The Man She Married (ARC) Page 4

  ‘I know, babe,’ Dominic comes over and gives my shoulder a squeeze. ‘I’m gutted too. Obviously if it weren’t so close to the wedding I’d be heading up there myself.’

  I have no choice but to rally, determined not to let my perfectly planned day be knocked off course by the absence of two people, however important. I can’t see another wedding go down the tubes. I force a bright smile. ‘Let’s go out anyway – it would be a shame to waste the table, seeing as you splashed out on somewhere so fancy. I’ll see if David and Melanie can join us.’

  ‘Fine. I’m just heading out to pick up a few surprise items for the honeymoon.’ He reaches over Shelley, the pedicurist, and kisses me, giving a conspiratorial wink as he heads out of the room.

  I phone my brother.

  ‘Sorry sis, Melanie’s teaching a class tonight,’ His girlfriend, Melanie, is a Pilates instructor. ‘She won’t be finished before eight, and by then it will be getting a bit late for us to come up to town. It’s tricky, you know, with the wedding being a weekday.’

  I’ve already been on the receiving ends of a few complaints that we’ve chosen a Friday for the ceremony – and on such short notice too. ‘That’s a shame. Okay, never mind; I’ll see you tomorrow anyway.’

  ‘You certainly will. Can’t wait.’

  I wait for Shelley to clear up her equipment and leave, before heading upstairs to the bedroom, keeping my feet bare to give my now immaculate toenails a chance to dry. My fingers have already been painted a matching shade. I take down the heavy off-white garment bag from where it hangs on the front of the wardrobe, unzipping it to gaze longingly at the dress inside.

  I decided against a long gown with a train for my wedding to Alex and I’m glad now, because it would have been over the top for a registry office. It’s ankle-length, made of layers of chiffon in the same palest shell-pink as my nails, with a Grecian-style top and beaded silver waistband. I have new shoes to go with it: strappy silver Manolos, and JoJo bought me a cute marabou shrug to cover up outside, because the weather forecast is distinctly chilly. The whole outfit makes me sigh with pleasure, and the fact that I bought the dress as another man’s fiancée doesn’t matter at all now. If you love someone and you’re happy to marry them, then there’s no such thing as a bad omen, I tell myself. A bad omen only applies if you shouldn’t be marrying at all.

  * * *

  Dominic insisted on treating his mother and brother and booked them rooms at the Connaught, with a table for dinner in Hélène Darroze’s restaurant. I decide that since it’s now just me and Dominic, I’ll cancel the dinner. We’ll only end up overeating because the food is so fabulous, and overindulging in the wine list. I don’t want to go to bed overfull the night before my wedding and wake up hungover with wine-drinker’s sallow and blotchy skin. Best I cancel.

  ‘This is the table for four in the name of Gill?’ the maître d’ enquires smoothly.

  ‘Yes. And there were two rooms booked in the same name… they’ll also need to be cancelled.’

  ‘Of course, no problem, Madam. If you’ll hold on one moment, I’d just like to transfer you to our reservations team.’

  I’m put on hold for a few minutes, then an apologetic female voice comes on the line. ‘So sorry to keep you waiting, Mrs Gill…’

  I don’t bother to explain that I’m not Mrs Gill; not yet.

  ‘I’ve been through our online system, but I can’t find any rooms booked in the name of Gill. Do you know when the reservation was made?’

  ‘I don’t know exactly… my fiancé booked them… it would have been at least two weeks ago, I think.’

  ‘One moment, let me check again.’

  I’m put on hold for another three minutes.

  ‘I’m so sorry, madam, but I can’t find a record of the reservation at all. If it was an error in our system, I can only apologise.’

  ‘Maybe my husband already cancelled,’ I say.

  ‘Yes, maybe,’ the clerk agrees tactfully, although we both know there would be a record if this was the case.

  I zip the dress back into the bag and hang it up again, telling myself not to stress over little details like a hotel reservation cock-up. I have the perfect wedding dress, and Dominic and I are going to have the perfect wedding.

  * * *

  It was really Dominic who wanted to keep the occasion small, but even without the time pressure, I would have been happy to go along with him. The rigmarole of a big wedding would have been an uncomfortable echo of what should have been my nuptials with Alex.

  So there are only eight of us at the ceremony itself – me, Dominic, JoJo, David and Melanie, my cousins Karen and Natalie, and Dominic’s best man, Adam. If Mrs Gill and Simon had made it, there would still only have been ten of us. We’ve been allocated the smallest ceremony room, designed to accommodate up to fifteen people, and I’m gratified to discover that our small party is a quite a normal size for a registry office wedding. It feels right; intimate.

  A further fifty guests join us at the reception venue – a converted church in Islington, set up with trestle tables at one end and a dance floor at the other. The lofty space has been swagged with ivory muslin and filled with gold balloons, and the tables feature miniature pink rose trees amid banks of candles of differing heights. I intended the overall effect to be one combining chic with a hint of girliness.

  After an informal reception with specially created cocktails, the guests sit down at the tables to enjoy chilled Vichyssoise, Wagyu beef and salted caramel fondants. The effect of the candles is spectacular, the champagne flows and the bonhomie is infectious. I’ve dispensed with speeches, apart from a brief ‘thank you for coming’ from the groom, and after the cake has been cut, people disperse into little groups to chat while the DJ sets up his decks. I survey the scene with satisfaction, then look down at my left hand with its new platinum wedding band; the engagement ring having been temporarily displaced to my right hand to leave an empty finger for the ceremony. The wedding ring still feels a little foreign and I slip it off and look at it closely for the first time. It’s only now that I have the chance to read the inscription that Dominic had specially engraved.

  To the love of my life. Then there’s a small engraved heart followed by the date: 1 April 2016.

  It’s so unexpected and yet so perfect. I pull my phone out of my clutch bag and take a close-up photo of the inscription, posting it to my Facebook with no caption save for a red heart emoji.

  JoJo approaches, cramming a slice of vanilla sponge into her mouth, licking the buttercream from her purple manicure, and I slip the ring back onto my left ring finger.

  ‘Good call on the speeches, Al,’ she says, leaning in for an embrace.

  I recoil. ‘Keep that frosting away from my hair, you witch!’

  We’re both a little tipsy by now, and collapse into each other, giggling.

  ‘Talking of your hair, what’s with the colour?’ JoJo points at my updo. For the first time in many years it’s mouse. I used to dye it a vivid chestnut colour, but soon after we started dating, Dom admitted he preferred it undyed.

  ‘Dom likes my natural colour.’

  She pulls a face at this. ‘Controlling, much?’ In recent weeks, JoJo has taken any and every opportunity to have a dig at my fiancé. ‘Seriously though… I wish more weddings would ditch the speeches. Hate them,’ JoJo slurs.

  ‘I thought you’d approve,’ I smirk, helping myself to a taste of JoJo’s cake.

  ‘I tell you who else was pleased – Dom’s best man. What’s his name again?’

  ‘Adam.’

  ‘That’s the one. You know what he said to me – he said he was dreading having to do a speech.’

  I shrug. ‘Well, I guess public speaking is not everyone’s bag.’

  ‘No, no, that’s not why he didn’t want to do it.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I’ve not quite drunk enough to prevent me from picking up a certain edge in my maid of honour’s voice.

  ‘He said he couldn
’t make a speech because he hardly knows Dom. He’s from Ellwood Archer, so they’ve only known one another a few months.’

  I make a so-what gesture. ‘You don’t have to have known someone for years to get on with them well.’

  ‘Yeah, but…’ JoJo licks a stray smear of buttercream from the side of her finger. ‘When you ask someone to be your best man, surely it has to be someone you’ve known for ages. Someone from school, or your hometown. Or uni, at least.’

  ‘I don’t think there are any rules about it.’ My giggliness is starting to evaporate. ‘It just needs to be someone relatively sensible who can help organise stuff on the day.’

  ‘So you don’t think it’s odd?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, look…’ JoJo sweeps an arm round the room. ‘Look – all that lot are your friends. Some of them are from when we were at school, and some from college, and that lot over there are your pals from when you worked at that tapas restaurant… and look, there’s Lisa who does your hair… and your parents’ former neighbours, your godparents, your cousins… and who has Dominic got here? Adam and a couple of other randoms from his office and a couple of guys who work out at the same gym. So where are they?’

  ‘Where are who, JoJo?’ My tone is terse. I don’t like what she’s implying but remind myself once again that her best friend’s wedding is bittersweet for her.

  ‘Dom’s people. His family and old friends. It feels a bit… weird.’

  As if on cue, Dominic appears at my side with a glass of champagne in each hand. He sets them down and sweeps me up into his arms, squeezing me so hard that my silver-shod feet lift up off the ground.

  ‘How’s the gorgeous Mrs Gill? Time we had a dance, I think.’

  I kiss him square on the lips, then throw a look over my shoulder at JoJo. A look that’s intended to signal ‘Look how lucky I am’. To shut down her doubts. ‘I couldn’t agree more,’ I say.

  As Dom turns to lead me in the direction of the dance floor, JoJo grabs my wrist, pulling me back again. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean anything, Al. It’s the booze talking. As long as you’re okay.’

  I gesture at my smiling husband, handsome in his Armani suit. ‘Of course I’m okay, silly! I couldn’t be any happier.’

  Six

  Alice

  Then

  The honeymoon is blissful.

  Dominic has booked a private villa on Skiathos. There’s an enchanting terraced garden with an infinity pool overlooking the sea, and when we’re not lounging beside the pool, we’re trekking down the steep path from the villa’s wooded hilltop to the private beach to swim or picnic. We hire bikes to explore the island, take boat trips to other islands and have long, late lunches followed by siestas and sex. Lots of sex. We spend hours lost in exploration of mutual pleasure. Married sex is, I decide, the best I’ve ever known.

  In the evenings, we drink wine on our terrace or walk to a local taverna to eat grilled fish caught that day. The April weather is pleasantly warm during the day but chilly at night. One day, we buy seafood in the market and barbecue it ourselves as the sun sets, washing it down with retsina.

  ‘Glad you married me, then?’ Dominic enquires.

  I wind my arms round his waist while he expertly turns prawns over hot coals.

  ‘Just a bit,’ I admit. ‘I’d keep you for your barbecuing skills alone.’

  The following morning, after a long lazy session in bed, he comes into the bathroom as I’m popping my contraceptive pill out of its blister pack.

  ‘Just as well you’re taking those,’ he observes. ‘Or the way we’ve been going at it, you’d be knocked up by now. No doubt about it.’

  I pause with the tiny white tablet halfway to my lips. ‘Actually… I was thinking of stopping it quite soon.’

  Dominic does a double take, banging his hip into the vanity unit as he steps back. ‘What? Why?’

  ‘Well, because we’re married now.’ I’m genuinely confused. ‘I was thinking we could just, you know, see what happens.’

  ‘You mean have a baby?’

  The look on his face – concern bordering on dismay – throws me completely. ‘Yes, of course I mean have a baby. That’s what people do once they’re married, isn’t it? I mean, I assumed…’ I tail off. Of course I made assumptions, because we haven’t actually got round to having the conversation yet. I’m someone who always used to pour scorn on couples who failed to discuss having children before they got married, and yet here I am. Doing exactly that myself.

  ‘We don’t want a baby, do we?’ Dominic asks.

  I feel a sudden, irrational prickle of tears. ‘Of course I want a baby!’ I say hotly, trying to mask how upset I am. ‘Don’t most people? Don’t you?’

  He pulls me forward into his arms. ‘Sorry, babe, I didn’t mean to upset you… of course kids would be great. I just meant that I don’t want one right now. This has all happened pretty quickly, and we’re still busy getting to know each other.’

  ‘I’m thirty-one in a few months, Dom. We can’t put it off forever.’

  ‘Exactly. You’ve only recently turned thirty. There’s loads of time.’

  * * *

  We fly back to London and become reabsorbed into our busy work lives over the summer. I decide that it will be nice to at least enjoy our first Christmas together as man and wife, before thinking about starting a family.

  From October onwards, I start making plans. I’ve always loved Christmas, but in my post-Alex single life, the invites to spectate at other people’s celebrations left me feeling empty and a little left out. A little bit Bridget Jones. Now, at last, I’m part of a couple again. When I’m not busy juggling jobs for Comida, I squirrel away presents for Dominic’s stocking and make Pinterest boards of Christmas recipes and decorations. We’ll throw a drinks party on Christmas Eve, I decide. But, first, the sitting room will have to be redecorated, and the rather shabby curtains I bought in Habitat five years ago replaced with some smart new ones.

  Dominic takes little interest in my plans. He is not, he confesses, a very Christmassy person, and besides, he is flat out at Ellwood Archer financing a huge development in Qatar. I’m not unduly put out. Everyone knows it’s women who take the brunt of the festive donkey work, and besides, I rather like the idea of surprising him with a cosy yet opulent celebration, one which will make him a Christmas convert. And next year, perhaps there’ll be a third stocking for us to hang up. Perhaps I’ll be pregnant.

  I invite David and Melanie to stay the night after the Christmas drinks do and then spend Christmas Day with us, envisaging a cheery but very grown-up affair, with midnight mass, champagne cocktails for breakfast and a relaxed evening meal, followed by exchanging gifts in front of the fire.

  In the end, things don’t work out quite as I’d hoped. The curtain company make a mistake with their order, so the new curtains aren’t up in time for the drinks party. Though nobody seems to notice the bare windows: they’re too busy enraging Dominic by spilling mulled wine and grinding mince pies into the brand-new carpet. David has terrible flu and spends most of Christmas morning in bed, and Melanie wants to visit her own family, so we end up having to move our relaxed and grown-up evening meal forward to the middle of the day.

  So, when evening falls on Christmas Day, it’s just Dominic and I who collapse in front of the fire with glasses of Baileys, having first dug out our presents to one another from under the tree. Dominic hands me a small square package tied with a silver ribbon.

  ‘For me?’ My eyes widen.

  ‘Of course.’ He kisses the side of my neck. ‘Silly coot, you didn’t think I’d forget, did you?’

  I pull off the ribbon and the paper, revealing a red Cartier box. Inside is one of their signature white-gold love bracelets, studded with diamonds. My eyes widen even further, and I look up at Dominic with my mouth half open.

  ‘You like it?’

  ‘Of course! I’m just… This is amazing, thank you.’ I throw my arms round his neck and hug him, har
d. ‘I’m afraid it craps all over my present.’ I walk over to the tree and pull out a plain envelope. ‘Here.’

  Dominic opens it, staring down at the contents. His expression is hard to read.

  ‘This is…?’

  ‘First-class train tickets, for the day after tomorrow. And a reservation for a night at a smart hotel in Newcastle. I thought we could go up and see your mum, given that she missed the wedding and wasn’t here with us for Christmas. I figured it would be a nice surprise for her.’

  I decide against mentioning that, after nine months of marriage, I still haven’t had the chance to meet my in-laws. Something which bothers me a lot, but apparently doesn’t trouble my husband at all. I wanted to invite her for Christmas, of course, but apparently she was spending Christmas Day with Simon and their cousin’s family.

  ‘Babe…’ Dominic runs his hand through his hair. ‘This is so sweet of you, but I can’t, not on the twenty-seventh. I’ve got to go into the office.’

  ‘But it’s Christmas week, surely—’

  ‘We’ve got a big consultation on the Bellweather project: the client’s flying in from the Gulf, and he doesn’t celebrate Christmas, so…’ He shrugs, then looks back at the vouchers in the envelope. ‘But you’ve booked open-ended tickets, right? So we can just change the hotel reservation and go another time. In a few weeks, when the weather’s a bit better. We could even make it a special trip for our first anniversary.’

  ‘Or I could go up there on my own,’ I suggest. ‘Have a bit of one-on-one girl time with your mum?’

  But Dominic is shaking his head. ‘She’s not really the girl-time type. It would panic her if you turned up there alone, and with her cardiac issues…’ He trails off, letting my imagination supply the rest of the scenario that might be caused by an unexpected visit. ‘Better we go together in spring.’

  ‘No problem,’ I smile at him, but inwardly I’m feeling thwarted. ‘I’ll email the hotel tomorrow and cancel the reservation.’