racking my brain. Did Elinor mention meeting a wedding planner? Am I supposed to know about this?
“Such a pretty face!” says Robyn, without letting go of my hands. She’s taking in every inch of me, and I find myself reciprocating. She looks in her forties, immaculately made up with bright hazel eyes, sharp cheekbones, and a wide smile exposing a row of immaculate teeth. Her air of enthusiasm is infectious, but her eyes are appraising as she takes a step back and sweeps over the rest of me.
“Such a young, fresh look. My dear, you’ll make a stunning bride. Do you know yet what you’ll be wearing on the day?”
“Er . . . a wedding dress?” I say stupidly, and Robyn bursts into peals of laughter.
“That humor!” she cries. “You British girls! You were quite right,” she adds to Elinor, who gives a gracious nod.
Elinor was right? What about?
Have they been talking about me?
“Thanks!” I say, trying to take an unobtrusive step backward. “Shall we . . .” I nod toward the table.
“Let’s,” says Robyn, as though I’ve made the most genius suggestion she’s ever heard. “Let’s do that.” As she sits down I notice she’s wearing a brooch of two intertwined wedding rings, encrusted with diamonds.
“You like this?” says Robyn. “The Gilbrooks gave it to me after I planned their daughter’s wedding. Now
that
was a drama! Poor Bitty Gilbrook’s nail broke at the last minute and we had to fly her manicurist in by helicopter . . .” She pauses as though lost in memories, then snaps to. “So, Rebecca.” She beams at me and I can’t help beaming back. “Lucky, lucky girl. Tell me, are you enjoying every moment?”
“Well—”
“What I always say is, the first week after you’re engaged is the most precious time of all. You have to
savor
it.”
“Actually, it’s been a couple of weeks now—”
“Savor it,” says Robyn, lifting a finger. “Wallow in it. What I always say is, no one else can have those memories for you.”
“Well, OK!” I say with a grin. “I’ll . . . wallow in it!”
“Before we start,” says Elinor, “I must give you one of these.” She reaches into her bag and puts an invitation down on the table.
What’s this?
Mrs. Elinor Sherman requests the pleasure of your company . . .
Wow. Elinor’s holding an engagement party! For us!
“Gosh!” I look up. “Well . . . thanks. I didn’t know we were having an engagement party!”
“I discussed the matter with Luke.”
“Really? He never mentioned it to me.”
“It must have slipped his mind.” Elinor gives me a cold, gracious smile. “I will have a stack of these delivered to your apartment and you can invite some friends of your own. Say . . . ten.”
“Well . . . er . . . thanks.”
“Now, shall we have some champagne, to celebrate?”
“What a lovely idea!” says Robyn. “What I always say is, if you can’t celebrate a wedding, what can you celebrate?” She gives me a twinkling smile and I smile back. I’m warming to this woman. But I still don’t know what she’s doing here.
“Erm . . . I was just wondering, Robyn,” I say hesitantly. “Are you here in a . . . professional capacity?”
“Oh no. No, no, nooooo.” Robyn shakes her head. “It’s not a profession. It’s a
calling
. The hours I put in . . . the sheer love I put into my job . . .”
“Right.” I glance uncertainly at Elinor. “Well, the thing is—I’m not sure I’m going to need any help. Although it’s very kind of you—”
“No help?” Robyn throws back her head and peals with laughter. “You’re not going to need any help? Please! Do you know how much organization a wedding takes?”
“Well—”
“Have you ever done it before?”
“No, but—”
“A lot of girls think your way,” says Robyn, nodding. “Do you know who those girls are?”
“Um—”
“They’re the girls who end up
weeping
into their wedding cake, because they’re too stressed out to enjoy the fun!
“Such a pretty face!” says Robyn, without letting go of my hands. She’s taking in every inch of me, and I find myself reciprocating. She looks in her forties, immaculately made up with bright hazel eyes, sharp cheekbones, and a wide smile exposing a row of immaculate teeth. Her air of enthusiasm is infectious, but her eyes are appraising as she takes a step back and sweeps over the rest of me.
“Such a young, fresh look. My dear, you’ll make a stunning bride. Do you know yet what you’ll be wearing on the day?”
“Er . . . a wedding dress?” I say stupidly, and Robyn bursts into peals of laughter.
“That humor!” she cries. “You British girls! You were quite right,” she adds to Elinor, who gives a gracious nod.
Elinor was right? What about?
Have they been talking about me?
“Thanks!” I say, trying to take an unobtrusive step backward. “Shall we . . .” I nod toward the table.
“Let’s,” says Robyn, as though I’ve made the most genius suggestion she’s ever heard. “Let’s do that.” As she sits down I notice she’s wearing a brooch of two intertwined wedding rings, encrusted with diamonds.
“You like this?” says Robyn. “The Gilbrooks gave it to me after I planned their daughter’s wedding. Now
that
was a drama! Poor Bitty Gilbrook’s nail broke at the last minute and we had to fly her manicurist in by helicopter . . .” She pauses as though lost in memories, then snaps to. “So, Rebecca.” She beams at me and I can’t help beaming back. “Lucky, lucky girl. Tell me, are you enjoying every moment?”
“Well—”
“What I always say is, the first week after you’re engaged is the most precious time of all. You have to
savor
it.”
“Actually, it’s been a couple of weeks now—”
“Savor it,” says Robyn, lifting a finger. “Wallow in it. What I always say is, no one else can have those memories for you.”
“Well, OK!” I say with a grin. “I’ll . . . wallow in it!”
“Before we start,” says Elinor, “I must give you one of these.” She reaches into her bag and puts an invitation down on the table.
What’s this?
Mrs. Elinor Sherman requests the pleasure of your company . . .
Wow. Elinor’s holding an engagement party! For us!
“Gosh!” I look up. “Well . . . thanks. I didn’t know we were having an engagement party!”
“I discussed the matter with Luke.”
“Really? He never mentioned it to me.”
“It must have slipped his mind.” Elinor gives me a cold, gracious smile. “I will have a stack of these delivered to your apartment and you can invite some friends of your own. Say . . . ten.”
“Well . . . er . . . thanks.”
“Now, shall we have some champagne, to celebrate?”
“What a lovely idea!” says Robyn. “What I always say is, if you can’t celebrate a wedding, what can you celebrate?” She gives me a twinkling smile and I smile back. I’m warming to this woman. But I still don’t know what she’s doing here.
“Erm . . . I was just wondering, Robyn,” I say hesitantly. “Are you here in a . . . professional capacity?”
“Oh no. No, no, nooooo.” Robyn shakes her head. “It’s not a profession. It’s a
calling
. The hours I put in . . . the sheer love I put into my job . . .”
“Right.” I glance uncertainly at Elinor. “Well, the thing is—I’m not sure I’m going to need any help. Although it’s very kind of you—”
“No help?” Robyn throws back her head and peals with laughter. “You’re not going to need any help? Please! Do you know how much organization a wedding takes?”
“Well—”
“Have you ever done it before?”
“No, but—”
“A lot of girls think your way,” says Robyn, nodding. “Do you know who those girls are?”
“Um—”
“They’re the girls who end up
weeping
into their wedding cake, because they’re too stressed out to enjoy the fun!
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