“I look like the broad side of a barn,” I moaned.
“A very beautiful, stately barn,” Nick said, sitting next to me and placing my feet in his lap so he could untie my sneakers.
“You looked great,” Lacey said loyally, handing me a plate loaded with baked goods and a slice of quiche. “Also, no offense, but no one will remember what you wore to this.”
“How was Freddie?” Bea asked as Gaz bustled around loading everyone else up with carbs. “Happy?”
“Did he not look it?” Nick asked, rubbing my left foot.
“No, he did,” Gemma said. “But it’s hard to tell on TV what’s real and what’s acting.”
“He is definitely devoted to Daphne,” I told the room.
“That’s super.” Gaz looked mournful as he handed me a cup of tea. “I mean it. I’m not rooting for it to all collapse on itself, but I am going to miss having his furry mug around.”
“Everyone will,” Mom said. “Earl and I hated having the girls so far away, even just when they were at Cornell, but we had to let them go. Change is the worst part of life.” She smiled. “But it’s also the best part. Your bakery is going to be beautiful, Gaz. And Bex and Nick have the twins coming, Danny is yelling NO at me every two seconds, and Gemma and Bea are…” Mom stopped short.
“Getting hitched, actually,” Gemma said. She waved her left hand, revealing a wide gold band, overlaid with a platinum filigree detail.
“SHUT UP,” I blurted.
“Ever the American,” Bea muttered.
“This is fantastic!” I said. “If I could move, I would hug you.”
“I’ll handle it,” Nick said, leaping off the sofa and diving onto the other one, the better to wrap his arms around Bea and Gemma at the same time.
“Make it a foursome,” Gaz said, trotting over and tackling them from the other side.
“Going for five,” Cilla added, piling on with a giggle.
“Sentimental twaddle,” Bea said, her voice muffled by so many arms. “But yes. None of us is getting any younger. It seemed well past time to make honest women of the both of us.”
Gaz backed out of the embrace and scratched his head. “I have loads of ideas about wedding cakes,” he said. “Not that I would ever assume you’d turn to me for yours. But if it tips the scales, I’ve done some very interesting things with marzipan lately.”
Cilla elbowed him. “Please don’t make this moment about you.”
“I’m not,” Gaz said. “I’m being helpful.”
“I’ll put it in the back of the wedding binder,” Bea said, but she was smiling.
* * *
By the time everyone left, it was late, and my back was killing me. I’d also eaten more buttery bread products than was strictly reasonable, plus we’d ordered Indian because I’d gotten a real yen for samosas. I was stuffed, and my stomach was unhappy with me, so I waddled upstairs and took a quick shower and then crawled into bed. Nick was on his side, flipping through the news channels on the TV.
“Oooh, look, there you are,” he said, over a shot of me walking around outside Freddie’s wedding.
“I look even crazier in motion,” I said. “It’s like I shoved a really big beach ball up my dress. I can’t believe the press hasn’t accused me of faking it.”
Nick laughed. “You are so hard on yourself,” he said. “You look amazing, both in that dress and also in this…robe?”
“It’s a caftan,” I told him. “And men are required to say that to their uncomfortably pregnant partners.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s not sincere,” he said. “You are a very sexy pregnant lady.”
“Thank you,” I said. “If I weren’t so physically uncomfortable and exhausted, I’d put the moves on you right now.”
“If I weren’t so exhausted, I’d let you,” he said. “I’ll settle for a rain check. Also, what is my face doing right there?”
He pointed at the TV; the news was now showing footage of Daphne and Freddie leaving the church after their religious ceremony, over a very benign story about famous well-wishers who’d popped onto Twitter with their congratulations. As Daphne and Freddie stepped out into the sunshine, he had pulled her into a swoony kiss, to the delight of the crowd that had gathered outside; behind them, Nick appeared to be wincing.
“I was trying not to sneeze!” he insisted now. “That’s going to be the shot on the cover of People next week, you watch. Freddie and Daphne looking romantic, and me, lurking behind them like a skeptical creep.”
“Frame it and give it to Freddie. It’s the wedding gift he’ll love the most,” I said. “Way more than the Dutch oven we got him.”
“That’s such a good pun, though,” Nick said.
I slowly—so slowly—maneuvered myself into an upright position. On the TV, Penelope Ten-Names was standing in front of Nieuwe Kerk, interviewing the mayor. The press that traveled to Amsterdam to cover this happy ending—the proper fairy tale Nick and I had failed to deliver—still had stories to file, even though the VIP guests had already escaped. Freddie and Daphne were en route to a villa in the Maldives with ten days to do, as Lady Elizabeth had so sensitively put it, nothing but each other.
My stomach was gurgling—that samosa was not sitting well with me—and a weekend in Amsterdam, on full display, had worn me out way more than I thought. I lay back on my pillow and groaned.
“What can I do for you?” Nick fretted.
“Nothing. I’m just anxious and need to sleep,” I told him. “I would love to put off finishing the conversation Richard started, but it’s the only thing I can think about.”
“Me too,” he admitted. “This whole thing is rather a mindfuck.”
“Are you tempted?” I asked.
“Aren’t you?” Nick chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Picture it: a cottage in the UK somewhere, raising up the kids in peace, walking them to the village school. Having crumbling headstones in a churchyard in fifty years where
