The Runaway Bridesmaid. Daisy James

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СКАЧАТЬ watched Lauren’s eyes, the colour of Irish luck, narrow.

      ‘If you like, I’ll do it. I’ll tell her how grown-ups are supposed to act. You’re too soft on her gallivanting and selfishness. I’m sorry, Rosie, you’re a wet blanket when it comes to baby-blue-eyed and supposedly-innocent Freya; butter wouldn’t melt in that rosebud mouth. She does not deserve the sacrifices you’ve made, are still making, for her. She’s an adult now – twenty-two for God’s sake. She can take care of herself – and if not, Jacob can. It’s your turn, Rosie, to make a life for yourself outside Freya’s orbit.’

      Lauren’s mischievous glint returned, but her eyes softened. After all, she put in the same hours at Harlow Fenton as Rosie did. Of anyone, she understood the pressures of keeping all the plates spinning in the air when the vagaries of the world’s stock exchanges ate into their family or leisure time.

      ‘Stop taking responsibility, Rosie. It’s not healthy. For either of you.’

      Rosie gifted Lauren with a watery smile as she moved over to the sash window where white gauze curtains floated like a bride’s veil in the light breeze. Pale tendrils of sunshine breached the horizon as she took in the pristine gardens, battling to calm her emotional demons. Serenity would play for the opposing team on this her beloved sister and Jacob’s wedding day, and for that she was saddened. Not only were there a myriad of things that could go awry, despite her meticulous attention to detail in the arduous preparations for this auspicious day, but Lauren was right – Freya’s demands had increased to scatter-gun proportions since her arrival the previous evening for the rehearsal dinner.

      That morning as she had dragged herself from the single bed of her childhood, her limbs stiff and her head pulsating, nausea had twisted knots into her stomach. Her baby sister’s wedding day! She should be suffused with joy but, with a jolt of guilt as she stepped into the freezing relief of the shower, she recognised that in the place where happiness should be, loneliness lodged. She was ten years older than Freya and she’d had to almost beg Giles to be her date for her sister’s wedding.

      Rosie made a huge effort to shake off her melancholy and allowed her shoulders to relax. In her chosen wedding dress and with her loose platinum waves rippling down her back, Freya had presented every inch the Princess Bride image she had coveted since her teenage years. And Lauren, her only true ally, was there to bolster Rosie’s flagging spirits and don her matching, saccharine-sweet bridesmaid’s dress.

      Rosie smiled when she thought back to the impish smile of her best friend, so bohemian in her own choice of attire, at the final dress fitting. Lauren eschewed the emulation of the images distributed in the magazines and fashion corridors of Manhattan of the supposedly-perfect female form. She never counted calories nor fell under the spell of the latest designer-inspired craze. Her idea of a perfect girly afternoon was to trawl the thrift shops on Second and Third Streets, delving into the racks of vintage clothing she could up-cycle. She frequently unearthed pieces of jewellery she could dismantle and reuse. Even her engagement and wedding rings had been ‘previously loved’, much to Brett’s delight. His fire fighter’s salary would never stretch as far as Tiffany’s.

      She truly hoped that Freya had met her Prince Charming and that this was the fairy tale wedding she had wished for. She prayed that she had lost her heart to Jacob, a guy fifteen years her senior; or was she settling for a convenient companion with the means to support her in the manner to which she had become accustomed?

      A strain of music floated on the air and her eyes picked out the string quartet – originally a five-piece but now minus the cellist who’d reportedly downed a bottle of Jack Daniels after an exhilarating performance at the Met the previous evening – as they struck up the first chord of a rendition of Dangerously in Love by Beyoncé, Freya’s favourite artist.

      A wave of exhaustion threatened to buckle Rosie’s knees and she collapsed onto the kidney-shaped stool at the dressing table. Insomnia had plagued her for as long as she could remember but it had been especially potent last night, as the tortuous hours stretched before daybreak. Her perpetual lack of sleep ensured the retention of the dark smudges under her gold-flecked eyes. With a sigh, she realised there would be no rest this weekend either, with the ceremony and then partying until the small hours of the morning to the live band Freya had demanded at huge cost.

      As she shook her freshly-teased caramel curls from her eyes, she thought of Giles – the handsome, charismatic, sexy man in her life. At last, she allowed a smile to play around her lips as she anticipated a whole weekend on his arm, showing him off to her father and Dot and Arnie who had been so supportive of the family after… after…

      Thankfully, the continuation of Rosie’s reverie was spliced into by a frantic hammering on the bedroom door, followed by the urgent gravelly tones of her father’s voice.

      ‘Rosie? Rosie? Have you seen Freya? The hairdresser needs her and it seems she’s done one of her disappearing acts again.’

       Chapter Two

      Rosie caught Lauren’s eye-roll as she rushed to open the door to admit her father. Her heart hammered against her ribcage as a spurt of nausea tickled at her throat. Typical Freya! Hadn’t she spent every spare moment of the last three months of her life organising Freya’s wedding so that it would run with the military precision she was famed for at the office? All Freya had to do was slip into her dress, plaster a smile on her face and turn up on time! So where was she?

      ‘You didn’t tell her about Aunt Bernice, did you?’ asked her father. As he leant in to kiss her cheek, Rosie caught a whiff of the baby shampoo her father still used, delivering a painful jolt of nostalgia to her nostrils.

      ‘No, Dad. You know we agreed not to tell her until after the wedding.’

      ‘I’ll go and find her, Mr Hamilton. She can’t have gone far.’ Lauren flicked the sides of her bob behind her ears, hitched up her voluminous skirt and strode from the room.

      Rosie registered Jack Hamilton’s lined, pale face wreathed in concern. His appearance was so suave in his charcoal-grey morning suit and baby-pink cravat – his back erect, his still-thick silver hair and beard neatly trimmed in honour of his youngest daughter’s wedding day. But he had a lot on his mind. Not only did he have the responsibility of walking his beloved daughter down the aisle but it was only the third day in twenty-five years that the Hamilton family’s hardware store had been closed to the service of Stonington Beach residents and curious tourists bemoaning the disappearance of such Aladdin’s caves in their home towns.

      She recalled the pang of regret she’d experienced at the previous evening’s dress rehearsal when she witnessed her father’s slower, more deliberate movements. It had occurred to her that now Freya was to be married, she should maybe consider returning to Stonington Beach to take care of her father and help him in the store which, she’d noticed with a stab of concern, was looking a little shabby around the edges. Jack needed more help than Dot, now herself in her sixties. Would such a step-change relieve her of her constant anxiety about her father’s health, the stalking fear that she’d lose him too? Would it alleviate the weight of apprehension that pressed against her chest, maybe even allow her to make some of those human connections she found so elusive in Manhattan?

      Gosh, no!

      Having taken a year’s sabbatical to care for Jack and Freya after her mother’s passing, she had proceeded to squeeze every last ounce of knowledge from her studies at college and business school, squirreling away every morsel of offered wisdom into the recesses of her mind for future extraction. Why should she even be contemplating allowing it to drain away into СКАЧАТЬ