Page 3 of The Brit and the Bridesmaid
Abby watched as he nodded in agreement with Caroline’s crazy ideas. He didn’t even seem surprised when she mentioned the hoped of convincing Grandma Grover to wear a bustle. When Caroline spoke of polished silverware, spotless crystal, starched white aprons on appropriately silent maids, Matthew simply said, “Of course.”
Of course?No one Abby had ever known would think these kinds of demands were normal or expected or not insane.
Matthew took notes, listening closely and asking questions. He was handsome, too good looking, actually, for Abby to stop herself from looking at him again and again. He seemed nice enough, in a snobby sort of way.
For Caroline’s sake, and the sake of Abby’s future weekends, she sincerely hoped Sainsbury House worked out for the wedding. But for her part, Abby'd definitely had enough of all the haughtiness and fake fanciness.
The Grovers weren’t that kind of people. They were simple, down-to-earth, hovering somewhere near the bottom end of the middle of the middle class. People like Matthew Carlton would never understand that.
Chapter Two
Matt grabbed a cold bottle of beer from the fridge before stepping through the glass doors onto the balcony of his flat. His neighbor was out, watering the impressive herb garden he’d cultivated on his own balcony. Barney had a green thumb, a talent he’d carefully cultivated over his seventy-some-odd years of life.
“Good evening, Barney,” he said as he sat in his Adirondack chair. “Your garden is coming along nicely.”
Barney’s wrinkles clearly showed he’d spent his life happy. “You always speak so proper. Makes me feel like I should be bowing or something.”
“You forget, I’m an American citizen now.” He raised his bottle as if making a toast. “No more bowing for this bloke.”
“Americans don’t say ‘bloke,’” Barney warned him.
Matt leaned back, settling in for a relaxing evening in the cool spring air. “I thought American citizens had the right to say anything they wanted—that bit was on the test, you know.”
Barney pointed at him with his gardening clippers. “You can say anything at all, but you might get beat up for it.”
Matt nodded. “We do that in England, as well.”
He enjoyed their chats. Barney had been the one to start them not long after Matt moved in. They spent quite a few evenings talking across the small space that separated their balconies. He was grateful for the friendship.
“How was your day?” Barney asked, snipping expertly at one of his plants.
“Not bad at all. I booked a wedding for late June.”
Barney nodded slowly, his eyes not straying from his task. “A June wedding.”
“I know it’s very cliché, but I have my suspicions that this particular bride is very... particular.”
Matt had learned a thing or two about dealing with dreamers and bridezillas. He was certain Caroline Grover fell in the dreamer category. She knew exactly what she wanted on her wedding day, and that she was nearly panicked at the thought that something might go wrong or deviate from her imaginings. He’d worked with that before.
“She had a sister, though, who was...” He couldn’t quite put a word to Abby Grover. She’d clearly been annoyed. She’d also sent her sister more than a few looks of exasperated affection. Abby had managed to toss more than a few zingers during their interview and subsequent tour. “She was intriguing.”
“Was she?” Barney was either laughing at him or... No. He was definitely laughing.
Matt grinned back. “Not that anything will come of it. She made her dislike of me very clear. I don’t know what, exactly, I did to put her off me so immediately.”
“Were you wearing that monkey suit of yours?”
Matt chuckled. He knew exactly what Barney was getting at. “I have to wear a suit and tie to work— it’s my uniform. Besides, I don’t think I look so terrible in a suit.”
Barney snipped a rosemary plant. “Not terrible, but it does make you look like a yuppie.”
“A yuppie? Is that an American thing?”
“It means square. You look square.”
“Square?” Matt hadn’t heard of that one, either.
“Stuffy,” Barney tried again.
