ‘Really, Gemma, didn’t I say no black?’

She’s followed by Chip, who close up looks even more like he’s stepped off the pages of Town and Country . He’s medium build, tall, and with light brown hair that has a cowlick at the front. He has a sweet smile, and a slight swagger to his walk that seems to say, I got this , but in quite an English debonair way, as if he was always walking around with a rifle perched on his shoulder for shooting clay pigeons, and saying things like ‘jolly good’ without a hint of irony. I imagine he looks very at home in tweed. He seems nice enough as he shakes my hand and says, ‘Welcome, Gemma’, as if he was welcoming me into my own family.

‘Oh, thanks, Chip, lovely to meet you,’ I say. ‘Everything looks perfect. Congratulations both of you. Marvellous.’

Marvellous? Who did I think I was meeting, The Queen? I’ve never used the word ‘marvellous’ before. Next thing you know I’ll probably be saluting or saying things like, ‘Ohh old chap, mind pouring me a loveleh tea in that bone china.’

‘Now, where is that morsel of yours?’ Marla appears out of nowhere in another musky cloud. She’s changed into a red caftan, and enough jewels that if I threw her off a boat, she’d sink in a second. Each of her Botoxed hands (yes, I heard she had filler in each finger to ‘plump’ them out, then Botox to avoid any knuckle wrinkles) is bedazzled in chunky gold (twenty-four carat, I bet) rings. She almost steals the show from Lulu in her layers of vibrant red. ‘What’s his name again?’

‘Adam,’ Lulu responds, then looks at Chip. ‘Drink, baby, I need a drink. This is warm.’ She smiles sweetly and holds up her coupe, as Chip nods already striding towards the bar.

‘Is that him?’ Aunty Janice points to a large overweight man who must be over fifty.

‘Um no!’ Is that who they thought I was with?

Lulu interrupts. ‘Adam is lovely and very chivalrous and very handsome. All the girls think so. We bumped into him in the hotel hallway earlier, and he said he knew straightaway who I was, because I have that a bridal glow.’

She gleams. ‘He was kind enough to escort me down here, where he got me and all the bridesmaids drinks before saying he had something very important to do. He’s gorgeous, and very sure of himself.’ She turns to look at me and tilts her head to the side as if pondering something. ‘And he doesn’t seem Gemma’s usual type.’

‘He doesn’t?’ I try to look nonchalant. Of course he was buying girls drinks. So far, so predictable.

‘So, sweetie, where is this man? I would like to meet him, make sure he’s a fine gentleman, even if he is Australian.’ That’s Dad, ever the gentleman himself, except when he was putting his penis in other women’s vaginas, cheating on Mum, I want to point out, but don’t.

‘I … uh…’ I’m not sure what to say. He’s late, and maybe he isn’t coming at all. I can’t say he’s working as my family wouldn’t take too kindly to a guest not attending drinks because of some office thing. Finally I say, ‘I think he’s a bit sick.’

‘Sick?’ Lulu looks worried and her voice goes up a notch. ‘I touched him earlier, briefly … do you think … I can’t be sick on my wedding day!’

‘Oh dear!’ My mum and her hypochondria flare up, as she grabs her throat and does a quick swallow. ‘With what?’

‘I think it’s a … a…’ I try to think of something not gross, and not contagious. ‘An autoimmune thing, like um, rheumatoid arthritis.’

Mum is still clutching her neck, but Lulu looks relieved. ‘Oh, an old person’s disease.’

I take the moment to change the subject. ‘So Lulu, tell me about tomorrow?’

‘You should have already read the full itinerary, Gemma,’ she says pointedly.

I feel a bit disappointed in myself, and try to think fast, but just being around my family seems to make me regress to my unsure, uncertain seventeen-year-old self. ‘Oh, I did, I just wanted to hear your … um, take on it. The afternoon tea, right?’

‘Well, in the morning the bridal party will be getting massages, then there’s the afternoon tea, followed by the gala dinner. You’re still coming early for the goldfish, right?’

I nodded quickly. ‘Course.’

‘And most importantly, there’s the dawn photo shoot tomorrow. I have to go and do some last-minute preparation.’ She leans in and whispers to me, ‘Beauty things,’ then steps back. ‘And the photographers need a stand-in, so they can check the light and white balance, and set up for the actual shoot on the morning of the wedding. Will you do it?’

I’m nodding, relieved the attention is off Weasel and me. ‘Yes, of course I’ll do it.’

‘Great, that’s perfect. You and Adam can meet the photographer Emily in the foyer at six a.m.’

‘Adam?’ I repeat. ‘Six a.m.?’

‘Yes, silly, it’s a dawn shoot, and we need both of you there, to be me and Chip. And that allows me a sleep in – got to get my beauty sleep! I can’t have wrinkles or puffy eyes on my wedding day.’

‘Yes, of course.’

Just when I think I’ve avoided the Adam conversation, Mum says, ‘So tell us a little about Adam before we meet him.’

Lulu rolls her eyes, and I think she even stamps her feet a bit. She hates the attention not being on her, and I hate the attention being on me. But the rest of my family leans in, as though I’m about to give them the winning lottery numbers. Oh God. My stomach is in knots. My heart is beating so fast. I’m about to lie, to my family, and I feel terrible .

I take a deep breath, and decide it’s best to just describe the real Adam, at home. ‘Well, he’s very sensible, and practical and grounded,’ I start, and I can see my dad nodding in approval. ‘And he’s successful, and ambitious, and he just got a new job, which is why he couldn’t be—’ I stop myself. ‘Which is why he can’t be in Italy for more than a few days.’

‘What’s his new job?’ Lulu suddenly looks interested.

My mum looks worried. ‘Can he do it if he’s sick?’

‘Head of…’

‘Chief editor. And I’m not sick, unless you mean I’m sick of waiting for a drink and a dance,’ a smooth voice says behind me.

I whirl around and there is Weasel, wearing a crisp white shirt open slightly at the neck to reveal his chest, along with navy pants and cufflinks in the shape of books. He’s carrying two champagnes and two whiskeys. His hair is slightly wet, as though he’d just stepped out of the shower, and he smells again like pine and mint, like a cold Christmas forest. Mum and Marla twitter like teenagers. Damn, I can’t help thinking as my eyes follow the strong curve of his jawline. He really is good-looking.

He gives me one champagne, my mum another, and a whiskey to my dad. When he sees Lulu about to pout, he says, ‘I’ve got something a little more special coming for you. With fairy floss.’ And she gleams, walking right into his ninja trap. So that’s how he gets some of the girls to flush at work.

‘Well. This is … uh, Adam,’ I say, trying to smile happily, imagining that the actual Adam was standing next to me. I try not to look at anyone directly, in case they can tell I’m lying. I was always such an awful liar.

Weasel looks down at me with soft adoring eyes, as if I were the most important person in the world to him. His acting is … brilliant. He lightly rests his hand on my back. The shock of his body touching mine makes every single cell in my body twang. I do a weird cough to cover up the strange, jittery feeling clanging through my body.

And then the questions start.

Where did you grow up? What do you do? How old are you? Do you believe in this feminist bullshit or are you a man? (That was from Aunty Janice, God bless her, cos I might clock her with a heavy magnum of champagne before the night is over.)

Everyone seems taken by him. Weasel laughs easily and answers every question without a hint of impatience or stubbornness, whilst I try to keep my mouth from falling open at his instantaneous transformation.

‘Well, you’re exactly as Gemma described you.’

My eyebrows shoot up in fear. My stomach is in knots. This would be the perfect time for him to just lay me in it. Right now. And walk out and leave me to a giant mess. I brace for the worst.

‘Everyone is absolutely lovely and lively and welcoming. I’m so happy to be here.’ He raises his glass and everyone follows suit, and just on time Lulu’s pink fairy floss cocktail arrives and it’s fancy, instead of tacky, and she practically swoons at him. I take a quick glance at him, to see if he’s being facetious or sarcastic, but nothing on his face registers as anything other than genuine. God, I have to give it to him, he is good.

Chip comes back from the bar with two champagnes then and I can see he’s a little downcast at having been outdone by the sugar snap drink, so I smile and say, ‘I’d love another one of those, Chip, if you don’t mind?’ And Chip gratefully hands it to me, and I down half of it out of sheer nerves.

Thank goodness, Lulu starts telling Weasel about all the people at the wedding, and about her dress being couture, from a designer I’m sure he’s never heard of, but he manages to look raptured. He’s a better actor than Tom Hanks and for a second I feel relieved. Could we pull this off? If we keep the attention off us, and on Lulu, perhaps we’ll be okay.

‘So you’re an editor too, Adam?’ My mum nods enthusiastically. ‘Chief, did you say?’ She looks impressed.

‘I am, but your daughter is one hell of an editor.’ I look up to see Weasel’s sarcasm, but he has hidden it very well, because I can’t see anything other than earnestness.

‘Well, come on, tell us the story of how you got together,’ Aunty Janice jabbers.

‘Shouldn’t we be focusing on Lulu and Chip?’ I almost squeak.

Lulu purses her lips and tilts her head to the side. ‘Yes, but I want to hear this too,’ she says as if she finds it hard to believe suave Weasel is with me.

‘I’m going to let Adam tell that,’ I say quickly. ‘Go ahead.’

‘No, after you, honey . I know you like telling the story. Especially how romantic it was. Like one of your romcoms.’

There it is, the dig. I knew he couldn’t help it. I grit my teeth and try not to say, I don’t edit romcoms .

Lulu raises her eyebrows. ‘ Really ?’ She hates romcoms; she thinks they’re cheap and tacky, clichéd like red roses, candlelight, and teddy bears on Valentine’s Day, finds them too middle-class, or, as she puts it, bougie and basic. It isn’t her Vogue style. She looks at me. ‘You edit romcoms?’ As if this very act would see me disowned from the family, and right about now, I would take that exit gratefully to run off into the dark night.

‘I uh … edited some for a colleague… I was covering for her.’ I seem to have lost the power of words because I’m rambling, unable to make a full sentence.

‘Don’t worry, how we met was very chic, rather than cliché,’ Weasel says and for a second I’m struck that Lulu looks like she’s agreeing with him.

‘Was it romantic?’ my mum asks.

‘Well, Patricia, you could say that.’

I cringe as Weasel says this, because I know what he’s doing, leading her on. I almost feel sorry for my mum and Lulu, because he and I both know exactly how he feels about romance. I don’t think he has a romantic bone in his body.

‘Actually Adam hates all that,’ I declare. ‘He’s not into that romantic stuff at all .’

I glance at Weasel, who tries not to smile as he says, ‘Well, actually , Gemma doesn’t remember, but we met a long time ago. A perfect meet-cute, which is always romantic.’

I raise my eyebrows, wondering what bullshit he’s about to make up.

‘It was at an awards night for the Finch Memoir prize. She doesn’t remember me trying to talk to her.’

‘I’m sure I would have remembered,’ I say, willing myself to play along. I have gone to the Finch night, most years actually, and I definitely don’t remember Weasel ever being there.

‘I tried to talk to her, several times in fact, but she didn’t give a damn.’ Oh, he’s good. He definitely could have been an actor. ‘In fact, she actually asked if I was someone’s secretary.’

‘Really?’ Mum says, her eyebrows raised. ‘That doesn’t sound like you, Gemma. She’s usually keen to chat to any guy who’s willing.’ She looks at Weasel. ‘Unfortunately she’s normally into guys that just aren’t that into her. Unrequited love, poor poppet.’

I grimace. ‘That was when I was younger, Mum, just after uni, and … well, we don’t need to revisit that, do we?’

Mum, not taking the hint, keeps on talking to Weasel. ‘She had a string of those artsy types. You know – poets, musicians, writers that couldn’t get a deal. I mean, she tried to get them published, but her work wouldn’t do it. Commitment phobia, isn’t that how you explained it, Gemma?’

‘Something like that,’ I say, staring at the floor, feeling my face start to burn.

‘Come on, Gemma, you can tell the story of how we met for the second time at the office,’ Weasel insists, and I’m almost grateful he’s changed the subject.

I say quickly, ‘We met at work. In a meeting. We both like coffee, and it just clicked. Straightaway. And then voila . Here we are. One year later.’

‘Oh, that’s not exactly true, is it?’ Weasel’s eyes are glinting. ‘You missed out the best part.’

‘Did I?’ I’m telling Weasel with my eyes that this is enough. Stop talking.

‘Yes, the bit where I asked you if you were my secretary, teasing you about our first meeting.’

My confused face says it all. ‘That’s why…’ Is it true ?

‘Then, a few weeks later, you asked me out for coffee.’

‘Right. I did.’ Because that bit is unfortunately true.

‘But you got a bit nervous, didn’t you? You tripped over the carpet, and landed awkwardly in your very tall red heels. I asked if you were okay, and you looked up at me as if to say, Well, aren’t you charming? ’

I want to kill him.

‘Oh yes,’ I say through gritted teeth, because I did trip on some uneven carpet, and he did ask if I was okay, but it was in a righteous tone, not a helpful one. ‘That bit.’

‘Oh, that does sound more like Gemma.’ Mum nods. ‘Especially the falling over part. Never was light on her feet, not like me, or Lulu. Takes after her father. Two left feet.’

Before anyone can ask any more questions, or give background information about my lack of coordination, I give Lulu a bright smile. ‘You know, I’d like to hear about Chip and Lulu. It is their day after all.’

‘Days,’ Lulu corrects me. ‘So Chip and I,’ Lulu addresses the group, ‘we just knew it the first time we saw each other in Harrods.’

Lulu says Harrods as if trying to make it clear that she’s marrying into money . Which is good, because I’m pretty sure this wedding would bankrupt our entire family, who are used to shopping in Asda’s special aisles. It’s likely we now have massive debts that I’ll be paying off in my old age, whilst Lulu and Chip play golf.

Lulu gushes. ‘And of course Daddy had to meet him next, and loved Chip. And both Mummy and Mum.’ She looks at Marla and then at my mum, and I feel like a child of some weird polyamorous cult. I can see Weasel raise his eyebrows just slightly, and I’m looking at him telepathically telling him not to react.

‘After that, Chip took me out to go clay-pigeon shooting in his wonderful vintage MG, and … well, the next weekend he whisked me away to his cottage in the Cotswolds. The rest is history!’ She waves her massive sparkler in the air, and it’s so large I can’t believe she’s able to lift her hand. It almost covers half of her finger, from knuckle to joint. I’m surprised that the three wise men didn’t turn up offering gold, frankincense and myrrh with that thing glinting in the air.

But Chip looks in awe at being with Lulu, and Lulu looks smitten with Chip and her incredibly huge ring. They are actually both very sweet. Them and their clay-pigeon, Harrods type of life. It’s easy to see that they actually do truly love each other.

‘Well, that was a lovely story!’ I say, genuinely smiling. ‘How about a toast to the newlyweds-to-be?’ I raise my glass.

Everyone clinks and says, ‘To Lulu and Chip.’ I take a big sip, thinking I’ve expertly negotiated the way out of my story, and I’m just about to ask Lulu which caterer and flowers she has chosen, when Aunty Janice says, ‘So Gemma, are you two going up the aisle next?’

The woman just won’t give up.

‘Not anytime soon.’

‘But you’re in love?’

‘I think love happens over time.’ I give her my most brilliant smile and hope that will shut this shit down.

Lulu looks at Chip. ‘I think love is instant, the moment you meet someone. When you know you just know.’

I clear my throat. God, does everyone still believe in this elusive, fictitious The One?

‘I don’t think that always happens. Sometimes absolutely, and you guys are lucky that was the case for you. But sometimes it’s a much slower burn that ends up feeling warm and comfortable,’ I say, thinking about the real Adam at home.

‘It sounds like you’re talking about an old shoe, Gemma! Not love.’ Lulu gives an airy laugh.

Mum nods. ‘I have to agree with Lulu. I felt the same when I saw your father.’ She’s looking over at him with a funny soft expression on her face.

Marla says, ‘And me too, when I saw your father,’ which breaks the Mum–Dad love spell immediately. Mum suddenly looks uncomfortable and Dad’s eyes are shifting between Mum and Marla, looking equally chuffed and scared. I can see Weasel staring at me, and I know he’s busting to know this story.

‘Yes, well, crisis averted,’ Mum says haughtily, taking a sip of champagne.

Marla, unscathed by the crisis comment, tilts her head, narrows her eyes and stares at us. I can tell she and her Botoxed hands smell something fake.

‘I think love is about the smaller things,’ Weasel says, looking at me. ‘What about the time you couldn’t find that marketing proposal and you were looking everywhere for it, and you thought you’d thrown it out, and then it miraculously it appeared on your desk?’

It takes me a second, but then I remember. It was a few months ago, and I was desperate to find it for fear Tony would have me bound and gagged. ‘Sean found it.’

‘Did he?’ Weasel turns to address the group. ‘Or did I find it in the kitchen, and put it on your desk?’

I feel confused and uncertain. How did he find out about that? And what a low blow to use it to his advantage.

‘And the time that you told everyone you weren’t having coffee, but then you started getting headaches, and a little box of headache pills found its way to your desk.’

Now I’m extremely confused, because I was sure Bec had found a box of ibuprofen and left them for me.

‘I may not do grand gestures of love, but it’s the small things that carry you through a relationship.’ He looks directly at me with his sharp blue eyes. ‘And I notice.’

‘Hear, hear!’ my dad says, clinking his glass with Weasel’s.

‘Sounds like a keeper to me.’ Aunty Janice nods then adds under her breath, ‘Hope you hate the feminists too.’

God, she’s insane.

Lulu and Chip lean over and kiss each other. My dad ducks his head and kisses my mum. And then everyone looks at us.

‘Well, now what are you waiting for? Give each other a kiss!’ Aunty Janice says, wetting her own lips as though she’s the one about to be kissed.

I feel my body stiffen. Everyone goes silent. My mouth goes dry.

Just at that moment, thankfully, a bell rings out. ‘Can everyone please gather for the speeches?’ the MC says into the microphone.

I breathe a sigh of relief as everyone moves closer to the front podium. When I’m close enough to Weasel, against my will, I say in a low voice, ‘What was that stuff about the painkillers and the marketing proposal? I mean it was quite … good.’ I hate complimenting Weasel, but it’s true. ‘I’m a terrible liar.’

‘You don’t say,’ he whispers.

‘I’m not as practised as some people who appear to have been born without a conscience.’

‘Shush, Gemma, the speeches have started.’ Weasel nods to the front of the hall where my dad is standing awkwardly and fumbling with the microphone that’s already on before saying three times, ‘Welcome, everyone. It’s a lovely evening, isn’t it? Glad you could all come.’

The speeches are excruciatingly long and painful. First Marla makes a lot of ‘loveleh’ comments about what everyone is wearing, and how Lulu is amazing, and how Chip is just as amazing, and how they like to jaunt around the countryside, and this means they will be together for ever. After twenty minutes of that drivel, I can see people almost dozing off into their champagne.

Then the bridesmaids, who all look a bit like blonde, veneered influencer clones who had all visited the same Brazilian butt lift doctor, twitter about how life without Lulu would be the worst thing, like, ever. They do this as a rhyming poem and I’m sure E.E. Cummings turns in his grave.

Then my dad says more things about how precious Lulu is, and everyone ooohs and ahhhs. And then Mum mentions how Lulu was a gift from heaven, which seems a little hyperbolic. And then Chip’s father, who with his perfect grey hair looks like he belongs in a country club ad, makes a very long speech comparing love to a good golf match, which gets very intricate when he starts to liken different girls to different clubs. I just keep thinking, Please don’t say ‘hole in one’.

At the end of the night, we all toast Lulu and Chip, and as I take a quick sip of wine I try not to yawn.

‘Where’s Adam?’ Marla has sidled over in a waft of musk, and looks pointedly at me. When I turn around to see if Weasel is still alive after those torturous hours – yes, hours – spent listening to people on microphones, I notice he’s a few metres away, and has been cornered by two of the beaming blonde bridesmaids.

‘Oh, he’s very friendly.’ I dismiss her with a wave of my hand, as though I’m very nonchalant. ‘Likes to meet all the guests.’

‘Careful, Gemma,’ she warns me before leaving with a flick of her red caftan, like a villain in a film.

Careful of what? Does she mean that my pretend boyfriend is a Lothario? Well, yes, clearly. Or worse, has she smelled a rat?

Just in case I should look like the concerned girlfriend, I step a little closer, until I can overhear parts of Weasel’s conversation.

‘Are you from Australia?’ one of them is saying in a very posh accent.

‘Do you surf?’ The other one giggles.

‘Well, yes, and yes.’ Weasel gives them a charming smile and I’m sure I can see one of them literally melting under his gaze. She starts flipping her hair like mad, and putting her finger on her lips, as if it’s seductive and maybe it would be if they weren’t asking about sharks, which are evidently part of his family ancestry as he’s clearly very good at this: a hunter, a predator surrounded by blonde prey.

‘Do you see them often? Do you get scared?’ one of them exclaims excitedly.

Weasel winks. ‘Nothing really scares me.’

He’s a typical player, no doubt about it, like all the other men who smile charmingly, and know just how to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear in that way that makes your knees weak. Men who tell you exactly what you want to hear, just so they can hop into your bed and take your clothes off, and hug you fiercely in the morning as they take your number and then never call.

Thank God for men like Adam. Thank God for men who want commitment, and to make a home. I feel a sudden need to hear his voice.

I go back to my room for a second, grab my phone off the charger and check for messages from Adam. Annoyingly there are none, and I realise my phone says SOS only. I walk down to the foyer, with it in my hand. ‘I’m sorry, my phone doesn’t seem to be working, is there Wi-Fi?’

‘We’ve had a request for no hotel Wi-Fi,’ the apologetic desk clerk says in perfect English with the bare minimum of an Italian accent. ‘Specifically for the wedding. It appears the frequency seems to uh, mess with the doves that are to be released.’ He shrugs as if even saying those words is an abomination of embarrassment.

Lulu has organised to turn off Wi-Fi across the entire hotel? Of course she has. What a self-centred… I stop myself, and feel a tad guilty. It’s her wedding after all, and if she wants to go all out, who am I to judge that?

‘Oh, well, thank you,’ I say, politely, and then decide to just switch on data roaming and accept the charges. Quickly I shoot off a message to Adam.

Arrived okay, plus one is doing my head in, you’ll never guess who it is. Wish you were here! How are you?

Then I quickly check my work email account, which has nothing urgent except for Tony asking me if my phone is switched on and would I mind checking in with him tomorrow. I reply.

Sure thing, Tony.

‘Gemma! It’s time for the family dance. Lulu is beside herself that you’re not in there,’ Mum says, poking her head out of the large wooden ballroom doors.

‘Oh, sorry.’ I push my phone into my bra, so deep you can’t see it, and then hurry to the door, for whatever this family dance is.

The entire room is dark and Lulu and Chip are positioned in the front and middle, bathed in a spotlight. An unfamiliar slow song is playing and both of them are moving to the music, lost in a tangle of arms and legs, and Lulu seems graceful even though dancing isn’t her forte. They do a series of turns and little jumps and Chip looks like a stiff cardboard cut-out, bless his soul.

Towards the end of the song, the bridesmaids and groomsmen all come out and do a choreographed number and bridesmaid Mia is by far the best dancer. I could see her and Lulu trying to outdo each other.

When the soundtrack changes to ‘My Endless Love’, Mum says, ‘Come on, Gemma, it’s our turn.’ Mum takes up with Dad, and Marla is swanning about with a fake-tanned fellow I guess must be her latest husband (he looks twenty years older than anyone in a coffin).

Weasel steps onto the dance floor first, then turns around and holds out his hand. I don’t want to touch it. That hand has probably been up some bridesmaid’s skirt in the bathroom, not twenty minutes ago. Instead I smile and wave him over to a corner, far away from the limelight. In the publishing world, I want the attention. On the dance floor, not on your life.

I gingerly put my left hand on his right shoulder, and make sure there’s a lot of distance between us, so it’s almost impossible for anything but our hands to touch.

He ducks his head and leans towards me. ‘You want this to look real, don’t you?’

‘Oh, it does.’ I look directly at him. ‘It looks like we’ve had a massive fight because you’ve been chatting up bridesmaids all night, and I’m pissed off. Super real.’ I give him a killer smile. ‘Should I be disinfecting my hands?’

‘Well, you know what they say, Gemma, we may be fighting, but make-up sex is the best.’

I roll my eyes as he guides me across the dance floor like we are suddenly doing an Argentinian tango.

‘Stop showing off,’ I tell him. ‘This is Lulu’s night.’

‘I think she’s enjoying herself perfectly.’

I look over and he’s right: Lulu’s head is resting on Chip’s shoulder and they both look happy.

Weasel pulls me back into the corner, and as I turn, he pulls me towards him slightly. ‘Don’t twirl away from me, Gemma, you have to stay close. Haven’t you danced with a partner before?’

‘Not really, no. I’m too busy doing things like working.’

‘I could teach you.’ He twirls me around. ‘You’d be rather good after I’m done with you. You could be a natural.’

I throw my head back and laugh. ‘Does that actually work on people? Is that the kind of line you feed your supermodels, instead of food?’

‘Supermodels?’ His brow furrows.

‘Yes, Ruby told me all about them.’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Oh, are they hush-hush? Can’t pick up the bridesmaids when they’re worried about supermodel competition. Got it.’ I lay my finger against my nose as if to say, your secret is safe with me.

‘I think you’ve had one too many wines, Gemma. Got to watch that. Now stop behaving like an angry little hamster. We’re meant to be in love, remember?’

He pulls me towards him and puts his hand on my lower back. I want to wriggle away, but I see Mum looking over at us, and she seems so happy that I smile and pretend I’m happy too.

My lips are close to his ear now and I can’t help myself. ‘Why did you really come here? This seems a lot of work, to be listening to my family’s marathon speeches simply because you want to be, what did you call it? Entertained .’

‘Oh, well, you know.’ Weasel shrugs. ‘I love Italy. The finger food we had before was delicious. Prosciutto and melon. Plus, I told you I’m here to sign an author.’

‘Who?’

‘Now, now, Gemma, don’t go prying. The deal isn’t done yet.’

‘Fine, but you could have just come to Italy to sign them; you didn’t need to come with me. Here.’ I want to blow his cover right off; I want him to know I’m on his trail, that somehow I know about him trying to take down my career. He won’t succeed. I’ll make sure of that. In fact, I’ll even log on over here and work. That would show Tony exactly how much of a dedicated employee I am.

‘Being here with you…’ He peters off. ‘Well, now you kinda owe me.’

My eyes widen and I stop dancing and step backwards. ‘I owe you?’

‘Shush, Gemma, got to keep up the facade.’ He grabs me and spins me to the side and before I know it he’s dipping me, leaning on top of me. I can feel the warmth of his body, the wall of muscle beneath his expensive white shirt. ‘You never know when I may need a favour. I’ve done you one, so you could do me one…’

‘Let. Me. Up,’ I say with gritted teeth.

He lifts me up and whispers, ‘And before you get all wifey and worried, I can tell you there are no supermodels, and the bridesmaids are harmless and boring. They wanted to talk about surfing and beaches, and how easily they could get a tan in Bondi. It almost put me to sleep.’

‘You could have a threesome with them for all I care.’ I shrug, wishing the song was over.

‘Threesomes are overrated.’ He winks at me.

‘You are dis-gust-ing.’ I roll my eyes. ‘And for the record, I don’t owe you a thing.’

Then just as my mum looks over, Weasel sticks his cheek to mine, and all I can smell is pine, and all I can feel is his slight stubble. He looks at me and traces his fingers on my lips, and I suddenly think, Oh God, he’s going to kiss me. And that’s disgusting. And where has that finger been? Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Aunty Janice elbowing poor Uncle Jonathon and looking over at us as if they were watching a romantic movie.

Thankfully the music stops, and I step as far away from Weasel as I can, before I’m tempted to hit him.