Shopaholic Ties the Knot (Shopaholic #3)

“Erm…” I pull a little face.

“No, I wasn’t sure about that, either. OK… we’ll forget the woodland creatures.” She takes out a pen and scores out an entry. “But otherwise… it’s going to be fabulous. Don’t you think?”

“I… Well…”

Should I tell her I’m still not quite decided about whether to get married in New York?

Oh, but I can’t. She’ll stop all the preparations on the spot. She’ll go and tell Elinor, and there’ll be a terrible fuss.

And the thing is, I’m sure we will end up going for the Plaza in the end. Once I’ve worked out exactly how to win Mum round. I mean, we’d be mad not to.

“You know, Sheldon has worked for many Hollywood stars,” says Robyn, lowering her voice still further. “When we meet him you can look at his portfolio. I’m telling you, it’s quite something.”

“Really?” I feel a sparkle of excitement. “It all sounds… fantastic!”

“Good!” She looks at her watch. “Now, I have to run. But I’ll be in touch.” She squeezes my hand, downs her champagne, and hurries toward the door — and I stare after her, still a little dazzled.

Hollywood stars! I mean, if Mum knew about that, wouldn’t she see the whole thing differently? Wouldn’t she realize what an amazing opportunity this is?

The trouble is, I can’t quite pluck up courage to bring up the subject again. I didn’t even dare tell her about this party. She’d only get all upset and say, “Doesn’t Elinor think we can throw a nice engagement party?” or something. And then I’d feel even more guilty than I already do. Oh God. I just need a way to introduce the idea into her head once more, without her immediately getting upset. Maybe if I spoke to Janice… if I told her about the Hollywood stars…

A burst of laughter nearby brings me out of my thoughts, and I realize I’m standing all alone. I take a sip of champagne and look for someone to join. The slightly weird thing is, this is supposed to be an engagement party for me and Luke. But there must be at least a hundred people here, and I don’t know any of them. At least, I dimly recognize the odd face here and there — but not really well enough to bound up and say hello. I try smiling at a woman coming in, but she eyes me suspiciously and pushes her way toward a group standing by the window. You know, whoever said Americans were friendlier than the British can’t ever have been to New York.

Danny should be here somewhere, I think, peering through the throng. I invited Erin and Christina too — but they were both still hard at it when I left Barneys. I expect they’ll be along later.

Oh come on, I’ve got to talk to someone. I should at least let Elinor know I’m here. I’m just elbowing my way past a group of women in matching black Armani when I hear someone saying “Do you know the bride?”

I freeze behind a pillar, trying to pretend I’m not eavesdropping.

“No. Does anybody?”

“Where do they live?”

“The West Village somewhere. But apparently they’re moving to this building.”

I stare at the pillar in bemusement. What’s that?

“Oh really? I thought it was impossible to get in here.”

“Not if you’re related to Elinor Sherman!” The women laugh gaily and move off into the melee, and I stare blankly at a molded curlicue.

They must have got that wrong. There’s no way we’re moving here. No way.

I wander aimlessly around for another few minutes, find myself a glass of champagne, and try to keep a cheerful smile on my face. But try as I might, it keeps slipping. This isn’t exactly how I pictured my engagement party would be. First of all the doorpeople try to stop me going in. Then I don’t know anybody. Then the only things to eat are low-fat, high-protein cubes of fish — and even then, the wait staff look taken aback when you actually eat them.

I can’t help thinking back slightly wistfully to Tom and Lucy’s engagement party. It wasn’t nearly as grand as this, of course. Janice made a big bowl of punch and there was a barbecue, and Martin sang “Are You Lonesome Tonight?” on the karaoke machine. But still. At least it was fun. At last I knew people. I knew more people at that party than I do at this one—

“Becky! Why are you hiding?” I look up and feel a swoosh of relief. There’s Luke.

“Luke! At last!” I say, moving forward — then gasp in joy as I see a familiar, balding, middle-aged man standing beside him, grinning cheerfully at me. “Michael!” I throw my arms around him and give him a big hug.