The Bastard Takes a Wife Page 2

  “What male attendants? Sam’s having Johnny. That’s it.”

  Angus consulted his notes. “Ah no.” He tapped his finger on the page. “Three attendants. John Jones, Alan Simpson and someone called Rambo?” His eyes appeared to glitter at the thought of the big burly man he envisaged to match the name.

  “His name’s Ryan Waters and believe me he’s no Rambo.”

  “Yes, well, he’s the third groomsman.”

  I couldn’t understand it. It had only been a few nights ago in bed Sam and I had discussed the wedding party. I was happy to only have Alex. At the time Sam had seemed to want the same. Had he agreed to make me happy? Or did he have some secret yearning to have a massive wedding? I couldn’t imagine it. Not after he told me he’d rather have all his teeth pulled without anesthetic first.

  On the other sofa, Angus was still rambling, oblivious. “The other options would be far more suitable.” He tossed some photocopied shots of Kirby, Sasha and Mel onto the coffee table.

  “For what?”

  “Bridesmaids.”

  That was it. I’d had enough of this silly little man with his dinky bow tie and paisley notebook. There would be no more planning unless I got what I wanted. Tears stung the back of my throat. I couldn’t swallow. “Get. Out.”

  “But we need to…”

  “No. We do not. I’ll organise my own wedding. Thank you.”

  Adele reached over, resting a hand on my forearm. “Millie. Calm down. Think of the photos. In twenty years time, when you look back, you’ll be glad you listened to Angus. This is his job. He knows what works.”

  My mouth fell to the floor. Adele was siding with the planner. I stood up, handing Angus his jacket on my way to the door.

  “You heard me, I said get out. And if you don’t get out now, I’ll call Sam to throw you out and believe me, he can throw men who weigh twice as much as you.”

  I’d never seen a man hoist a purse and run to a door as fast.

  “I guess that’s about it for today, then. Don’t forget - one o’clock tomorrow for the engagement photos. I’ve booked you in for a fitting at Mode for Brides on Thursday as well, so you can make a final decision on the dress,” he called across his shoulder. “Your options are being flown in. Make sure you take the rest of the bridal party with you so we can start sourcing dresses for them, too. I’ll be on hand to organise alterations, shoes and accessories etc. So you won’t have to worry about that.”

  Oh joy. I couldn’t wait.

  Chapter 3

  Outside on the terrace, Sam was deep in some sort of business conversation on the phone. I could hear him talking about staff training and incentives. For someone I’d believed had never conducted business before, or even had a proper job when we met, he’d made quite a smooth transition into ‘boss’ mode. Even though I was ready to wring his neck, the fact that he was so clever made me feel quite proud.

  Seeing me approach, he waved his hand in the air and gave his usual cheeky grin. Then he hung up his phone and put it between his thighs. “How’d the meeting go?”

  I stood over Sam’s deck chair, hands on hips. I know I’d agreed to let him off most of the wedding preparations because ‘girlie flowers and stuff’ wasn’t his thing but if he’d been interfering from the sidelines he could suffer the consequences. So much for only wanting to ‘rock up on the day’ and have a great time.

  “Did you tell Angus you were having three attendants?”

  Sam frowned as if digging through the mud in his memory. “Don’t think so. Mum was raving on about something the other day and I told her we wanted a small wedding in King’s Park.” He beamed up at me; seemingly chuffed that he’d even remembered that detail.

  “Then why did Angus reel off the names of the rugby boys? And why’re Simmo and Rambo in our wedding party? They’re not exactly poster boys for making a relationship work.”

  Sam looked worried now. “Ah, ‘cause I sort of asked them.”

  “But we decided.”

  “I know we did but listen, please, before you fly off the handle…..” He looked up at me and did his best impersonation of a puppy wanting more dinner. “Mum made the point that we have a bit of an expectation on us, given who my family are.”

  There it was again. That word. Expectation.

  “But we agreed. Together.”

  “I know and I didn’t mean to ask the boys. It sort of popped out after I’d had a couple. Simmo was the first person I met when I came to Perth. And Rambo’s saved me on the pitch more times than I can count. I feel indebted to him. Anyway, they looked so upset when they heard Johnny talking about planning the Buck’s night, I didn’t have a choice.”

  I didn’t know whether to be annoyed or happy that Sam appeared to have developed an empathy gene. But after all the ‘little talks’ we’d had, why did he have to choose this moment to use it?

  I groaned. “So you were drunk?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “But you decided to increase the size of the wedding party without talking to me first?”

  “I can un-invite them if that’s what you want.”

  Now he was taking the piss. As if you could un-invite someone from your wedding party. It was very bad manners.

  “I guess it’ll be okay,” I sighed. “I’ll have to ask the girls to stand up too. And you’ll have to choose someone else to be a groomsman because if I ask them we’ll have an uneven number with Alex already in.”

  I didn’t care what that fool Angus Adams said. If I had to ask Kirby, Sasha and Mel to be my bridesmaids I was having Alex as the Maid of Honour.

  Sam gave a small grin and reached up to squeeze my hand. I couldn’t help wondering if he’d wanted this all along. “Don’t stress about it, Mill’. In the scheme of things a few more sitting at the table is no big deal. It’s not like we’re paying for it.”

  Well, that was a relief.

  Chapter 4

  “Can you believe the cheek of him?” I said to Kirby as we reached the door of Mode For Brides a couple of days later. “He wanted me to dump Alex from the bridal party because she’s a bit tubby.”

  Kirby’s head shook in disbelief. Her golden highlights sparkled in the afternoon sun. “Like, what a dick! I hope you, totally, told him to stick his head up his bony little bottom.”

  “I told him to get out.”

  “O.M.G! You, like, sacked the wedding planner?”

  “Well, yeah, but then I had to reinstate him. I’ve got no idea how to organise a wedding.” The whole thing was a nightmare and we hadn’t even begun. I was going to be grey before the day arrived at this rate.

  I held the door open for Kirby and followed her inside. “Angus wants me to employ a stylist.”

  “What? For Alex?”

  Oh God.

  “No. For me.”

  “But there’s nothing wrong with you. I mean, I know the Boho look isn’t for everybody but that ‘just got back from a love-in’ thing, like totally, suits you. If you dropped a few kilos you could, totally, be Mary-Kate or maybe even Nicole Richie. Like, take your pick.”

  “Um. Yeah. I don’t think I’d like to be that thin. Even if Angus said bulges on brides are bad in photos. He’s coming today, by the way. To give his approval on dresses. So I hope you haven’t eaten. We wouldn’t want a paunch.”

  “What would he know?”

  “He probably does know something. He’s quite a celeb in Wedding Planner world.”

  Kirby’s hand reached out to knock on my forehead. “Ah, hello? He’s, like, a man. I’ve never met one yet who could give an opinion on a dress that didn’t begin with ‘your tits look great in that’.”

  “He’s gay.”

  “Oh. No wonder he’s on to you about weight then. I’ll bet he’s man-orexic.”

  I didn’t bother to ask what trashy magazine she’d read that in. Instead, I immersed myself in wedding heaven.

  Mode For Brides was a frosted wonderland. It was as if crystals of snow had been sprinkled on every s
urface and frozen for posterity. Glass cases sparkled with all manner of tiaras and jewellery. Row upon row of satin slippers adorned the walls and the dresses ~ white, cream, ivory, lace, satin. How would I ever choose?

  “I think my lungs have stopped functioning,” I whispered, suddenly feeling rather overwhelmed by it all.

  Kirby gave my hand a tiny squeeze and led me over to the shabby chic chaise where Alex was perched, twittering like an overexcited sparrow.

  “It’s like, totally, okay. I was like that the first time I came here, too.”

  “You’ve been here before?”

  She waved a blasé hand. “Of course. I used to come here all the time when I was with Rambo. I used to, like, dream of a Collette Dinningan wedding gown with matching hand-stitched underwear and Christian Louboutin pumps with custom pink soles. Like, thank freakin’ God I got rid of that sorry excuse for a man. He’d never be able to afford the wedding I deserve.”

  “Have you heard from him since he got back to Perth?”

  “No. I don’t think he was totally with me over the whole wine thing.”

  I smirked at the memory of Kirby’s division of assets strategy. She’d been the talk of the club for weeks after she’d tipped out half of every expensive bottle of wine Rambo had owned and freighted the remains back to him. It taught him not to underestimate her blondeness that was for sure.

  “Okay, let’s pick a fucking dress and get this show on the road.”

  A long, dark haired girl swung through the glass doors and walked towards the chaise. Gently curled locks swung in time with her hips and she wound them around her hand and flicked them over one shoulder to partially cover her chest. If it weren’t for the hair I would have sworn…

  “Fucking hair,” she muttered as she dumped her handbag at my feet.

  “Mel?”

  “Who the fuck else do you think it is? Jesus, how many bridesmaids are there going to be in this circus?”

  “Your hair…”

  Mel straightened, stopping her tirade. “Do you like it? I blame Kirby if you don’t. She talked me into getting extensions after you asked us to be in the wedding party. She ranted so much I did it to shut her up. Cost me four hundred dollars so I’d better be getting a shag at the reception.”

  “I only said it would be, like, nice if we could all put our hair up in the same style. I was thinking sort of Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s.”

  “Oooh, I love that movie,” said Alex. “Are we wearing black, Millie?”

  I hadn’t thought of colours ~ possibly because I hadn’t thought of having twenty bridesmaids either ~ the original plan had been for Alex to choose her own gown and we’d work a scheme in with it. I wasn’t that fussed.

  “Black would be very chic,” Kirby commented. “It’s not done often and I look, like, totally hot in black. Goes with my hair.”

  Mel walked over to a selection of dresses. She flicked a few across the rack and pulled one out, holding it against her body. “You won’t get any argument from me. And Sasha was Queen of Black a couple of seasons ago, so she’ll be up for it. Speaking of which, where is she? I’d have thought she’d have been the first one here. We all know how much she loves a good fucking romp in a gown.”

  “She had to do an afternoon shift,” I said. “But I’m going to message her any of our selections so she can choose too.”

  “Cool,” Mel said, hooking the dress back on the rack. “Now, do we get free drinks in this place? If I have to spend an afternoon frocking up, I’m going to need a champagne or two to loosen my bra straps.”

  And as if by magic, the shop assistant appeared from a back room bearing a tray of bubbles. Lovely.

  About half an hour after that Angus arrived. He put his man-bag on the floor next to Mel’s tote and handed me a ‘sorry’ posy of daisies before taking a glass of champagne from the shop assistant.

  “So ladies, how far along are we?” he asked, pulling his paisley diary out of his bag.

  Mel, Alex and Kirby stood before me wearing three different black gowns. Poofy, swirly, tight at the knee, taffeta and even feathers - we’d tried them all before he arrived.

  “I gather the theme is black?” he asked, adding, “Please don’t tell me you’re putting silver with it. Black and silver is so last year. Damask is a little passé also.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous! This is a rugby wedding, Angus, not freaking Cirque Du Soleil,” Kirby squawked. “We have standards.”

  “We were thinking a simple black and white theme,” Mel explained. “Attendants and Sam in black, boys with white ties and Millie in ivory with a huge ivory bouquet. No fucking silver. Silver is for people who do craft and make their own centrepieces. God.” She rolled her eyes at him.

  “The black could work,” Angus said. “If you keep the attendants bouquets small and have the jewellery in pearl it could be very glamorous. Almost Audrey Hepburn.”

  “Exactly.”

  “We could, like, even do black evening gloves,” Kirby offered.

  “Possibly. Flowers?”

  “Lilies, orchids and roses. All Millie’s favourites with like, maybe even a hint of Baby’s Breath.”

  Angus’s eyebrows shot to the top of his head. I think he stopped breathing for a second. Baby’s Breath hadn’t been done since the wedding of Fergie and Andrew.

  “It’d be retro but not tacky. My mother had a bouquet like that in the 70’s and it was divine.” To further justify her claim, Kirby raced to her handbag and fished out a wedding photo of her mother. She handed it to me. The dress was a hideous seventies creation but she was right. The flowers were divine. And timeless.

  Over my shoulder, Angus nodded. “Yes. Yes, I can see that. Very nice.” He took a photo with his iPhone. I’ll get onto some florists for mock ups for the bridal party when I get back to the office.”

  *****

  We stayed in the shop another two hours by which time, I was becoming convinced I would never find the dress of my dreams. The girls had been easy once we decided on the colour. Tired and emotional, I flopped down on the chaise beside Alex, who had taken up residence after trying on twelve bridesmaid outfits and declaring herself knackered.

  “None of these are the one,” I moaned.

  “What’re you going to do? The other boutiques have nothing like quality and range of the dresses here and I don’t think I have the energy to go through this again without a few shots of Ouzo.”

  Angus’s brow gathered. He pulled out his iPhone and consulted the calendar. “We don’t have time for custom, with only fifteen weeks up our sleeve.”

  “I might have a solution…..” The young shop assistant stepped forward. She looked all of sixteen and possibly related to that swimming instructor I’d encountered a few months back ~ the one who’d called me ‘Mummy’. What could she possibly do that would help apart from shoving me into a few more revolting dresses?

  “Yes?”

  Her mouth turned up at the corner in the tiniest of smiles, as if she were sharing the biggest secret in the world. She leant towards me. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but Lisa is coming across from Sydney next week.”

  “And?”

  “She’s doing the final fitting for my sister’s wedding.”

  I stared at her. Some skinny girl’s sister’s wedding wasn’t my concern. I had enough trouble trying to control Angus and his crazy plans.

  But Kirby had begun to quiver with excitement. Her face lit up brighter than the time she’d scored the latest Mac lip-gloss before the rest of the populace. “O.M.G! Lisa Ho is, like, making your sister’s wedding gown?”

  She grabbed Angus by the hand and together they jumped up and down like two six year olds on a trampoline.

  “Lisa designed it and the seamstress here is making it up. She pops over every month to check progress. She knows my mum.” The girl waved her hand in the air nonchalantly as if everyone was B.F.F with famous Australian designers. “Maybe she’d do one for you?”

  �
�Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God! Yes. Please,” Kirby squealed.

  Angus stopped jumping. He opened his diary and began to froth at the mouth as he double-checked dates.

  “Do you think she’d have time?” Four months wasn’t long in custom wedding dress land.

  “Doesn’t hurt to ask. Give me a sec’.”

  And with that she dashed off into the back room.

  Angus and Kirby stood with their mouths agape. I shook my head in bewilderment. Only Alex seemed coherent, though even she looked visibly shocked. “Lisa Ho is going to design your wedding gown, Chica. Wow.”

  “I have to text Sash’,” Mel said, scrambling for her phone. This was clearly a bigger deal than I realised. She never broke a sweat except to get angry with the boys for acting the fool.

  “We don’t know yet.” I held up my hands with all my fingers crossed.

  “I’ve, like, got my toes crossed too,” said Kirby. “You just can’t see it through my shoes.”

  After a minute or two, the assistant emerged from behind the curtain. She was nodding enthusiastically, the smile on her face growing wider by the second as she came towards us, her ear still glued to her pink, sequined mobile. Removing it from her ear, she put her hand over the mouthpiece.

  “She said she’d do it. She has an opening. And the seamstress will put you on the priority list. This is for the Brockton wedding on April 29th, right?”

  “Yes.”

  Beside me I could feel another squeal building in Kirby’s lungs. Her body, rigid with nervous tension was unmoving next to mine but her foot was tapping faster than a mouse could run on an exercise wheel.

  “Cool,” the assistant said. “I thought so because that’s the only reason she agreed. Anyway, she says she’d be honored and will meet you here at 10 am this Saturday. Any ideas you’ve got, you’re to bring.”

  Kirby began to hyperventilate. Anyone would have thought it was her wedding. “Really? Like, seriously?”

  “Yep. I’ll pencil you in now. Oh and just as an aside… when you said Brockton, did you mean, like, Sam Brockton?”