The Bastard Takes a Wife Read online

  The Bastard Takes A Wife

  (Bastard Tales #2)

  Lindy Dale

  Lindy Dale

  © 2012 Secret Creek Press

  Smashwords Edition

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  Discover other titles by Lindy Dale at Smashwords.com

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  Angel’s Bend

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  Chapter 1

  “What the hell is this?” I shook the small piece of cream parchment paper under Sam’s nose. He’d done it again. Organised without consulting me first. “Well?”

  Sam studied the piece of paper in question. His sea green eyes met mine. A small smirk crept into the corner of his mouth.

  “It’s a wedding invitation.”

  God. I, so, wanted to thump him.

  “Of course, it’s a wedding invitation. D’you think I’m a complete moron? I meant why has it got our names on it?” My fingernail punched the parchment hard enough to put a hole through the surface. It was a safer alternative than a real stabbing.

  “Why didn’t you say so?”

  “Don’t be a smartarse.”

  “I’m not. You never asked why it has our names on it.”

  I took a deep breath. I relaxed my tongue against the back of my teeth. I spoke very slowly. “Sam. Honey. This wedding invitation has our names on it. Could you please explain why?”

  I’d never given the okay to any invitation. In fact, I’d never even looked at any, and if I had I would never have chosen that one. Bleuch.

  “Mum sent it from Sydney. She thought it was best to get things underway if we want an Easter wedding.”

  My eyes bulged. I tried to take the information in but I was having trouble breathing. How could Sam’s mother plan a wedding in two weeks? It took normal people two years.

  “We’ve only been engaged a fortnight. Why didn’t she ask me first? It’s my wedding.”

  “Our wedding.”

  I glared at him. Sometimes he could be such a bastard. He’d already told me I could have anything I wanted as long as he didn’t have to wear a cummerbund or hear about table arrangements. Now it was our wedding? Taking another calming breath, I cast my eyes to the paper in my hand. Hideous colour, hideous font and…

  Oh My God, a church. Since when had we been getting married in a church? The last time I’d set foot in a church I’d been wearing a nappy and having water poured over my head.

  “And what… exactly…. is this?” I asked, too shocked to even utter the word.

  I know I’d joked about a church when we’d gotten engaged but that had been because Sam was church-a-phobic, not because I wanted to get married in one. I could feel myself beginning to hyperventilate. Blood pounded in my ears. This had better not be some cruel prank to get me back for the Christina Aguilera stunt. It had just better not be.

  “I thought you wanted a church wedding.”

  “Right. And who is Angus?” I indicated the penciled name, phone number and email address that had been scrawled in flowery hand on the back.

  “Our wedding planner.”

  “Our. Wedding. Planner.”

  This was a joke. Seriously. Sam was taking the piss again. He had to be.

  “Where did he come from?”

  “He plays full back for Cottesloe. I thought it might take some of the stress off you.”

  Sam smiled and grabbed me by the waist, pulling me to him. He pecked the tip of my nose and each eyelid in turn. Then leaning back, he gave me that puppy dog smile that I’m sure had charmed many a teacher in his younger days. His hand played up and down my arm as he waited for my approval. Oh God, he thought he was doing a good deed.

  “He’s pretty efficient. He’s already booked the mobile DJ and the belly dancers for the reception. And he’s looking into Cinderella carriage options tomorrow.”

  Churches? Wedding planners? Cinderella coaches? This wedding was going to end up like Tequila Night at the club if I didn’t put a stop to it. My head began to swim. A buzzing feeling rang in my ears and skated its way into my brain. Sam’s face went blurry before my eyes and then darker, darker. The kitchen floor was very close.

  Shit.

  *****

  “Millie? Millie!” Someone was shaking me. “Millie, wake up.”

  I opened my eyes, rubbing the heaviness from them with my fist. Vision blurred, my head was filled with a sudden ungodly headache.

  “You okay, Babe?” Sam asked. “You were screaming in your sleep again.”

  I looked around the room. I was in bed in Sam’s flat. Sweat was trickling down the side of my face and I wiped it away with the back of my hand before sitting up, befuddled.

  “You had a bad dream.”

  More like a nightmare. I blinked, trying to dissipate the remnants.

  “Is everything okay? You seem to be doing a lot of that lately.”

  “I was dreaming about the wedding. It was weird. Your mother had organised it and it was nothing like what we wanted.” I cuddled into the crook of Sam’s arm. His lovely vanilla musk scent soothed me and I felt the pounding in my chest begin to subside.

  He gave me a loving squeeze.

  “You know that’d never happen,” he whispered, with a kiss to the top of my head.

  “Guess so.”

  “You’re going to have the wedding of your dreams. Anything you want.”

  “Mmm.”

  “That reminds me,” he said, already half asleep again. “I booked a wedding planner. I thought it might take some of the stress off, but if you don’t like him we can choose another. His name’s Angus. Angus Adams.”

  Oh. My. God.

  Chapter 2

  Adele came strolling down the travertine stairs and into the family room. She looked chic with her hair piled carelessly on top of her head and a sweep of blue-black eyeliner decorating the lid of each eye. Having managed a flying trip to Egypt between my return and the engagement party preparations, she had taken Egyptian style dressing as her new project. Gold eye shadow. Black liner. Flowing imported kaftan creations with sequin-embellished necklines and wide leg pants. The look suited her and gave her one up on that Jennings cow from over the way, something Adele loved more than life itself. Especially when Mrs. Jennings couldn’t emulate it unless she made a secret trip to Alexandria.

  Adele walked over to the sideboard and took a glass, filling it with crushed ice and extra cold Perrier. “Angus is on his way. Got caught in traffic. I know you’ll like him, Millie. He’s utterly adorable ~ those pink and yellow shirts he wears ~ so bijoux. He’s very highly spoken of.”

  I didn’t care if he favoured bow ties with circus lights embedded in them. I was relieved to find out he didn’t play full back for Cottesloe. It seemed that even in my dreams Sam could take the piss.

  “He is going to listen to what we want, isn’t he? I’m not going to get stuck in some big frou-frou dress, looking like a reject from Gone With The Wind.”

  Adele sat down beside me. She placed her glass on the side table and gave my knee a gentle pat. “There’s nothing to stress about, darling. Brian and I popped by Gold Class while you and Sam were out with the children the other night. Went to a charity encore screening of Bridesmaids. So you can be rest assured we’re well versed with the lates
t in wedding etiquette. Plus I have these…” With a covert look around the family room, she withdrew a stash of bridal mags and wedding DVD’s from a drawer in the side table. She placed them on my lap as if they were the crown jewels. A knowing nod passed between us.

  “Everything is under control. Kent and Patricia have already faxed me their requests and I had a long talk with your mother on the phone last night. I know exactly what everyone wants. It’ll be organised by the time your parents get back from their cruise. All you’ll have to worry about is looking beautiful on the day.”

  Moving the heavy pile from my lap, I flopped back in the chair, the realisation hitting me in the face. There were so many people who wanted a say in this wedding, who needed to be pleased. The expectation that Sam and I would deliver was bigger than Womble’s bum before he lost twenty kilos. And he still weighed a good hundred and twenty now. I just prayed that Sam and I wouldn’t be sucked up in the tulle vortex, not to be seen until the etched champagne flutes appeared.

  “But what about what Sam and I want?”

  “Oh yes, of course, you’ll have your say. It is your wedding.”

  The doorbell rang and the soft fall of a pair of leather-loafered feet ushered the wedding planner into the room. He stood before us, checked shirt and corduroy panted, the top half being styled with a jaunty bowtie and horn-rimmed glasses. His brown hair was coiffed at the front in a style reminiscent of a 1990’s George Michael and his right lobe held a dainty stud I could have sworn was a Pandora. Slung across his left shoulder was a huge Italian leather man bag. Even I could spot that.

  With a wide smile he walked towards us, hand outstretched. “Adele, delightful to see you again.”

  Adele rose from the sofa, lips poised for the air kiss.

  “And you must be Millicent,” he said, withdrawing from her cheek to give me the once over.

  I stood up, reaching out to shake his hand and suppressing a giggle. The man was wearing more lipgloss than me.

  “It’s Millie. Nice to meet you, Angus.”

  “Well, of course it is! You, young lady, are about to become the luckiest girl in Perth. Angus Adams is at your service. A dream wedding is within your grasp. By the time I’m finished, everyone, and I mean everyone, is going to be talking about you.”

  Adele nodded approvingly. “Angus only deems to do the best weddings.”

  “Oh.”

  Adele offered Angus a seat and he sat, whipping his man bag from his shoulder and undoing it to reveal a black and white paisley printed laptop with matching diary and notepad. He fiddled around with it for a minute and shuffled in his seat. His posture was the straightest I’d ever seen.

  “Right, then. Let’s get down to business, shall we? It’s going to be nothing short of a miracle to pull this one off in four months.”

  “Can I offer you a beverage? Tea? Coffee? Perrier?” Adele interrupted.

  Angus opened the computer and logged on. “Coffee would be divine. Decaf soy latte if you have it.”

  Adele shot him a look. Not only did she have it, she also had the authentic Italian Barista that had been flown in with the machine that ground the Fair Trade beans.

  “So.” Angus sat up straighter, his skinny legs drew together at the knees. “An Easter wedding, Millicent? Doesn’t give us much time.”

  “It’s Millie.”

  Angus ignored me and fiddled some more in his bag. He pulled out a few brochures and placed them on the coffee table between us.

  “Is the timing a problem?” I asked. “It’s just that my Nanna will be here for Easter and she’s too frail to make a long plane trip twice in a year.”

  “Yes, right. I don’t see your wedding being a problem, Millicent, more of a challenge. I did that couple from Home and Away in two months ~ she had a bun in the oven and was so hormonal I had to bow to every single one of her ideas. God-awful coloured lambs frolicking around and the like. Had to get them spray painted with food dye. Very trashy.”

  I looked at him. Stunned. I hoped he wouldn’t think my ideas were god-awful and go spreading the word to his next clients.

  “So what were you thinking? Adele told me it would be a church ceremony. Have you any ideas which one? We’ll need to book ASAP if you want top notch. They don’t come cheap. Especially at Easter.”

  I was bewildered. Sam and I had discussed the ceremony. We wanted a simple service in the rotunda at Kings Park. A late afternoon wedding, so that, as we said our vows the sun would be setting. Not a church. I told Angus so.

  “I can probably get the Monastery in Leederville for you or possibly the Chapel in the grounds of the Catholic Education Office if I call in a favour. Both take lovely shots for the bridal album,” he continued, ignoring me.

  “But we want to get married in Kings Park,” I repeated.

  “Hmm. We can come back to that later.” He ticked off the first of what appeared to be a long list and looked to me again. “Now. Press releases. I’ve organised a few to go out to the major papers. We’ll need to have the official photos done as quickly as possible to go with it. I’ve lined up a photographer for tomorrow and I’ve also taken the liberty of contacting Woman’s Day and Sixty Minutes. After the ratings boom of Kate and Wills, they’re eager to jump on the bandwagon for our own Australian royalty. It won’t be quite the spread that Princess Mary got, mind you, but we should be able to get you a nice piece and a ten minute feature story.”

  He paused for breath and looked me over with a critical eye. His eyes stopped at my feet. I was wearing fluorescent pink polish on my toes that day.

  “You might want to thinking of engaging the services of a personal trainer and stylist.”

  “Why?” I asked, a little offended. I’d thought my floral knee-length dress and silver glitter sandals perfect for a first meeting.

  Angus shoved a hand into his pocket and withdrew a business card, handing it to me. “Sophia Blundstone. She used to style Elle McPherson and Kylie. She’ll fix you up.”

  I placed the card on the side table.

  “I don’t mean to sound ignorant but why are Sam and I having a feature in Woman’s Day?”

  “I know, I know. I tried for Women’s Weekly but they’d exhausted their entire budget on the winner of Masterchef. But don’t stress, WD will do a super piece. The features photographer is a personal friend.”

  I could feel my leg beginning to shake under my skirt. “No. I mean, why are we being interviewed? I’m a nanny. I’m not famous.”

  “You may not be, but Sam’s family are. They’re the Brisbane equivalent of the Murdochs or the Packers. There are expectations that must be met.”

  Expectations.

  “Does Sam know about this interview?” I enquired.

  Adele clapped her hands with glee. “Of course. He okayed it.”

  “Was he watching the rugby when you asked?”

  “I don’t see what that….”

  I collapsed into the plumpness of the back of the sofa. I could have asked for anything when the rugby was on and Sam would have given it to me to shut me up. “I think I’d like to have a word with Sam before you confirm anything.”

  “You’ll have to get back to me, ASAP. They won’t hold your spot forever, not with that couple from Neighbours getting divorced and him off around the town with a sixteen year old.”

  Angus picked up his coffee and took a sip, returning it to the saucer. “Now. Reception. All three families are members of the Royal Yacht Club. That’s a perfect venue. You’ll die for the views.”

  I had been there with my parents and Adele and Brian on a number of occasions. The views were nice but the only thing I was dying for was for this man to shut up and listen to me.

  “I think you’re misunderstanding me. We want a simple wedding. The big formal reception is definitely out.”

  “The cars will, of course, be vintage,” he continued. “I have excellent contacts there and you’ll be wanting photographs in Parliament House gardens and five courses for the sit down. Or
maybe four? It depends on the length of the speeches and how much dancing we want.”

  I repeated my previous request, which Angus ignored again.

  “The cake will be a three tier traditional fruit cake.”

  My lips pressed together. The stress headache of my nightmare was fast becoming a reality. We were being railroaded.

  “But I want a white chocolate cake with a kitsch little bride and groom on the top. Simple. White. Plain. Yet elegant.”

  Angus looked up from his notebook. At last, he seemed to have heard. “Simple doesn’t always equate with style. A cheap dress and a bunch of gerberas do not a wedding make.”

  Oh for Pete’s sake. I shrugged and tuned out while he blithered on about colour schemes and themes and showers and gift registries and hen’s nights. It wasn’t until he mentioned bridesmaids that I finally woke up.

  “I beg your pardon?” I asked, positive that he could not have questioned my choice of Alex as a bridesmaid.

  Angus looked at me. Cautiously, he slipped his pen into his diary and closed it, sliding it to the side. He faced me, clasping his hands on his knees like an old spinster. “I’ve had a look at the photos you submitted and…”

  “What photos?”

  “The ones Patricia emailed through with the gown options and the girls chosen to wear them.”

  “What’re you talking about? I don’t have any options and I only want one bridesmaid, Alex, with Paige as my junior. And she has to have a tiara.”

  Angus shuffled a little. “Well of course, Miss Paige, Miss Tori and Master Michael are natural choices but I’m a tad worried as to how the little Greek girl will appear in the photos.”

  I opened my mouth and closed it again in astonishment. I could barely find words. “Are you saying my friend is fat?”

  “Oh no. No. Heavens. She’s simply a little vertically challenged and the male attendants are so tall, you see.”