Poles Apart

Glittering like a thousand diamonds? Has this woman ingested a cliché romance novel? I wondered. I shook my head. “But I don’t, actually.”

Kimberly sat forward, reaching out a hand and placing it on my knee. “Alexander McQueen is incredible; I’d kill someone to get married in a one-off McQueen.”

I felt bullied, trapped, forced upon. Taking a deep breath, I shrugged. “I don’t know, can I think about it? Can’t I just look around a few shops and see if there’s something that I like? I mean, I don’t want a big wedding dress anyway. I want something that’s just simple and plain.”

Margo’s jaw tightened, but she nodded in agreement. Her forced smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Of course. It’s your wedding day; have what you want. We’re here to help and organise, but every decision must come down to you,” she answered before turning to her assistants. “Why don’t we schedule a meeting with Sarah as soon as she’s free, and she and Emma can talk? We can take it from there.” She cleared her throat and stood, signalling for her assistants to start packing up. “In the meantime, I’ll put in calls to designers for the butterflies, and I’ll have some paper samples collated for the invites. I think it would look just lovely if we have them personally handwritten instead of printed, don’t you?” She said it as a question, but it didn’t really feel like one – she’d clearly already made up her mind on it. I nodded in agreement anyway. “Great. So next time I come, I’ll also bring some samples of professional handwriting and you can choose.”

Carson’s mother stood, too. “If we’re all done then Kimberly, Alice and I should be going. It’s getting rather late,” she said, eyeing the wall clock which said it was past nine already.

“Okay. Thank you for coming,” I replied, forcing a smile even though all I wanted to do was curl into a ball in bed and pull the covers over my head.

Once everything was packed up, I saw them all out and waved goodbye at the door before closing it tightly and leaning against it. I closed my eyes and groaned in frustration. After listening to them all prattle on for the last hour and a half, the silence now filling my ears felt a little strange, almost as if I’d gone deaf.

Taking a few deep breaths, I headed back into the lounge, picking up all the empty glasses and stalking into the kitchen. Carson was sitting at the kitchen breakfast bar; he looked up as I entered.

“Hey, all done? Get a dress sorted?” he inquired.

I sighed in exasperation and set the glasses in the sink. “Sure, I’m wearing Alexander McQueen and it’s going to glitter like a thousand diamonds are sewn into it,” I answered sarcastically, eyeing the champagne bottle that was open in front of him. “There any of that left?” I asked hopefully.

He nodded and picked up the bottle. “Yeah, pass me a glass.”

Instead of getting a nice crystal one out, I just grabbed a regular one which was sitting on the draining board and walked over to him, holding it out and watching as he poured me some. The silence between us stretched on as I leant against the counter, fuming on the inside about Margo and the stupid arrangements.

“So, why the attitude about the dress? You don’t like this McQueen person?” Carson asked finally, pouring himself some more of the expensive fizz, too.

I shrugged, walking around the counter and taking the seat next to his. “Never heard of him, actually.”

Carson laughed. “Me either. Some hotshot prick who designs women’s clothes, obviously.”

I chuckled wickedly. “Don’t let Margo hear you say that. I thought she was going to stab me when I asked who Sarah Burton was. I dread to think what she’d do if she heard you utter the words ‘hotshot prick’. Clearly, she has designer envy,” I joked. Carson grinned boyishly, and his dimples appeared again. I stared at them, longing to reach out and touch them, to trace the line of one with my fingertip.

“She has a designer stick up her arse,” Carson replied smartly. I giggled and nodded. “You, er, like the butterfly idea? If not then I’ll tell her to scrap it.”

An involuntary smile twitched at the corner of my mouth. I loved that he was being so sweet all of a sudden and that he’d suggested planning the entire day around something he thought would make me happy. “It’s nice,” I admitted.

The talk of butterflies suddenly reminded me that I never did get around to thanking him for decorating my bedroom this morning. By the time we’d finished arguing about the engagement ring, Sasha had woken so everything from then on revolved around her until the wedding planner arrived.

“I forgot to say earlier… thank you for painting my bedroom. I meant to say it before, but we started talking about other things and I forgot all about it until now,” I admitted, looking down at the weighty ring on my finger.

He smiled, seeming a little embarrassed about it as he looked away. “No problem. I wanted you to feel at home here, so…” He shrugged. “It was my first attempt at doing something like that. They didn’t turn out too great. I told you I was shit at decorating. I’ll get someone to come in and fix them up and make them look nice for you.”

I shook my head quickly. “I love them. They’re perfect the way they are,” I countered.

He looked up at me again then and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, his eyes soft and gentle. That expression reminded me of the Carson I fell in love with, and I felt heat spread through my whole body. No one spoke, but surprisingly, it wasn’t an awkward silence as we both drank our drinks.