The Importance of Being Married (44 page)

“Right,” I said doubtfully.

“I mean, I was thinking about how amazing the whole Project Marriage thing had been—you know, making all your dreams come true.”

“My dreams,” I said, thinking of Max, then kicking myself. “And?”

“And I thought, you know what? Anything’s possible,” Helen continued. “Don’t you see?”

“Anything?” I sighed inwardly. “I’m not sure about that.”

“Yes it is! Jess, we completely turned your life around, didn’t we?”

I nodded. “You’re right. We did. So you got the job?”

“No, I didn’t,” Helen said excitedly. “But after the interview I went for a coffee and ended up at the same table as a producer. And I told him about my crap interview and about you, and about my idea for a series based on people changing their lives completely. And he loved it! Commissioned it right there and then! And the best thing is, you can be our first show, so it’s virtually already in the bag. I mean, ideally we’d have filmed the wedding, but there just wasn’t time to get a crew down here.”

“You were going to get a crew down here?”

“Well, not without asking, obviously,” Helen said, rolling her eyes. “But it was all down to you. So you have to be in the show. Don’t you?”

“Can I think about it?” I asked tentatively. “Maybe after the wedding?”

Helen shrugged. “Sure. I mean, you know, whenever works for you…”

I smiled weakly. “Okay, time to get dressed.”

“This dress?” Ivana had moved off the bed and was now looking at my wedding dress, which was hanging on the back of the door, rubbing the fabric between her fingers. “Is no good dress. Febric is itchy.”

I took a deep breath. “Well, it’s my dress. It’s the one I chose.”

Ivana shrugged. “Funny choice, to me.”

“Yes, well, I didn’t ask you,” I said.

“End there is no ashtray in room,” Ivana continued, apparently not noticing the stress in my voice. “Where am I putting cigarette out?”

Helen looked at me warily. “Tell you what,” she said, walking over to Ivana. “Why don’t the two of you go downstairs to the café? You can smoke there; I’ll stay here with Jess and help her get ready.”

“Downstairs?” Ivana asked dubiously.

“That’s right,” Helen said, helping Sean off the bed. “We’ll see you in the church, okay?”

Ivana opened her mouth to speak, then shrugged. “We put coffee on your room teb. Maybe even full breakfast.”

As Helen closed the door, she turned back to me with raised eyebrows. “She means well,” she said tentatively. “They both do.”

“I know,” I said quietly. “But thanks for getting rid of them.”

“No problem. So look, let me do your makeup before you put the dress on, okay?”

I nodded silently, my eyes drifting over to the plasma screen showing
Four Weddings and a Funeral
as Helen smeared creams over my face. When she was finished, I picked up my wedding dress. It took awhile to fasten, but eventually it was on and I turned to look at myself in the mirror. I was a bride. I was a bride wearing a dress that didn’t do much for me, that was uncomfortable against my skin, that even a Soho prostitute turned her nose up at. But to me it felt right. The wrong dress for the wrong wedding to the wrong man.

“I got you this.” Helen handed me a garter belt. “It’s blue. And if you give it back, it’s borrowed. Plus it’s new. So that’s covered three out of four.”

I gave her a hug and put the garter on, pulling my dress right up in the process.

“Your knickers,” Helen said.

“My knickers?”

“They’re the old thing, right? I mean, they’re not new, are they?”

I reddened slightly. I’d bought some new silky lingerie weeks before from a shop that Fenella had recommended (actually, she’d insisted I go there—at one point I thought she was going to march me in there herself). But somehow I hadn’t been able to put it on this morning. My old graying cotton panties seemed somehow more appropriate.

“No one’s going to see my knickers,” I said.

“No one?” Helen raised her eyebrow.

I shrugged and opened my eyes wide because I could feel the prick of a tear and didn’t want to encourage it.

“Jess, are you okay?” Helen put her hands on my shoulders—her expression was anxious. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

I nodded. “Of course I do.”

“Really?”

“Really,” I nodded. “I’m just…emotional, that’s all.”

“Good. Just checking.” She held out her arm, and I hooked mine over it. “So, ready to go?”

I looked back at the television, briefly, to watch Hugh Grant getting punched by his bride in front of a whole congregation of his family and friends.

“Ready,” I whispered.

Slowly, silently, we left the room, walked down the stairs, out through the hotel lobby, then around the corner to the church. It was a warm day, but I was shivering.

“To the future Mrs. Milton,” Helen said, giving me a wink. And as she spoke, the doors to the church opened, the organ started to play, and suddenly we were walking through the doors, down the aisle.

“Perfect timing!” I turned to see Fenella right next to me. “Okay, I’m going to the hotel to get everything ready. Good luck!”

She dashed off; I looked ahead, uncertainly, and saw Anthony, who was standing in front of the altar. He turned around and winked at me. Next to him was Max; our eyes met briefly and my stomach flip-flopped, then he looked away. As we approached the altar I could see on one side Ivana and Sean, who both offered me a thumbs-up, and on the other side, Marcia and Gillie.

Giving me a little squeeze, Helen prized my arm out of hers and went to sit down. Roger, who, as promised, was wearing the full regalia of gowns, gave me a beaming smile, and the organ changed its pace and suddenly everyone was standing up and singing a hymn.

And then the singing stopped. “Dearly beloved,” I heard Roger say. “Or rather, ladies and gentlemen. Good morning. And what a morning it is. A morning for celebration. A morning for being thankful for God’s bounty—for love, for devotion, for friendship, for support—for all the things in fact that make up a good marriage. Because, as we all know, marriage isn’t something to approach lightly, not something to jump into out of boredom or because it seems like a good idea. Marriage is a lifelong commitment in the eyes of God. It requires faith, trust, love, commitment, honesty, and hard work. It means enjoying the good times together but also working through the difficult ones, supporting each other. The phrase we all know is
in sickness and in health
—but it’s more than that. It’s in poverty, in uncertainty, in dark times when the only light at the end of the tunnel is the belief that it’s there. That’s real love. And that’s what we’re here to celebrate today. The wedding of Jessica Wild and Anthony Milton.”

He smiled at me and I tried to smile back, but I felt like the world was closing in on me.

“And so,” Roger continued, apparently oblivious to my glassy eyes and greenish skin, “without further ado, let’s get this show on the road, shall we? Although, first of all, and please excuse the official language, but I am required to ask anyone present who knows a reason why these persons may not lawfully marry, to declare it now.”

I turned around, involuntarily, just in case someone had something to say. But they didn’t. Quickly I faced front again.

Roger smiled at me. “Anthony and Jessica, the vows you are about to take are to be made in the name of God, who is judge of all and who knows all the secrets of our hearts: therefore if either of you knows a reason why you may not lawfully marry, you must declare it now.”

I gulped, and Anthony winked at me.

“Great!” Roger said. “Well, it’s always a relief when we get that bit over with, isn’t it?” There was a murmur of laughter from the congregation. “And now for the important bit. Anthony, will you take Jessica to be your wife? Will you love her, comfort her, honor and protect her, and, forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?”

“I will,” Anthony said seriously. “Definitely.”

There was another little murmur of laughter. Then Roger turned to me. “Jessica, will you take Anthony to be your husband? Will you love him, comfort him, honor and protect him, and, forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?”

He smiled at me encouragingly. I forced myself to smile back. “I…I…” I could hear voices in my head—Grace, telling me about the importance of real love, Helen yelling
Deal or No Deal,
Ivana shouting
Jessica Wiiiiild.

“Stage fright,” Roger said, beaming at the congregation. “Happens all the time.” He looked back at me and smiled again. “As long as you both shall live?” he prompted.

“I…” I took a deep breath. I had to do this. For Grace. I owed her. I forced myself to think about how she’d placed her trust in me, forced myself to picture the house I was going to inherit, the house I had to protect, the house that…Suddenly I frowned. The house. I’d seen it somewhere else. I racked my brain but drew a blank.

“Jess?” Anthony asked. “Are you okay?”

I nodded and swallowed awkwardly. “I…,” I said, then stopped. I knew where I’d seen it. On Anthony’s desk. The photograph. The house he’d been looking at, the photograph Fenella picked up. It was Grace’s house. I was sure of it.

I looked at him uncertainly.

“The picture on your desk,” I whispered, my voice slightly strangled. “It was Grace’s house.”

Roger cleared his throat. “As long as you…,” he started to say again, but I waved him aside.

“The house,” I demanded. “Tell me about the house.”

Anthony frowned. “Grace’s house? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he whispered, smiling strangely at me. “I don’t even know who Grace is. Jess, we’re getting married, darling. Can’t this wait?”

I thought for a moment. He was probably right. I was imagining things. There were lots of houses like that in the country. I was just looking for an excuse to stall. “Sure,” I said. “Sure, it can wait.”

“Atta girl.” Anthony winked. “Sorry, Vic,” he said, turning to the congregation to give them a wry smile. “Just a little disagreement over the flowers. All sorted now.”

There was a low level of laughter and Roger turned to me again.

“Okay, then,” he said, grinning broadly. “Jessica, will you take Anthony to be your husband? Will you love him, comfort him, honor and protect him, and, forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?”

I looked up at him, then at Anthony.

“I…,” I started; then my eyes caught Max’s. He was staring at me intently, and I felt brittle suddenly, like I might crack down the middle. I didn’t love Anthony. And suddenly I knew that this wasn’t what Grace would have wanted—she wanted me to fall in love and be happy, not to marry someone just to inherit her estate. And it wasn’t what I wanted, either. Not at all. I didn’t care if it made me a ridiculous romantic; I didn’t care if Grandma would roll her eyes and say,
I knew it, I knew you’d cave eventually.
I was in love with Max, and even if he wasn’t in love with me, I couldn’t marry Anthony, not for all the money in the world.

I looked back at Anthony. Then I took a deep breath. “No deal.”

“No deal?” Roger was looking at me uncertainly now. “What do you mean?”

“I mean no deal,” I heard myself say. “I mean I’m not doing this. I’m not getting married.”

Chapter 31

THE GREAT THING
about films is that something dramatic can happen—let’s say, Hugh Grant gets punched at the altar—and then the scene cuts and the next thing you know, he’s back in the safety of someone’s house being comforted by his friends. In real life the dramatic event happens and moments later you’re still standing there as people stare at you, incredulously. At least Anthony and Roger were staring at me, and I kind of assumed everyone else was, too. I felt myself getting hot and my cheap wedding dress felt like it was made out of thistles.

“You can’t?” Roger asked eventually, and I nodded. Now that I’d actually said it, I felt strangely detached, like this was all happening to someone else.

“Of course she can,” Anthony said, the irritation evident in his voice.