Queen of Babble Gets Hitched (2 page)

“You’re making a big mistake, Lizzie,” he turns to say when he gets there… looking a little surprised when he finds me right behind him.

“No,” I shoot back, pressing my index finger against his sternum. “You are. Your best friend is getting married. You should be happy for him. And for me. Just because things didn’t work out for you and Shari—”

“Shari?” Chaz shakes his head in bewilderment. “This has nothing to do with Shari. It has to do with you and me.”

“You and me?” I let out a stunned bark of laughter. “There is no you and me.”

“That’s what you think,” Chaz says, tugging on his coat. “And I’ll be damned if I’m going to wait around until you figure out that isn’t true.”

“Fine,” I say. “I’m not asking you to, am I?”

“No.” Chaz is smiling… but not like he’s happy. “But you would if you had the slightest idea what was good for you.”

And with that, he yanks open the door and storms through it, slamming it closed behind him with enough force to cause the windowpanes to rattle.

And then he’s gone.

Once the kidnapped “bride” and her groom had safely escaped the wrath of her relatives, frantically searching for her around the outskirts of the village from which she’d been snatched, they’d lay low for a while, to avoid retaliation from her family (or any possible husbands already in existence).

This was also the period during which the “groom” exerted his dominance over his new captive, stamping out any desire she might have to escape or murder him in his sleep (a not uncommon practice in early “marriages” of this sort where the bride wasn’t as happy with the situation as a groom might hope her to be).

This “laying low” period could be considered the ancient predecessor to the honeymoon. Only it probably took place in a cave, not at a Sandals resort. And there definitely wasn’t room service.

Tip to Avoid a Wedding Day Disaster

Never try a new beauty product—or, God forbid, get a facial—on the day of or the days leading up to your wedding. The last thing you need is a breakout or rash! Stick to your normal routine, and you’ll glow like the angel you are.

LIZZIE NICHOLS DESIGNS
^™

I blink. I have to admit: this was not the reaction I’d expected from the first person I’d told about my engagement to Luke. I’d expected Chaz to have some concerns, sure. I mean, it’s true that Luke and I have been having some problems up until recently. As recently as half an hour ago, as a matter of fact.

But all those problems are over now. Because Luke asked me to marry him. That was the only major obstacle standing in the way of our being together—that he couldn’t see me in his future.

But all that’s changed now. He’s asked me to marry him! I’m going to be a bride! Lizzie Nichols, a bride, at last!

And okay. It’s a little weird that every time I think about that, I feel like I want to throw up.

But that’s just all the excitement from having gotten engaged before I’ve had any breakfast. I’ve always suspected I’m a little hypoglycemic. Just like Nicole Richie.

And anyway, it’s all Chaz’s fault. Why, instead of being happy for me, had he had to throw that absurd little hissy fit, almost as if… well, almost as if he’d been jealous?

Except that that’s not possible. Because Chaz doesn’t like me that way. We’re just friends. I mean, sure, we’d messed around a little last night.

And, I’ll admit, it had been… well, nice.

Really nice, actually.

But we’d both been a little tipsy. Drunk, even. It hadn’t meant anything. It was like I’d said: still smarting over our respective breakups, we’d sought solace in each other’s arms.

But that doesn’t mean there was anything more going on.

Does it?

Well, I’m not going to waste any more time worrying about it. Luke is going to be here any minute. I have to get myself cleaned up before he arrives. It’s bad enough he proposed—and I accepted—while I still had morning breath. I am not going to start my first day as a newly engaged person wearing the same underwear I’ve had on since yesterday.

By the time the downstairs buzzer goes off, I’m as sweet smelling and coiffed as I’ve ever been in my life—thanks to the world’s fastest shower, a quick change into a stunning 1950s Lorrie Deb pink chiffon party dress (perfect for the newly engaged, soon-to-be-certified professional wedding gown restorer), and a couple layers of undereye concealer—and ready to let in the man to whom I’ve just pledged my troth.

I feel lighter than air as I make my way down the twin flights of steps to the building’s front door (I have to get that buzzer fixed first thing when places open up again tomorrow morning).

“Whoa,” Luke says after I fling open the heavy metal door. “You look—”

“Like a bride-to-be?” I ask, holding out the three layers—one chiffon, one net, and one nylon—of my full skirt and giving him a playful curtsy.

“I was going to say hot,” Luke says. He triumphantly holds up a Starbucks bag… and a six-pack of Diet Coke for me. “Look what I scored. I only had to walk eleven blocks to find a place that was open on New Year’s Day.”

“Oh, Luke! You remembered!”

Except, of course, it was Chaz who told Luke how much I love Diet Coke in the first place. That’s the only reason Luke bought it for me that day in the village back in France last summer. Because Chaz told him that Diet Coke was the way to my heart.

But that doesn’t mean I’m in love with Chaz, does it?

Of course not! How could I think anything so silly?

My eyes fill with tears. Really, Luke’s the most thoughtful fiancé in the whole world. Also the handsomest, standing there in his Hugo Boss overcoat, with his long dark eyelashes curling so perfectly… and without the help of a Shu Uemura eyelash curler, even. He’d looked so cute when he’d been kneeling there in that exact spot in the slush a half hour ago, so hopeful and nervous. How could I have said anything but yes when he’d proposed?

Not that saying anything but yes had even occurred to me. Well, except for a few seconds, maybe. To punish him for that whole “I don’t know if I see you in my future” thing.

“I just want to let you know that when I look into my future, I see nothing but you.” That’s what Chaz had whispered in my ear at some point during the wedding last night.

Then he’d whispered, “And you’re not even wearing Spanx.”

I shake my head. Why do I keep thinking about Chaz? He wears University of Michigan baseball caps nearly all the time.

In public.

Luke’s face falls. “What?” he asks. “What’d I do? You don’t drink Diet Coke anymore. Is that it? I can get something else. What do you want? Diet Dr Pepper?”

“No!” I try to laugh breezily. Oh God. What’s wrong with me? “Of course I still drink Diet Coke. I’m sorry. Wow, it’s really cold out here. Come in.” I move out of the doorway so he can do just that.

“I thought you’d never ask.” Luke gives me one of those grins that still cause my insides to go weak. He stops in the doorway just long enough to brush my cheek with his lips, letting them linger for a moment in my hair.

“It’s good to be home,” he murmurs before moving past me. “Which is wherever you are. I know that now.”

Oh! How sweet!

And how could Chaz ever accuse Luke of not knowing what he wants? He knows exactly what he wants. Me!

It just took him a little while to realize it. He needed a gentle nudge. In the form of my breaking up with him and moving out of the apartment we were sharing.

“So this is the new place, huh?” Luke is looking around at the somewhat dingy and exceptionally narrow hallway.

“It gets better,” I say.

“No,” Luke says, his tone apologetic. “I like it. It has character.”

It isn’t, I tell myself as I follow Luke, Chaz’s fault. Not really. He’s just never known happiness—true, romantic happiness—as great as what Luke and I share. So of course when he sees it, he looks on it with suspicion. Of course he doubts our chances of success.

But when he sees us together—how happy we are, now that we’re really and truly committed to each other—he’ll change his mind. He’ll come around. He’ll see how wrong he was to say all those horrible things.

And someday Chaz will find a girl—the right girl for him—who’ll make him as happy as I know I make Luke… and he’ll make her as happy as Luke makes me.

And then everything will be all right.

Wait and see. Just wait and see.

“Here we are,” I say when we reach the door to my new apartment, which I fling open. “Home sweet home.”

“It’s great,” Luke says enthusiastically as he follows me inside.

I smile at him. “You don’t have to pretend to like it. I know it’s horrible. But it’s mine. And as soon as I get the time—and some extra money—I’m going to fix it up.”

“No, Lizzie, it really is great.” Luke sets down the Starbucks bag and the Diet Coke and puts his arms around me. “It’s like you. Completely whimsical and totally charming.”

“I hope it’s not like me,” I say with a laugh. “I hope I’m not covered in big blobby rose wallpaper with slopey floors and cracks in my ceiling.”

“You know what I mean,” Luke says, nuzzling my neck. “It’s unique. Like you. It already smells like you. God, I can’t believe how much I missed you. And we were apart for only, what? A week?”

“Is that what you want? A guy who comes running back to you and proposes just because he’s so scared of being alone, he’d rather be with a girl he knows isn’t right for him than be by himself?”

God! Get out of my head, Chaz Pendergast!

“Something like that,” I say. Luke’s nuzzling is getting more serious. Or at least closer to the bateau neckline of my dress.

I jump away and reach for one of the Diet Cokes.

“So who should we call first?” I ask brightly.

“Call?” Luke’s eyes, which tend to have a dreamy look about them even when he’s wide awake, are heavy-lidded with a combination of jet lag and, well… sex. Sexual desire, anyway. “I wasn’t thinking about calling anyone, to tell you the truth. I was actually thinking about trying out that bed I see over there. And I was hoping you’d get out of that dress and join me… ”

“Luke,” I say after I’ve chugged down a mouthful of restorative caffeine and potassium benzoate. “We have to call people and tell them the good news. I mean, we’re engaged.”

“Oh.” Luke looks longingly back at the bed. “I guess. I mean… Yeah. You’re probably right.”

“Here.” I dig into the Starbucks bag and pull out the coffee he’d ordered for himself, along with two muffins. “Drink this. Let’s make a list. We should call your parents, of course.”

“Of course,” Luke says, taking a sip of his coffee.

“And mine. And my sisters. Well, they’ll be at my parents for New Year’s Day brunch with Gran, so we’ll be able to reach them all with one call.” I grab a notepad I’ve left on the tiny yellow kitchen table, while Luke peels off his coat and sinks onto one of the table’s matching yellow chairs. “And I have to call Shari, of course. And you should… you should probably call Chaz.”

Luke has his cell phone out and is punching numbers into it. An overseas number. Too many numbers for him to be calling Chaz.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“I’m calling my parents,” he says. “Like you said to.”

I reach out and close his flip phone.

“Hey,” he says, looking confused. “What’d you do that for?”

“I think you should call Chaz first,” I say. “Don’t you?”

“Chaz?” Luke looks at me as if I’d suggested he mainline heroin and then shoot his mother. “Why would I call Chaz first?”

“Because he’s your best friend,” I say, sliding onto the chair opposite his. “And aren’t you going to ask him to be your best man?”

“I don’t know,” Luke says, still looking confused. He must be much more jet-lagged than I thought. “I guess.”

“He’d be so hurt if you didn’t tell him first,” I say. “You know, he was so kind to me this past week, while you and I were… apart. He helped me move in here and everything. And last night he even went with me to the Higgins-MacDowell wedding.”

Luke looks touched. “He did? That was nice of him. He must be feeling better. You know, after the whole thing with Shari turning out to like girls.”

“Uh,” I say. “Yeah. It was. Nice of him, I mean. That’s why I think you should call him first. And thank him. For being such a good friend. And tell him how much his friendship means to you. I really think he just needs to hear your voice.”

“Okay,” Luke says, opening his flip phone and dialing. “I think you’re right.”

A second later, as I’m squeezing my fingers together and praying that Chaz is still in the subway and won’t pick up, Luke says, “Chaz? Hey, it’s me. I’ve got some news, man. Are you sitting down?”

I jump from my chair, convinced I’m going to throw up what little Diet Coke I’ve downed so far, and run to clutch the edge of the sink.

This is it, I think. Chaz is going to tell him. Chaz is going to tell Luke that just twelve hours ago, his hand was down my bra.

And the engagement is going to be off.

Probably I’m not going to get to keep the ring.

“What? Yeah, I’m back. I’m at Lizzie’s. I got back this morning.”

What is Chaz doing? He knows Luke is back. I told him Luke’s back. Oh God. Just do it already, so we can get this over with.

“Okay. So you’re sitting down? In a cab? Where are you going in a cab on New Year’s morning? You were? You did? Who was she?”

I grab the edge of the sink. This is it. I’m going to hurl.

“What do you mean, you’re not going to tell me?” Luke laughs. “Fine, you dog, you. All right. Well, here’s my news: I asked Lizzie to marry me. And she said yes. And I want you to be my best man at the wedding.”