through my body. If only it could get down to my feet, which, to be honest, are completely freezing.
“Bridesmaid!” cries Suze suddenly. “Where’s Bex? We need you for a photograph!”
My eyes open.
“Here,” I shout, slipping the sheepskin coat off my shoulders. “Luke, hold my drink—”
I hurry through the melee and join Suze and Tarquin. And it’s funny, but now that all these people are looking at me, I don’t feel cold anymore. I smile my most radiant smile, and hold my flowers nicely, and link arms with Suze when the photographer tells me to, and, in between shots, wave at Mum and Dad, who have pushed their way to the front of the crowd.
“We’ll head back to the house soon,” says Mrs. Gearing, coming up to kiss Suze. “People are getting chilly. You can finish the pictures there.”
“OK,” says Suze. “But let’s just take some of me and Bex together.”
“Good idea!” says Tarquin at once, and heads off in obvious relief to talk to his father, who looks exactly like Tarquin but forty years older. The photographer takes a few shots of me and Suze beaming at each other, then pauses to reload his camera. Suze accepts a glass of whiskey from a waiter and I reach surreptitiously behind me to see how much of my dress has unraveled.
“Bex, listen,” comes a voice in my ear. I look round, and Suze is gazing at me earnestly. She’s so close I can see each individual speck of glitter in her eyeshadow. “I need to ask you something. You don’t really want to wait ten years before you get married, do you?”
“Well… no,” I admit. “Not really.”
“And you do think Luke’s the one? Just… honestly. Between ourselves.”
There’s a long pause. Behind me I can hear someone saying, “Of course, our house is fairly modern. I think it was built in 1853—”
“Yes,” I say eventually, feeling a deep pink rising through my cheeks. “Yes. I think he is.”
Suze looks at me searchingly for a few moments longer — then abruptly seems to come to a decision. “Right!” she says, putting down her whiskey. “I’m going to throw my bouquet.”
“What?” I stare at her in bewilderment. “Suze, don’t be stupid. You can’t throw your bouquet yet!”
“Yes I can! I can throw it when I like.”
“You ought to throw it when you leave for your honeymoon!”
“I don’t care,” says Suze obstinately. “I can’t wait any longer. I’m going to throw it now.”
“But you’re supposed to do it at the end!”
“Who’s the bride? You or me? If I wait till the end it won’t be any fun! Now, stand over there.” She points with an imperious hand to a small mound of snowy grass. “And put your flowers down. You’ll never catch it if you’re holding things! Tarkie?” She raises her voice. “I’m going to throw my bouquet now, OK?”
“OK!” Tarquin calls back cheerfully. “Good idea.”
“Go on, Bex!”
“Honestly! I don’t even want to catch it!” I say, slightly grumpily.
But I suppose I am the only bridesmaid — so I put my flowers down on the grass, and go and stand on the mound as instructed.
“I want a picture of this,” Suze is saying to the photographer. “And where’s Luke?”
The slightly weird thing is, no one else is coming with me. Everyone else has melted away. Suddenly I notice that Tarquin and his best man are going around murmuring in people’s ears, and gradually all the guests are turning to me with bright, expectant faces.
“Ready, Bex?” calls Suze.
“Wait!” I cry. “You haven’t got enough people! There should be lots of us, all standing together…”
I feel so stupid, up here on my own. Honestly, Suze is doing this all wrong. Hasn’t she been to any weddings?
“Wait, Suze!” I cry again, but it’s too late.
“Catch, Bex!” she yells. “Caaatch!”
The bouquet comes looping high through the air, and I have to jump slightly to catch it. It’s bigger and heavier than I expected, and for a moment I just stare dazedly at it, half secretly delighted and half completely furious with Suze.
And then my eyes focus. And I see the little envelope. To Becky.
An envelope addressed to me in Suze’s bouquet?
I look up bewilderedly at Suze, and with a shining face she nods toward the envelope.
With trembling fingers, I open the card. There’s something lumpy inside. It’s…
It’s a ring, all wrapped up in cotton wool. I take it out, feeling dizzy. There’s a message in the card, written in Luke’s handwriting. And it says…
It says Will You…
I stare at it in disbelief, trying to keep control of myself, but the world is shimmering, and blood is pounding through my head.
I look up dazedly, and there’s Luke, coming forward through the people, his face serious but his eyes warm.
“Becky—” he begins, and there’s a tiny intake of breath around the churchyard. “Will you—”
“Yes! Yeee-esssss!” I hear the joyful sound ripping through the churchyard before I even realize I’ve opened my mouth. I’m so charged up with emotion, my voice doesn’t even sound like mine. In fact, it sounds more like…
Mum.
I don’t believe it.
As I whip round, she claps a hand over her mouth in horror. “Sorry!” she whispers, and a ripple of laughter runs round the crowd.
“Mrs. Bloomwood, I’d be honored,” says Luke, his eyes crinkling into a smile. “But I believe you’re already taken.”
Then he looks at me again.
“Becky, if I had to wait five years, then I would. Or eight — or even ten.” He pauses, and there’s complete silence except for a tiny gust of wind, blowing confetti about the churchyard. “But I hope that one day — preferably rather sooner than that — you’ll do me the honor of marrying me?”
My throat’s so tight, I can’t speak. I give a tiny nod, and Luke takes my hand. He unfolds my fingers and takes out the ring. My heart is hammering. Luke wants to marry me. He must have been planning this all along. Without saying a thing.
I look at the ring, and feel my eyes start to blur. It’s an antique diamond ring, set in gold, with tiny curved claws. I’ve never seen another quite like it. It’s perfect.
“May I?”
“Yes,” I whisper, and watch as he slides it onto my finger. He looks at me again, his eyes more tender than I’ve ever seen them, and kisses me, and the cheering starts.
I don’t believe it. I’m engaged.
Three
OK. NOW, I may be engaged, but I’m not going to get carried away.
No way.
I know some girls go mad, planning the biggest wedding in the universe and thinking about nothing else… but that’s not going to be me. I’m not going to let this take over my life. I mean, let’s get our priorities right here. The most important thing is not the dress, or the shoes, or what kind of flowers we have, is it? It’s making the promise of lifelong commitment. It’s pledging our troth to one another.
I pause, halfway through putting on my moisturizer, and gaze at the reflection in my old bedroom mirror. “I, Becky,” I murmur solemnly. “I, Rebecca. Take thee, Luke.”
