Shopaholic Ties the Knot (Shopaholic #3)

Shopaholic Ties the Knot (Shopaholic #3) Page 38

“High-handed? She’s only trying to give us a wonderful wedding.”

“If she really wanted to, she could give us a wonderful wedding in England,” I point out. “Or she could help Mum and Dad — and they could all give us a wonderful wedding! But instead, she talks about their garden as an ‘unknown backyard’!” Resentment flares up inside me again as I remember Elinor’s dismissive voice.

“I’m sure she didn’t mean—”

“Just because it isn’t in the middle of New York! I mean, she doesn’t know anything about it!”

“OK, fine,” says Luke shortly. “You’ve made your point. You don’t want the wedding. But if you ask me, my mother’s being incredibly generous. Offering to pay for a wedding at the Plaza, plus she’s arranged us a pretty lavish engagement party…”

“Who said I want a lavish engagement party?” I retort before I can stop myself.

“That’s a bit churlish, isn’t it?”

“Maybe I don’t care about all the glitz and the glamour and the… the material things! Maybe my family is more important to me! And tradition… and… and honor. You know, Luke, we’re only on this planet for a short time…”

“Enough!” says Luke in exasperation. “You win! If it’s really going to be a problem, forget it! You don’t have to come to the engagement party if you don’t want to — and we’ll get married in Oxshott. Happy now?”

“I…” I break off, and rub my nose. Of course, it is a fairly amazing offer. And if I could somehow persuade Mum and Dad, maybe we’d all have the most fantastic time of our lives.

“It’s not necessarily a question of getting married in Oxshott,” I say at last. “It’s a question of… of… coming to the right decision. Look, you were the one saying we didn’t have to rush into anything…”

Luke’s expression softens, and he gets up.

“I know.” He sighs. “Look, Becky, I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” I mumble.

“Oh, this is ridiculous.” He puts his arms around me and kisses my forehead. “All I wanted to do was give you the wedding you’ve always dreamed of. If you really don’t want to get married at the Plaza, then of course we won’t.”

“What about your mother?”

“We’ll just explain to her how you feel.” Luke gazes at me for a few moments. “Becky, it doesn’t matter to me where we get married. It doesn’t matter to me whether we have pink flowers or blue flowers. What matters to me is we’re going to become a couple — and the whole world is going to know it.”

He sounds so sure and steady, I feel a sudden lump in my throat.

“That’s what matters to me too,” I say, and swallow hard. “That’s the most important thing.”

“OK. So let’s agree. You can make the decision. Just tell me where to turn up — and I’ll turn up.”

“OK.” I smile back at him. “I promise to give you at least forty-eight hours’ notice.”

“Twenty-four will do.” He kisses me again, then points to the sideboard. “That arrived, by the way. An engagement present.”

I look over and gape. It’s a robin’s-egg-blue box, tied up with white ribbon. A present from Tiffany!

“Shall I open it?”

“Go ahead.”

Excitedly I untie the ribbon and open the box to find a blue glass bowl nestling in tissue paper, and a card reading “With best wishes from Marty and Alison Gerber.”

“Wow! This is nice! Who are the Gerbers?”

“I don’t know. Friends of my mother’s.”

“So… will everyone who comes to the party bring us a present?”

“I expect so.”

“Oh… right.”

Gosh. When Tom and Lucy had their engagement party, only about three people brought presents. And they certainly weren’t from Tiffany. I stare at the bowl thoughtfully, running my finger over its gleaming surface.

You know, maybe Luke does have a point. Maybe it would be churlish to throw Elinor’s generosity back in her face.

OK, what I’ll do is, I’ll wait until the engagement party’s over. And then I’ll decide.

The engagement party is at six o’clock the following Friday. I mean to get there early, but we have a frantic day at work, with three big emergencies — one of which involves our most demanding celebrity client, who clearly has not got over her recent breakup, whatever she may say in People magazine. Anyway, so I don’t arrive until ten past six, feeling a little flustered. On the plus side, I’m wearing a completely fabulous black strapless dress, which fits me perfectly. (Actually, it was earmarked for Regan Hartman, one of my clients. But I’ll just tell her I don’t think it would suit her after all.)