Marrying Mr Write (Mr Write Trilogy) (17 page)

There’s silence as we all try to take in what Jackson has just said and it seems like hours
pass before I realise that he is still looking at me expectantly, waiting for my response. I am stunned, three weeks to plan a wedding. I don’t even know what he has in mind, but three weeks!

“Jackson, I don’t …” I pause and noti
ce the look of love in Jackson’s eyes. Nothing matters, we don’t want a big wedding, we agreed on that so what am I worried about? I smile, and as I do it just continues to grow wider until I am grinning ridiculously and I start to giggle, “I can’t wait!”

The walk back to the apartment was short and I felt on top of the world. Jackson and I have been through hell and back over the past year, but when I wake up on Christmas morning, he’s going to be my husband.

Pippa of course is not best pleased about the timing,

“Jackson I can’t believe you’re doing this to me, I wanted to be a hot bridesmaid, now I just going to look like a blimp! Rosie, how do you feel about black bridesmaid dresses?”

She is serious
and I can’t help but laugh. I’m euphoric. I feel like I did when Jackson proposed to me, exactly a year before our wedding day, I couldn’t be any happier.

“Oh Rosetta, that looks stunning on you!”

Mam has loved every single dress that I have tried so far and has cried each time I have stepped out in a new one, certain that
‘that’s the one.’

“No Mam, it doesn’t! I look like a sack of shit!”
I snap.

I’m getting seriously pissed off. I feel horrible in everything that I have tried on so far. I have done all this before, I have had my dream dress and it got wasted. I can’t exactly re-use it and I know I’m not going to find anything that comes close. As well as the constant disappointment of knowing that I’m never going to find ‘the one,’ I feel enormous so everything looks hideous.

Jackson and I have been eating in restaurants for breakfast, lunch and dinner for months and I haven’t been working out. That
, and the alcohol and the ice creams, the Doritos and dips while we curled up and watched films on the nights that we didn’t want to go out, have all taken their toll on me. I’ve gone up about a dress size and the styles of dress that would normally fit me perfectly make me feel bigger than Pippa!

Jackson ‘of course’ thinks I look amazing; he hasn’t been able to keep his hands off me lately and moans when I sit down to dinner with just a salad. He loves my curves, but I just feel crap!

“I can’t do this right now. I need a drink!”

I stomp back into the dressing room
and remove dress number nine. Most definitely not ‘the one.’

“Rosie that last one did look gorgeous on you. I wouldn’t lie, and you know I wouldn’t!”

Pippa tries to make me feel better as we sit down at a table in the bar around the corner from the dress shop. She wouldn’t lie to me, I know that, but I have to feel right in the dress that I choose. I have exactly two weeks, and
its Christmas so there’s no way I’ll be able to get alterations in time. I need to be comfortable.

“Ah Pip, I’ll find one don’t worry. Are you happy with yours?”

We managed to get Pippa a deep purple maternity maxi dress with a sweetheart neckline and capped sleeves; she looks gorgeous in it, as always.

“Yeah, I love it babe, thank you. I can’t wait!” She smiles a big toothy smile as Mam makes her way back from the toilets.

“Sorry for snapping Mammy, I just feel so fat, and I’m tired. It’s a lot to cope with at such short notice.” I begin to regret my mood as I sit and look at the menu, and hate that I directed it at my mother.

“Don’t worry sweet girl, we’ll try again this afternoon.”

The three of us chat and catch up over coffees as we wait for our food to arrive. Tuna melt and curly fries is the last thing that I should be eating when I’m already piling on the pounds, but it’s just what I need when I’m feeling crap, and it’s my absolute favourite pub lunch.

“Ladies, vegetable lasagne?” The waiter heads over to our table and hands Pippa her lunch before passing Mam her Shepherd’s Pie, I am salivating and can’t help wanting to tell him to run back to the kitchen to get mine.

“Tuna Melt?”

“That’s me!” I proclaim, smiling as though I’ve won the lottery as my lunch is placed in front of me.

I lean forward excitedly and the smell fills my nostrils. The scent of warm tuna and melted cheese mixed with the overwhelming smell of chip oil turns my stomach. I lean back in my chair as my mouth starts to fill with water and I take a deep breath.

It’s been a crazy day so far, and it’s getting crazier. I’ve eaten this very lunch in this very bar hundreds of times before and I’ve never felt so sick at the smell of it. I’m starving so I give myself a pep talk, take a sip of Pippa’s Coke and take a bite.

“Rosie!” I hear the Concern in Pip’s voice as I leap out of my chair and run toward the door of the toilets. I don’t make it.

“Oh my god…
I’m so sorry!” I’m beyond embarrassed as the waiter runs toward me to see if I’m ok, “Get me the stuff and I’ll clean up.”

“Don’t be daft! Are you ok?”
He sweetly tries to put me at ease.

He starts to guide me back to our table where Mam is waiting with a pulled out chair and a glass of water and Pip is struggling to
tear herself away from her lasagne and show that she cares.

“I’m fine honestly; I think it’s just the adrenaline of this morning. Really, I’m ok. I’m really sorry!” I look over to where a young waitress is pouring some sort of powder all over the area where I threw up.

“I think we’d better try again tomorrow if you’re up for it Rosetta. You should probably get some rest today.”

“I’m really ok Mam. I think the smell of the food just turned my stomach for some reason.
I feel ok now.”

“Hmm ok” Mam seems unsure but knows that the clock is ticking on this wedding, “
Let’s go to one more shop then, but if you don’t have any colour back in your cheeks when we get there, we’re going home!”

The manager of the bar kindly refunded the cost of our meals, probably concerned that we were going to blame their food for my sickness, and we headed back out into the cold London air.

London at Christmas is incredible. The brightly coloured lights hung on lampposts and across roads, as well as adorning virtually every single shop inside and out can’t fail to raise the Christmas sprit in you. By the time we ha
d made our way to Oxford Street, minus Pippa who was too tired to go on about two hours ago, I was feeling much better.

My senses were on high alert as I inhaled the smells of cinnamon and cranberry, roast chestnuts and traffic and before long I started to feel overwhelmed and decided to call it a day. The light was fadin
g quickly into the darkness of a December afternoon and I soon realised that I was another day closer to my wedding and still had no dress.

As we made our way back through the streets toward Covent Garden clutching take away hot chocolates, I started to forget that I had been stressed and sick only a couple of hours ago. I wasn’t worried about my lack of a wedding dress as I listened to buskers and excited children discussing their visits to see Santa. I love Christmas, and despite the fact that I am planning a wedding, this one is no different.

Mam and I enjoyed walking arm in arm through the festive streets, not registering the bite of the cold air against our cheeks as we laughed and reminisced over past Christmas memories, and her excitement to see her only daughter get married. As we turned a corner to take us closer to my apartment, something in my peripheral view grabbed my attention and I stopped dead in my tracks.

As I turn
to face the window of the vintage dress shop I actually audibly gasp. I have spent the day in and out of bridal shops, looking at empire line dresses and full length veils, ivory silk and miles of tulle and yet here, in a back street vintage shop window is the absolute dress of my dreams.

Without a word to Mam I pray that the shop is still open, and that the dress is my size as I make my way toward the door.

“Hi Ladies, how can I help?”

The stunning shop assistant makes her was toward us as we enter the shop. She has vivid pillar box red hair, perfectly styled into victory rolls and decorated with
a black birdcage veil. Her heavily lined eyes and striking red lips make her look like something straight out of classic Hollywood, but the dress that fits every single perfect curve of her body and the high heeled Mary Jane shoes give the touch of burlesque that I imagine she was going for.

“I’m Candy. Feel free to browse but if you
need help just give me a shout.” Candy smiles brightly as she starts to head back to whatever she was doing before we walked in,

“Actually, I just want to try the dress in the window, if that’s ok?”

Candy gives a knowing grin as she turns back toward the front of the shop,

“Of course sweetie, its beautiful isn’t it!” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement and I whole heartedly agreed.

“Oh my god!”

My voice is practically a whisper as I look at myself in the mirror with tears in my eyes. Candy made me take my hair down and try on an ivory birdcage veil and it suits the one off dress perfectly.

The top of the pale blue lace sweeps gracefully across my chest, brushing the bottom of my collarbones and creeping around my shoulders into an elegant capped sleeve. The lightly structured bodice pulls in at the waist, making my torso appear perfectly proportioned and slightly longer than I know it to actually be.

The lace continues across my hips and fans out across the three layer petticoat that Candy insisted on. The dress stops just below my knees and the short length of it makes me feel taller and more like a beautiful bride than any of the typical ‘wedding dresses’ that I have tried have ever managed to do.

As I stand on my tiptoes and twist to admire the slight V shaped back
and the buttons running down to the top of the skirt, I know this is the one. I can’t imagine walking down the aisle in anything other than this dress now, and it fits perfectly. If that isn’t fate, I don’t know what is.

“Candy, I’ll take it!”

With tears starting to escape over my smiling cheeks, I turn back toward the small changing room and Candy starts to help me out of my wedding dress. My wedding dress…this is really happening.

The past week has been a bit of a blur. I thought Rosie was going to have a stroke when I told her about the wedding but she was over the moon.

We arrived home on Monday afternoon to a mountain of post to sift through, a book to pull together and a wedding to plan; I’m starting to wo
nder what I was thinking, but it’ll be worth it soon enough. In two weeks I’ll have a wife, and I’ll be a husband to the most incredible person that I have ever met, I can’t wait.

We’re getting married at Buxton registry office. It’ll just be me and Rosie, her parent’s, my dad, Rafe, Matthew, Pippa and Ben, perfect. Well, not quite perfect, that would have been having Steve by my side, but Annie is heavily pregnant and could go into labour at any time so he just can’t take the risk of being so far away. Matthew has agreed to be my best man in Steve’s place and I think that’s a pretty good deal given that he’s one of the best blokes I’ve ever met.

Rosie’s out today with Pippa and her Mum, I presume she’s dress shopping as Bernie was crying before they had even left the apartment this morning. I’m working on my book and Joaquin is over at Rafael’s schooling Rafe on the correct way to serve coffee and how to improve his cakes. Joaquin is one of the proudest fathers I have ever met, but he certainly seems to enjoy winding his son up!

I look at my watch and re
alise that time is ticking on. Before long I’ll probably have three screeching, crying women I the apartment so I’d better make the most of the peace and quiet. I grab a pint of water from the kitchen and make my way into the office; I have a book to write.

“Honey, I’m home!”

I hear Rosie come into the apartment and
notice that it’s dark outside. I’ve been in the office working since they left this morning and I suddenly realise that I’m starving.

As I open the office door the smell of Joaquin’s cooking hits me like a high speed train. I di
dn’t even realise he was home. He must have known how much I’ve got on as he just left me to it.

“Hey gorgeous, good day?” I lean in to give Rosie a quick kiss and she grins up at me on a nod.

“Yeah, great. It’s so Christmassy out there!”  Rosie smiles and turns to head toward the kitchen, “Wow Papa, thanks for this. It smells great!”

“Yeah Joaquin, thank you. I’ll make it up to you on Sunday with one of my world famous roasts!” I smile at Rosie who constantly complains that my Yorkshire puddings turn out better than hers ever have and she rolls her eyes.

“We’ll have to take a rain check on that one Jackson; we’re heading home tomorrow instead now.” Bernie speaks as she takes the spoon from Joaquin’s hand and continues to stir the risotto. He didn’t ask her to but she seemed to understand that he needed a hand while he chopped some parsley. These two have been married and clearly cooking together for a long time and move through the kitchen with complete understanding and fluidity, as though taking part in a perfectly choreographed 'pas de deux'.