Sweet Temptation (16 page)

‘I’m not a slacker!’ I’d protested. ‘I work really—’

‘Work isn’t everything,’ she’d interrupted, stabbing a scarlet-painted nail in my direction. ‘Image counts for a lot. And right now . . .’ That sneering look again, as if I was the most hideous creature alive. ‘Let’s just say that you’re not a great advertisement for business, Jessica.’

I shook her bitchy remarks out of my head and tried to concentrate on Francesca’s massage. ‘So what’s the plan for tomorrow, then?’ I asked her brightly. ‘Tell me all about it.’

‘Well,’ she began, ‘the hairdresser’s coming round at eight to do me and my sisters . . .’

I let her talk and talk while I kneaded her shoulders in circular movements. Louisa didn’t like me, that much was obvious. And if she became the manager permanently, she would make my life here even more of a misery. She would probably demote me to the most basic jobs, try to squeeze me out. I didn’t want that to happen. Couldn’t let it happen, especially with the wedding to pay for.

It seemed as if Francesca had
her
wedding day all sewn up. The hair, the make-up, the delivery from the florist, the car . . . It was planned down to the last stitched bead on the smallest bridesmaid’s shoe, by the sound of it. ‘Wow,’ I said, when I managed to get a word in. ‘And now you’re just waiting for it all to begin – how exciting that must be.’

Maybe she picked up on a tinge of wistfulness in my voice, because she twisted her head slightly to look at me then. ‘How about you?’ she asked. ‘Didn’t you say you were getting married this year, too? How are your plans coming along?’

I hesitated. I didn’t want to rain on her parade, but at the same time I’d never been any good at lying. ‘Well . . . okay,’ I said vaguely in the end. ‘I don’t think we’re as organized as you and your husband-to-be, though. We haven’t sent out the invitations yet.’

‘
Really?
’ She sounded shocked. Horrified, even.
‘
And you’re getting married in . . . Sorry, I can’t remember when you said. Before Christmas, wasn’t it?’

‘Um . . . yeah,’ I said. ‘Hopefully.’ I forced a laugh and then, not wanting to talk about my failings any more, I changed the subject. ‘So are you all packed for your honeymoon? Are you going away straight after the wedding, or have you got a few days to catch your breath?’

Envy needled me all over as she talked about the wedding night booked in a luxury hotel suite with a four-poster bed and private balcony. I could imagine the crisp white sheets, the fancy bespoke bathroom, the bride and groom slow-dancing together in their suite before taking off their clothes and making love for the first time as husband and wife. It made me want to cry. I wanted all of that too, I wanted it so much.

But one glance down at my tight-fitting uniform, the buttons straining, the creases under my bust . . . one glance at my big fat self was enough to remind me that it wasn’t going to happen any time soon. I’d been really careful on my diet all week, not a single biscuit or packet of crisps, but I still looked just as porky.
Image counts for a lot
, Louisa had said. I knew damn well she was referring to my fat body as well as the tears I’d been seen shedding. I was starting to wonder if I’d got my calorie-counting wrong. Probably. I’d never been any good at numbers. It was going to take ages for me to shift my bulk.

December, Charlie had suggested when he’d decided to push the wedding further into the future. But it was the end of July now and December was getting closer and closer. What was the betting Charlie would decide to push it on again?

After the massage, I gave Francesca a few minutes to dress and compose herself before I took her through to our nail bar to begin her manicure. I always felt a frisson of pressure when it came to manicures for brides-to-be. I knew the photographer would be sure to take lots of hand shots featuring the wedding rings, so a bodge-job on the nails was absolutely out of the question.

I put her hands to soak in a coconut milk bath for a minute or two while I consulted her on the shade she wanted. She told me she’d like a classic French manicure – always a good choice for a bride – and selected the pale pink as her colour.

‘So, tell me about
your
dress,’ she said, smiling across the table at me as I patted her hands dry with a towel. ‘What sort of style have you gone for?’

I bit my lip. We were face to face now, and it wasn’t so easy to fob her off with vagueness. ‘I haven’t actually bought anything yet,’ I admitted. ‘Because . . .’ I busied myself, putting the towel in a hamper to be washed, and arranging her hands on the padded board between us. I could feel her eyes focused curiously on me. ‘Because . . . well, I’m dieting at the moment,’ I said eventually, blushing. I took one of her hands and began shaping the nails, deliberately not looking her in the eye. ‘I’m hoping to lose quite a bit of weight before the wedding. So . . .’

‘Ahhh,’ she said sympathetically. ‘You and every other bride-to-be! I see a lot of them in my classes.’

That got my attention. ‘Your classes?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Didn’t I say? I teach salsa dancing – I do evening classes in town. You should come along sometime if you’re interested – it’s great if you want to tone up, and really fun, too.’

I hesitated. The thought of shaking my fat behind in a hall full of sexy, snake-hipped dancers sounded a lot like torture to me. ‘I’m not sure I’m very coordinated,’ I said, blushing even harder.

She grinned. ‘Well, that’s where I can help.’ With her free hand, she rummaged in her handbag and pulled out a business card. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘Obviously I’m going to be away for a few weeks on honeymoon, but if you fancy giving it a go, I’ll be back at the end of August. You can have your first lesson free – my little thank you for that pep talk you gave me last time. And bring your bloke along. I’m telling you – sparks fly in my classes. It can all get
very
hot and steamy!’

‘Thank you,’ I said. My first instinct had been
Ooh, no, not for me
, but when she said that about Charlie, I started to wonder. I liked the idea of us sharing a hobby that involved us actually leaving the house. We hardly ever went out together as a couple any more, and I was convinced it was because he was ashamed of being seen with me, Jessie Five-Bellies.

But we might have fun, I thought, imagining us shimmying together in a salsa class. We could even work on a routine for our first dance at the wedding! An image came into my mind of me, slender and lithe, in a scarlet, full-skirted dress, and Charlie in a sexy suit, a few shirt buttons undone, and his hair slicked back. He was whirling me around, and I was swaying, sashaying, shaking my tiny, toned booty . . .

I smiled at Francesca. ‘Thanks very much,’ I said. ‘I might just do that.’

I felt quite floaty with optimism when I finished work that evening. I’d managed to put Louisa out of my head, and my mind kept turning to Francesca, wondering how she was feeling now that the hours of her last pre-wedding day were counting down, imagining the thrilling jitters of anticipation that must be racing through her. I’d been feeling a bit blue about Charlie’s and my wedding ever since he’d postponed it, but having seen Francesca so buoyant with happiness about hers meant I’d caught her mood and was full of renewed optimism.

I will get married this year!

I will stick to my diet until I’m a size twelve!

I will go salsa dancing with Charlie and we’ll fall in love with each other all over again!

Being married would make everything better between us, I was convinced of it. I would be able to relax, stop worrying he was going to find someone better (someone slimmer, in other words). Because once you made those vows, you were bound together. And then we’d both live happily ever after.

Oh yes, I was in a good mood all right. Such a good mood, in fact, that when I got in I had a quick bath, then changed into some slinky underwear with just a light robe on top. I was starving but managed to resist having anything to eat, rather enjoying the empty, hollow feeling in my belly. Emptiness was good. Emptiness meant self-discipline.

I’m in the mood for love . . .
I hummed as I switched the computer on. Then I went online and began looking up suitable places for our wedding reception. I would find us the perfect place, I vowed: romantic, intimate . . . and cheap as chips, with a bit of luck. No, not chips. Mustn’t think about chips.

I lost myself in the wedding websites, reading page after page of testimonials, tips and true stories. I gazed hungrily at the photos, drinking in all the details: the dresses, the flowers, the cakes . . . I scoured the true stories for advice, wanting to know how so many other happy brides had prepared for their weddings before me. What were their secrets?

We kept things simple by putting up a marquee in my parents’
garden
, one woman had typed. Well, that was all very well if you had a whopping great big garden in the countryside, wasn’t it? For most people it was out of the question. You could hardly put a three-man tent up in my mum’s back garden, let alone a marquee for a hundred guests.

We were on a limited budget, so got married abroad – just the two
of us
, said another. The accompanying photos were beautiful – sunset beach shots, floral garlands around the bride and groom’s necks, both of them looking tanned and carefree as they posed in front of palm trees.

I imagined Charlie and me gazing into each other’s eyes, me in a teeny bikini with a flat brown belly, him in those Hawaiian trunks he’d bought last summer in Bournemouth. It was tempting, definitely, especially the thought of getting some sunshine in December. But my mum would never forgive me if she missed my wedding day, so we’d end up having a second ‘do’ here in Birmingham, effectively a double wedding – which would mean double the cost . . .

I jumped as I heard the front door open, and in came Charlie. He was smiling, thank goodness. He’d been so moody all week, I’d felt quite apprehensive around him. Nervous, even. But tonight he was smiling. That was a good sign. ‘All right, babe,’ he said, dumping his jacket on the arm of the sofa. Then he noticed I was sitting there in my robe. ‘Oh aye, what’s up with you, then?’

I smiled and crossed the room to kiss him. ‘Hiya,’ I said, putting my arms around him. ‘Just thought I’d surprise you,’ I told him flirtily.

He tried to pull open my robe but I stepped back out of reach. ‘And I’ve been doing some wedding research,’ I went on. ‘You know, we really should set a date soon. December’s not that far off now, and we need to let people know.’ I took a deep breath. ‘I was thinking . . . How about the Saturday before Christmas? We might even get snow! Can you imagine how romantic that would be? And we could have loads of candles, holly and ivy, mistletoe . . .’

‘Blimey,’ he said, sounding taken aback. He even raised his eyes from my cleavage to my face to check I was serious. ‘Well, I’ll have to check City’s fixtures – there might be a big match on . . .’

‘Charlie!’ I scolded, putting my hands on my hips. He was saying it in a jokey voice, but I knew he meant it. ‘That’s not very romantic!’ Then I sighed, because I’d known damn well he would say that but had held out a tiny hope that he wouldn’t. ‘I’ve already checked. You’ve got Everton away.’

‘Oh, right,’ he said. Then he shrugged and stepped forward, sliding a hand into my robe. ‘Mmm, saucy,’ he said, stroking the silky bra I had on. ‘This is nice.’

I stopped his hand with mine. ‘So what do you think? The Saturday before Christmas?’

He looked at my hand on his, then up at my face. His pupils were dilated and he had that slightly wild look about him that he got when he was feeling horny. He tweaked my nipple teasingly. ‘Go on, then, yeah. The Saturday before Christmas it is. Now come here, you.’

It was only then that I realized I’d been holding my breath the whole time, waiting for his response. ‘Oh, Charlie!’ I cried, flinging my arms around him. ‘Oh, thank you. Thank you!’

He seized the chance to rip my robe open and seconds later we were on the floor and he was inside me, almost tearing my bra in his haste to pull my breasts out of it. I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling the blood thump through my body, his words ringing around my head.

Go on, then, yeah. The Saturday before Christmas it is.

We’d set a date. We’d actually set a date. In less than five months I was going to be married. ‘I’m going to make you so happy,’ I panted, as he thrust away at me. ‘I’m going to be the perfect wife for you, Charlie.’

He grabbed my hair and collapsed on top of me. I stared up at the living room ceiling with a massive smile, feeling like the luckiest woman alive. Getting married just before Christmas . . . oh, I was so excited. Now I just needed to get the invitations out quick before he changed his mind again.

Chapter Ten

Honey Honey

Lauren

It seemed like an age until the speed-dating night rolled around, so I threw myself into activity to take my mind off daydreaming about Joe the whole time. Over the weekend I went clothes shopping, intent on finding
the
killer outfit. All the summer fashion ranges looked hideous on me, though. Give me winter any day, I thought, where you could pile on the layers and not worry about showing any wobbly bits. I finally found a dark blue wrap-dress in Monsoon which managed to be flattering and foxy at the same time (even more so when I put my Magic Knickers on) and some strappy heels to match. I had developed a bit of a thing for shoes over the last year . . . I think it came from being denied so many nice clothes due to big-bird syndrome. With shoes, even fatties got a good choice.

After all the schlepping around I did that weekend, and with the thought of the cIingy wrap-dress keeping my calories in check, by the time it was FatBusters on Monday I had actually lost three pounds.

‘That’s wonderful, Lauren,’ Alison told me as I stood there on the scales. ‘Hey – we’ve got a three-pounder here!’ she called to the rest of the group.