Chapter 22
Bramble
BAZ
“How can I help you?” An old woman behind the desk asked.
“I’m here to enquire about an exemption to the twenty-eight-day waiting period,” I answered. “My girlfriend…”
I realized I already fucked up.
“My fiancée,” I said. “She is meeting me here. My father is dying. I have documentation, but my solicitor’s office said I must file the request in person.”
“Ah. It’s new. And this is a pressing health condition?”
I sorted through my briefcase and pulled out the file I brought from Braemoor.
Ellie asked the doctor to fax proof. She’d been an angel to go behind dad’s back so we could apply for the special license in London.
She was sad to know she wouldn’t be there, but happy for me, too.
I felt bad lying about how I loved Lanie and that this was all romantic and exciting.
I didn’t love her. I respected and adored her, but did not love her.
I handed off the folder. “You will find everything in here, ma’am.”
She sorted through it when Lanie burst through the waiting room doors looking altogether different. Her hair was piled high atop her head. She was dressed in a full face of makeup.
“Oh, my god! I got stuck in a hair and makeup consult for about 2 hours longer than they promised it would take,” she said. “I’m so sorry, Baz. And as for my appearance, I know you cannot take me out in public like this.”
“It’s alright. I just got here myself,” I said. “You’re fine. We’ll figure it out, Lanie.”
“Oh, are you ready to begin the paperwork, then?” The woman asked, still head down.
She put her glasses on and turned back, then gasped, “Oh, you’re Annie! Are you Annie?”
Lanie pointed at herself. “Me? That’s my character but—”
“You’re little Annie! I love her to bits! Do you do the accent for fun or… are you going all method?”
“She’s American. It’s how she talks.” I assumed Annie was the character. I reminded myself I should probably watch the damn show.
The woman looked at me, then Lanie.
“I shouldn’t judge. I really shouldn’t. And it’s none of my business but… you’re old enough to be her father,” the woman said.
I wanted to call her out, but Lanie’s deep cackle made it alright.
“Oh, God. No. I’m not Annie’s age,” Lanie assured, throwing her passport on the desk.
“I’m two days from twenty-nine. So, was it physically possible? Yes? Was it likely?” Lanie turned to me. “Depends on his level of sheer stupidity in his mid-teens. Although, my best friend calls him ‘Daddy Vibes’ so, there’s that.”
“Good God, Lanie,” I groaned.
“What, Baz, it’s all in good fun.”
I wanted to expire or fade into the wall paneling.
The woman snorted and looked over Lanie’s identification. “Very posh. An American passport.”
“Any American would assume yours are truly posh,” Lanie said.
“So, are you shooting again? Can you tell me anything?”
Lanie blushed, her apple cheeks rose. “Oh, I’m sworn to secrecy, but would you like an autograph?”
“Oh, my goodness! I would die and go to heaven! Could I have a photo?”
That was how I ended up taking the photo of a mid-sixties woman with my forced fiancée. The woman handed her a wedding brochure.
“Who do I make this out to?” Lanie held a pen.
“Caroline Bramble.”
“I like that name,” Lanie said. “Very British.”
I snickered. She was so cute when she said things like that.
“What?” Lanie asked.
“Nothing. You’re adorable. That’s all.”
“I finally got a smile out of you. I’ll take it, Baz.”
Had I really been so steely lately she felt I was upset with her?
“For you, anything, darling.”
“Okay, so I will ring my supervisor,” Mrs. Bramble said. “He must review this and sign off on the application. It will then go to his supervisor for final approval with the council.”
“And how long will that take?” Lanie asked.
“It comes back usually within three days. I assume that by Monday you will get your authorization. In fact, if you’d like to book something in the afternoon, we can begin thinking about venues.”
Venues. It made my palms sweat. No matter what happened, this wasn’t abstract.
I would be married within the week to a woman I barely knew but so admired.
Even smelling heavily of hairspray and decorated with enough makeup to outfit a troupe of stage performers, I couldn’t quit Lanie Day. The woman had me in a spell.
LANIE
“I think given your needs, this is the best option,” Mrs. Bramble said. “You will find it is well-appointed.”
I turned to Baz, who shrugged in back of the room. It was neither a ringing endorsement nor opposition, but Baz wasn’t emotive even on his best day. The room was well-appointed with nice chairs and a lovely fireplace, so he couldn’t hate it that much, could he?
“Could we say our vows here?” I asked. “It would be best for photos.”
“Are we hiring a photographer?” Baz asked nervously.
“I told Chloe our plans—and only Chloe. She will take photos and hold my bouquet. She promised,” I said. “She is great with a camera.”
“Oh… okay. I just didn’t realize we were getting sentimental, darling.”
“Well, we should have something for posterity.”
“Fine, fine. Jeremy, my right hand will be our other witness,” I said. “He insists on attending.”
“Is he single, attractive, and okay with headstrong blondes?” I asked. “Could be a match made in heaven?”
“Darling, this is Jeremy… my Jeremy. He’s gay, into men with very impressive beards, and probably isn’t the best match,” Baz chuckled. “But he will like her as she seems intense.”
I thought a moment, then recalled a man who lived for lobster who I only met briefly. I realized if I didn’t pretend to know him, it would look quite odd.
I facepalmed. “Sorry, wedding brain!”
Thankfully, Caroline ignored my bobble, “Now, I will need a downpayment for the venue. It’s only two hundred quid. Is that alright.”
“It’s a steal.” I filed through my purse.
“What are you doing?” Baz stopped me. “No. You will not be footing this bill, Lanie.”
“Baz, I—”
“Stop. I will be glad to pay it in full,” Baz said.
We proceeded to the room where we’d begun. A short man with a bun held our paperwork.
“I think we will have this approved by Friday afternoon. The documentation is very good. I am sorry to hear about your father’s health, Mr. Osgoode. And, I suppose, my apologies as well, future Mrs. Osgoode.”
Future Mrs. Osgoode? Fuck no! I’d have to nip that in the bud. For now, I played along.
“Well, I appreciate that. And thank you,” Baz said. “We really are grateful.”
“And your father will attend of course? That would be a happy moment,” Mrs. Bramble said.
“My father is bed-bound so he cannot make it but just knowing we were able to sign on the line will make him so happy.”
She and the supervisor exchanged glances.
“He’s very invested in Baz finally settling down.” I played it up, trying to walk this back.
Baz was bad at this game. He froze and forgot himself.
“Yes. He’s in Scotland. We’re here. We thought he would come down,” Baz agreed. “But the situation got more dire over the past week. We plan to go there shortly after we are done.”
I nudged him playfully. “Another reason we need good photos.”
“Yes. He will appreciate them, for certain.” Baz was wooden, unfeeling, but thankfully they interpreted that as normal.
“Perhaps it will put him at rest, dear,” Mrs. Bramble said sweetly. “Oh, that is difficult. A weak heart is hard to fix.”
“Yes. There is not much fixing to do.” Baz rubbed my back, finally showing a degree of emotion. I couldn’t determine if it was a desire for connection or just going through the motions.
I longed for this unexpected feeling—one not of possession but of investment.
I felt so disconnected when I broke down and told him about my feelings on the plane the day before.
I’d not felt much other than we were friends aiming for the same goal.
I looked at him, a slight smile on my face, to telegraph my gratitude for his acknowledgement.
“Well, given that we have everything for now, you may go,” the supervisor returned our documents. “We will ring you when the time comes. Who would be the primary contact?”
“I will,” Baz said. “She’s very busy with work the next few days. My assistant will always answer a call.”
Mrs. Bramble noted that. I reached for Baz’s hand—not thinking. He squeezed it. I realized it was the first time we’d held hands in public like a proper couple. While this simple gesture still felt slightly awkward, I couldn’t help but enjoy the newness. We waited for the elevator.
“So, it’s… feeling real,” I nervously added words to the mix.
“We don’t have to panic over it, darling. It’s not like that.”
I nodded.
“What is all of this? I feel a little dense. I know I should watch the show—clearly people love it.”
“I was only in an episode here or there after the first one,” I said.
“And even then people fell in love with you, so that’s even more impressive.”
I blushed and looked at my shoes. “I feel so ridiculous. I got in the chair at the asscrack of dawn this morning only to wait forty minutes. It meant I had no time to take this all off. I look ridiculous.”
Baz pulled my chin up, observing me. “It’s different, but you’re still beautiful. I am concerned, however, that your face lacks any natural pores.”
I giggled. “On purpose. I am supposed to look flawlessly dewy. I need to play a seventeen-year-old until episode two.”
“Oh, fuck! No wonder she gave me trouble!” Baz said as the doors opened. “You could have told me, Lanie.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t think it was your type of show.”
“And I don’t care if you’re in it. I feel like the world’s worst partner to not even know what my… my fiancée is up to.”
We were both struggling with that f-word. All other f-words were appreciated and noted. Fiancé was a complicated word, and Baz and I were cart-before-horse since day one.
“Catch up on Sky,” I snickered. “And if you don’t have Sky—”
“I have Sky. I cannot watch half of my team’s away matches without it. Speaking of which, how do you feel about football? Do you have allegiances?”
I snickered. “I’ve paid it no mind, but I have a sneaking suspicion I’m about to gain a new team.”
“I do hope you will manage it. Now, about lunch—”
“Can I just go home? I can order in—”
“Lanie, it’s not that bad. Your hair looks lovely, I think.”
“No, it’s not that,” I whispered as we stepped onto the ground floor.
“What then?” He raised his eyebrows.
“They shoved me into this corset this morning because they needed to do adjustments to something I’m trying on later. I had no idea what they planned on, and I was running so late I had to just get in the car and come back from Ealing. I need to get out of it. Can we just go round yours and—”
“Well, I’d be glad to be of service getting you out of it,” Baz agreed. “And I can plan for lunch. I’ll send the driver to get whatever you want.”
I bit my lip and shook my head. “Only you would turn this inconvenience into such debauchery.”
“I never look a gift horse in the mouth, Delanie.”