A Girl Walks Into a Wedding Read online

  Also by this author

  A GIRL WALKS INTO A BAR

  Copyright

  Published by Piatkus

  ISBN: 978-1-4055-2905-1

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © Sarah Lotz, Helen Moffett, Paige Nick 2013

  The moral right of the authors has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  Piatkus

  Little, Brown Book Group

  100 Victoria Embankment

  London, EC4Y 0DY

  www.littlebrown.co.uk

  www.hachette.co.uk

  Contents

  Also by Helena S. Paige

  Copyright

  The wedding dress is magnificent

  The wedding dress is hideous

  You tell Jane the truth

  You lie

  You’re seeing your bridesmaid’s dress for the first time

  You’ve decided to go to the wedding with Steve

  You’ve decided to check into your own room

  You’ve decided to share a room with Steve

  You’re sharing a room with Steve

  You’ve decided to talk to the DJ

  You’ve decided to corral Steve before he embarrasses you

  You go over to rescue Lisa from Cee Cee

  You decide to have a bubble bath

  You decide to have a shower

  Cat joins you and Bruno in the bathroom

  You’ve opted for the karaoke night

  You’ve decided to stay and brazen it out

  You’ve decided to make a run for it

  You’ve decided to stay at the hotel and have an all-girls pyjama party

  You’ve headed out for some air while you wait for Steve to leave

  You’ve taken refuge in the summer-house

  You decide to stay hidden and hope they leave

  You decide you have to get out of there

  You’ve decided to sneak down to the bar for a nightcap

  You’ve decided to go to bed

  You’ve decided to see what Mikey has in mind

  You decide to dance with Mikey

  It’s the night of the rehearsal dinner

  You ask Steve to stay

  You’ve decided to let Steve go

  You want to try out the toy

  You want to have sex with Steve without the toy

  You’ve just had mind-blowing sex with Steve

  It’s the morning of the wedding

  The wedding is on

  You tell Bruno about Lisa and Cat

  You take things further with Bruno

  You’ve gone for a quickie with Bruno

  You keep it to yourself

  You go back to the reception

  Jane tells you the wedding is off

  You decided to join Mikey and party the night away

  It’s Mikey

  It’s Bruno

  You decided to console Cee Cee

  You go to the wedding on your own

  You go to dinner with the pilot

  You go straight to the pilot’s hotel room

  You want to go down on him

  You want him to go down on you

  You wake up in the pilot’s hotel room

  You make a run for it

  You face the music

  It’s the hen party

  You tell Jane what you really think

  You keep your opinion to yourself

  You want to stay for one last song

  You go back to the hotel

  You’ve decided to tell Jane you know

  You’ve decided to pretend you didn’t see anything

  You head back to your room

  You’ve gone for a wax at the spa

  You’re getting a massage

  You propose a happy ending

  You don’t propose anything improper

  It’s the night of the rehearsal dinner

  It’s too complicated

  You want to be with him even though it’s complicated

  You need to find someone to perform Jane’s wedding ceremony

  You pick the Elvis impersonator

  It’s time for the wedding reception

  You catch the bouquet

  Tom’s dad catches the garter

  The DJ catches the garter

  Mikey catches the garter

  You don’t catch the bouquet

  You choose the Justice of the Peace

  The wedding ends happily ever after

  The wedding doesn’t end happily ever after

  You’ve chosen the new-age marriage officiant

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  All women know that bridesmaids’ dresses are a secret plot of the devil. No matter how much your best friend, sister or cousin promises she will not dress you up as The Bride of Frankenstein on Disco Night, odds are you’ll be walking down the aisle swathed in the kind of fabric used to upholster sofas, in the one colour designed to make you look jaundiced.

  But you’re not feeling any bridesmaid’s-dress-fitting panic today. Jane is your oldest friend in the world, and you know she’d never expect you to wear a monstrosity. You’ve seen pictures of what she has in mind for you – a tasteful slip-dress in a harmless dark-blue satin.

  ‘Champagne?’ a shop assistant asks, holding out a tray of flutes, the bubbles racing to pop out of the top of each glass.

  ‘Yes please,’ says Cee Cee, Jane’s older sister and maid of honour, appearing beside you and taking one. Cee Cee adores weddings – in fact, as a wedding planner, she makes a living out of them. You’re a little worried she might be infecting Jane with too much bridezilla hysteria and over-the-topness – most of the events she presides over make the last royal wedding look like an elopement followed by a piss-up in the local pub – but you have to admit, she’s a great organiser.

  ‘Have you seen Jane’s dress?’ you ask, sinking into one of the luxurious armchairs set in front of a wall of mirrors and a little podium, designed for optimum dress viewing.

  ‘Not yet! But I can’t wait,’ Cee Cee says, settling down in the chair next to yours, eyes shining. ‘And you will just die when Jane tells you about my idea for the bridesmaids’ dresses!’

  That sounds rather alarming. You’re about to ask for details, but then Jane steps out of the dressing room, closely followed by a mountain of fabric, the bridal shop proprietor fussing over the train of the dress.

  ‘Oh my God, Jane!’ you say.

  If the wedding dress is magnificent, go to page 3.

  If the wedding dress is hideous, go to page 5.

  The wedding dress is magnificent

  You catch your breath. She looks stunning. The dress is white, which, as her best friend, you know is a bit of a stretch, but it’s her wedding – she can have it.

  It has a sweetheart neckline, a delicate lace bodice and lace sleeves, and as she climbs onto the platform, the wall of mirrors reveals at least two dozen small silk buttons running down the length of the fitted back.

  You can’t believe your best friend is getting married. You were at nursery school together, you went through primary school, then puberty, then high school, you dated your first boys and had your first heartbreaks side by side, and now she’s moving on to the next stage of her life – without you.

&nbs
p; You’re incredibly happy for her, of course, and Tom’s a nice enough guy. You want to focus on her happiness, but you can’t help feeling a little sorry for yourself. It’s not that you’re desperate to get married, it’s just that you wish you didn’t have this feeling she was leaving you behind.

  ‘What do you think?’ Jane asks, turning slightly to each side, showing off the full beauty of the dress.

  ‘I’m speechless,’ you say.

  Cee Cee is on her feet, tugging at the long, full skirt that swirls out into a train like a puddle of cream behind Jane.

  ‘You make the most beautiful bride,’ she says.

  You nod, a lump in your throat.

  ‘Right, girls,’ says Jane. ‘Now it’s your turn.’

  To see your bridesmaid’s dress, go to page 11.

  The wedding dress is hideous

  You catch your breath. She looks hideous.

  The dress is glacier white. So white it makes your eyes ache, but it’s the design that’s the real problem.

  The dress contains more pleats, ruffles and shoulder pads than an entire season of Dynasty. The neckline plunges much too low between her breasts, and the gap is filled in with a white lace mesh. Then there are big white scrunched-up fabric flowers that look like flopped nursery-school art projects all over the bodice and the skirt, which is that awkward length, an inch too short to be long, and an inch too long to be short.

  ‘You look absolutely stunning! That’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen!’ Cee Cee gushes.

  You glance at Cee Cee’s face to see if she’s lying, but if she is, she’s masking it really well. Jane looks at you hopefully.

  To tell Jane the truth about the dress, go to page 6.

  To tell her a lie, go to page 9.

  You tell Jane the truth

  ‘Well?’ Jane’s smile is slipping. ‘What do you think?’

  You seize a glass of champagne and gulp at it. The bubbles make you splutter – but at least you’ve bought yourself some time. ‘I’m … I’m not sure white is really your colour,’ you manage.

  ‘White isn’t a colour, it’s a shade,’ the bridal shop proprietor snaps, approaching with the stealth of a shark.

  ‘So the colour is the problem?’ Jane says. She turns to the proprietor. ‘Do you have this in pale pink? Maybe coral?’

  Pink? Coral? That would be even more horrendous. ‘Urm … actually, come to think about it, it’s not the colour, it’s the style,’ you say. ‘You’ve got such a great figure, Jane, I’m not sure it does you justice.’

  ‘But I’ve had seven sessions here. I’ve tried on hundreds of the bloody things. Can you be more specific?’

  Another gulp of champagne. ‘Maybe the … frills are a little bit OTT.’

  Jane turns to look in one of the full-length mirrors. ‘Do you hate it? It’s important that you’re honest.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Absolutely. You’re my oldest friend. I can take it.’

  Cee Cee is making throat-slitting gestures at you, and the proprietor and the assistant holding the tray of champagne are staring at you in undisguised horror. Everyone’s waiting.

  ‘Okay. Look, Jane, there’s no nice way to say this. But …’ You drain your glass and take a deep breath. She’s your best friend, she deserves the truth. ‘It’s hideous. It’s vomitous. You look like you’re wearing a couture nappy.’

  There’s a shocked silence.

  Jane glares at you. ‘How can you say that?’

  Maybe you should have been more subtle. Blame it on the champagne. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.’

  ‘Are you jealous? Is that it? Because I’ve found someone I love and you haven’t?’

  Where did that come from? You can sense a potential humdinger of a fight crackling in the air. ‘Jealous? No! That’s not fair. You asked me for my opinion and I gave it to you.’

  ‘Next you’ll be saying that I shouldn’t marry Tom!’

  In fact, you’re not sure that Tom, Jane’s fiancé, is exactly the right guy for her, but two honesty bombshells on the same day might not be a good idea.

  Tears glimmer in Jane’s eyes. There’s a long silence as she stares at herself in the mirror. You brace yourself for more recriminations, but suddenly she bursts out laughing. ‘I look like a schizophrenic Disney princess, don’t I?’

  ‘Or an explosion in a meringue factory,’ you add.

  Jane giggles. ‘What was I thinking?’

  ‘Well, I like it!’ Cee Cee chimes in defensively, but for once Jane ignores her.

  ‘What about something like this?’ you say, going over to a rail and pulling out a sleek, vintage-style gown in ivory silk. ‘I saw it earlier and I thought it would look beautiful on you.’

  ‘It is pretty,’ Jane says, and you and Cee Cee wait while Jane and the proprietor disappear behind the dressing-room curtain.

  Jane reappears – and both you and Cee Cee gasp. It’s gorgeous. Perfect. The deceptively simple flapper design echoes the glamour of The Great Gatsby, and looks as if it was created solely to complement Jane’s slim figure.

  ‘Thanks for saving me,’ Jane says to you. ‘Right, now it’s your turn.’

  To see your bridesmaid’s dress, go to page 11.

  You lie

  How can you tell Jane the truth? You know how many fittings she’s had, the months spent poring over Vera Wang catalogues and agonising over couture websites. Maybe the dress won’t look so awful once she’s had her hair and makeup done.

  ‘It’s … um … stunning,’ you say, your voice sounding fake even to you. You’ve never been a particularly good liar.

  Jane frowns and takes a long look at herself in the mirror. ‘Really?’

  ‘Mmmhmmm.’ You seize a glass of champagne and take a swig.

  Cee Cee nods in agreement and admiration. It’s a mystery how a wedding planner can have such appalling taste.

  ‘You don’t think it’s too much?’ Jane asks.

  ‘Er, maybe a little?’ you squeak.

  ‘I thought you said it was stunning?’

  To be fair, the sight of it would stun anyone with taste. You bite your tongue.

  ‘Oh God,’ Jane wails. ‘I look like a meringue wrestling a duvet.’ She rounds on you. ‘I can’t believe you were going to let me wear this monstrosity!’

  ‘Um … I would have told you eventually. You caught me off guard.’

  ‘What am I going to do now?’

  The dress shop proprietor is way ahead of the game. She brandishes an elegant, vintage-looking dress with delicate embroidery. ‘Perhaps madam would like to try on something like this?’

  Jane shoots you a dirty look and disappears behind the curtain.

  But when she reappears, this time looking truly stunning, your admiration is entirely heartfelt. She twirls in front of you, and you can see from her face that all is forgiven.

  ‘Now it’s your turn,’ she announces.

  To see your bridesmaid’s dress, go to page 11.

  You’re seeing your bridesmaid’s dress for the first time

  Another shop assistant appears with two huge dress bags and hangs them on a rail next to the fitting area.

  ‘You’re going to love this!’ Cee Cee trills.

  You steal another glance at the dresses in their clothing bags. You strongly suspect there’s a gaping chasm between what Cee Cee loves and what you love.

  ‘I know I showed you some references before,’ Jane says, ‘and we discussed the blue satin when we did your measurements a few months ago, but when Cee Cee and I were choosing the tablecloths, we found this beautiful material that we think will complement the whole look.’

  ‘You mean our dresses are going to be made out of the same fabric as the tablecloths?’ you say, trying to rein in your alarm.

  ‘And the serviettes!’ Cee Cee exclaims. ‘Isn’t it genius? All the A-list celebs are doing it.’ She grabs her dress eagerly and slips into one of the dressing rooms.

 
Desperate not to disappoint Jane, you collect yours, smothering your sense of impending doom. Once in the cubicle, you hang the dress on the hook and step back to appraise it. It doesn’t look promising, but maybe it won’t be so bad once it’s on, you think, a seed of hope still lodged in your heart.

  You strip down to your undies, keeping on your Converse trainers, then carefully step into the pile of heavy fabric. You grasp the sleeves and do battle with the dress, tugging it up over your hips and thighs. It’s tight, and you have to suck in your tummy and hop up and down to get it on. At last you slip your arms into the sleeves, and reach behind you to pull up the zip, which only makes it halfway up your back before sticking. You wriggle and tug, but it doesn’t budge any further.

  You hear Cee Cee squealing outside: ‘I told you, Jane! It’s perfect!’ She rips your curtain open. ‘How does yours look?’ she asks.

  You brace yourself and step out to assess the damage.

  On Cee Cee, who has small, high boobs and long legs, the dress doesn’t actually look too bad, but on you it’s an unmitigated disaster. The puffed sleeves and scalloped neckline make you look like a milkmaid, and every time you breathe out, more of the little pearl buttons down the front pop open. Then there’s the colour. Jane promised not to make you wear any shade of sugar-pink, but this – which Cee Cee insists is apricot, but looks more like stale salmon mousse – is almost worse. And – the final insult – it has a sprigged pattern. You feel like inventing a mysterious accident for it. Something involving a tsunami and a curry house would do nicely.

  The proprietor and the dressmaker descend on you. One shoves your breasts back into the cups of the dress, and the other pulls the back of the dress together and manages to get the zip up, with the result that the remaining buttons on the bodice peel open all the way to your waist.

  ‘I’m afraid it doesn’t fit so well.’ You state the screamingly obvious.

  ‘I’m sure they’ll be able to fix it. You will be able to fix it, won’t you?’ Jane turns to the dressmaker, her voice hitting that ultra-high frequency that only bridezillas can reach. The woman looks dubious, but then she and the proprietor bustle around you, pulling at the fabric and seams while you stand there, hoping that everyone attending the wedding goes temporarily blind just before it starts.