Chapter 29
MEGAN
After showering and drying my hair, I knock on Mum’s door with this pitiful idea that it might be fun to do our make-up together.
She doesn’t answer and I’m suddenly glad she doesn’t, scurrying back to my room questioning why I’m acting as though I’m a character in a Disney channel movie who is freakishly smiley and wants to do cutesy things like share a mirror with her mum. It’s embarrassing.
Reminding myself that I’m a grown-up person with a respectable job and the ability to do eyeliner without assistance, I put on a podcast and start doing my make-up on my own.
My mind drifts to Nico lifting me up after the boat race and I get a thrill.
‘What the hell,’ I whisper out loud to no one, picking up my phone and changing the podcast to a Spotify playlist made by some lovely soul out there titled, ‘Girls Getting Ready Hype Up Ultimate Pop Playlist’. It hits the spot.
By the time I’ve relived some university dance floor memories, I’m ready to put on my dress.
It’s such a striking gown, I didn’t want to go too heavy on the make-up, so I’ve gone for a more natural, sun-kissed look, as Charlotte Tilbury calls it, with drop earrings and my hair in the best loose up-do I could manage, which is actually quite good.
I can hear the music downstairs. The ball began half an hour ago, but Mum must be thinking the same as me: better to arrive late to an event like this.
I want things to be in full swing when I go down so I’m not standing there in the ballroom, feeling awkward and out of place.
Best to slip into the crowd once things are getting going.
Gazing at the gown on its hanger, I decide that no matter how tonight plays out, I am lucky to have a night in this dress.
It strikes me that everyone deserves the chance to feel like that at least once, to wear something that makes them feel elevated to something more than they ever thought they could be.
I felt that way about my wedding dress when I chose it.
It’s still at the store I bought it from, altered too much to my specifications to return it and get a refund.
I told them I’d pick it up, but I haven’t.
It’s a beautiful dress and I’m sure I can sell it to someone who deserves that feeling, too.
But this ball dress is even better somehow.
It makes me feel powerful. The ivory wedding gown came with a story already meticulously planned out, but this one doesn’t. In this dress, anything can happen.
Stepping into it, I reach round to try to do up the delicate zipper, but admit defeat after several attempts. Clasping the front of the dress to my chest, I unlock my side of the adjoining door to our rooms and knock. There’s no answer, so I try again, louder this time.
I finally hear her side unlock and she opens the door, blurry-eyed, still in the clothes she was wearing earlier.
‘Mum! Have you been asleep?’
‘I . . . yes, what time is it?’ She looks me up and down in a panic. ‘Is it over? Did I miss the ball?’
‘No, Cinderella, you’re fine, it just started,’ I say, stepping into her room. ‘It’s so dark in here. Are you okay?’
‘Yes, fine,’ she assures me, turning on the light. ‘I forgot to set an alarm. Oh, Megan.’ She places a hand on her heart, smiling dopily at me. ‘Stunning. Just stunning.’
‘It’s the dress,’ I say, blushing and swishing the skirt. ‘Could you do the zip?’
‘I’d be honoured,’ she whispers.
‘Thanks.’ I say, laughing at her overemotional reaction. It’s nice, though, I like it.
Turning around, I wait for her to sort it out for me, feeling the waistband tighten as the bodice fastens in place. She steps back so I can turn to face her again, her eyes filling with tears as she looks me up and down. She nods, not saying a word.
‘How quick are you at getting ready?’ I ask, putting my hands on my hips.
‘As quick as I need to be,’ she answers. ‘Don’t worry about me, darling, you go down and I’ll join you in a bit. No one will notice my entrance anyway.’
‘That’s not true,’ I say, irritated by the comment.
‘Oh, it’s how it is at my age,’ she says with a dismissive wave of her hand, wandering over to the bathroom. ‘It stings at first, but you learn to accept that you no longer turn heads.’
‘Mum, have you met you? You’ll always turn heads.’
I say it as a light-hearted comment, almost a joke, but I don’t consider its weight until Mum stops in the doorway of her bathroom and looks at me over her shoulder with such surprise and gratitude in her smile that I regret not putting it more eloquently.
This reminds me of the time my parents had a dinner party and I overheard one of the guests describe my mum as ‘traffic-stopping gorgeous’, and from that moment onwards I had a desire for someone to one day describe me like that, a desire I would grow to resent as I got older.
I should want people to describe me as so many other things, I knew that, and it annoyed me that the phrase stuck in my head as an aspiration.
I think Mum will always have a natural urge to want to be the prettiest in the room.
It’s hard to become ignored when you’ve been so adored before.
It’s like with her books – I wonder if she’d have preferred to have less success when she was younger so she didn’t feel so lacking when she didn’t continue in that success now.
Anyway, I’m glad I said what I said. I think it meant something to her.
‘I’ll see you downstairs, then,’ I say.
‘See you downstairs and, Megan, I want to hear every detail of Nico’s reaction of seeing you in that dress for the first time,’ she says, waggling her finger at me, ‘got it?’
***
He’s standing in reception greeting other guests as I descend the stairs.
In a tailored tuxedo, he looks up and stops mid-sentence.
His eyes widen and his lips part a little as he breaks into a smile, excusing himself from his current company to step around them and come over to greet me at the bottom step without breaking his gaze once.
Butterflies dance uncontrollably around my stomach.
My hand sliding down the banister, my heart thuds so hard against my rib cage it feels like it might burst right out my chest. I stop in front of him.
‘Hi,’ he says in a raspy voice.
‘Hi,’ I say, feeling shy at the way he’s looking at me.
He breaks into a wide grin, the dimples appearing and making my breath catch. I love his smile. ‘You are beautiful.’
Later, I’ll think about the way he said it, those exact words, and I’ll decide wholeheartedly that it’s much better than someone describing me as anything else because he knew me during my awkward early teenage phase when I thought chokers were flattering and has seen me first thing in the morning after a night camping and has witnessed me snap unfairly at my mum and get upset over my dad’s wishes from beyond the grave and he’s seen me approach a hot air balloon as though I’m walking to the gallows and paddle on a homemade raft like I’m rowing for Oxford and he still said, ‘You are beautiful’ as though he meant it.
***
Nico and the team at the chateau have brought the ballroom back to life.
Warmly lit by the sparkling chandeliers and atmospheric flickering candles, elegantly dressed guests roam its polished floor, sipping champagne and admiring the golden-gilded decoration of the walls and the ornate detail of the ceiling.
The tall windows are open, letting in the cooler evening air and the area outside is covered by a canopy of festoon lights.
It’s magical, like something out of a live-action fairy-tale movie.
Nico led me in, having offered me his arm, and I’d hoped we might be able to spend time together, but he was soon approached by a waiter who whispered in his ear and he consequently apologetically explained that he was needed elsewhere.
He didn’t leave me deserted though, he brought me over to a group of men I recognised straight away – my winning teammates from the raft race, who spotted me approach and gave me a hero’s welcome, throwing out their arms and cheering.
Nervous at first to tag onto their group with no friends of my own, I soon relax into their company and they’re kind enough to speak English to each other while I’m around.
We toast our win and they ask me about my life and I ask about theirs, and I end up having a lot of fun and laughs with them.
As the host, Nico has to do a lot of mingling, but I notice that he continues to return to my side whenever he can.
And on one occasion, when the band has got the majority of the guests up on the dance floor, I’m lingering at the side with one of the guys, Rahim, and I’m laughing my head off at one of his comments about his mate’s dancing and Nico comes over to check in, asking what we’re talking about and placing his hand on the small of my back.
He leaves it there, my whole body tingling at his touch.
A tiny gesture, but it feels like a statement. It feels . . . territorial almost.
Mum appears in a striking grey-silver, long-sleeved silk dress and incredible statement diamond earrings that catch the light and blind everyone when she shakes her head.
With her dazzling smile and confident presence, she looks so elegant that it doesn’t surprise me she’s soon surrounded by admirers, some of whom I learn are fans of her books and have been told in advance that she’d be here.
I’ve managed to have about two minutes of conversation with her before Laurence, the hot air balloon pilot, muscles his way through the crowd to take her hand, kiss it and guide her towards the dance floor.
‘Very smooth,’ I comment with a smile to no one, watching them go.