Page 108 of Wilder at Heart
‘I know.’ I smooth my dress over my hips. ‘Don’t remind me. Believe me, it’s freaking me out.’
‘Okay. I have two questions for you.’
I meet her eyes, hopeful she’ll take me in hand. ‘Go for it.’
‘One. Do you really love him? And two. Do you really think he can make you happy? Because if the answer to both of those is yes, then nothing else matters much.’
I nod. This is good. Elle giving me a life questionnaire with nice, neat yes-no answers is helpful. It’s the safety net I need for jumping into the abyss.
‘Yes and yes,’ I tell her. ‘It’s like I don’t even have a choice. I’m so miserable without him. I don’t want to be on my own with some stupid plan. I want to be with him.’
‘Excellent.’
‘A plan won’t keep me warm at night, will it?’
‘Plans are useless for orgasms,’ she agrees.
‘Yeah.’ I blow out a breath and stare at my toes.
‘Nor. You’ve done this before, you know. Torn up whatever mental rule book you’re intent on living your life by, and followed your very smart gut instead.’
My head jerks up. ‘When?’
‘When you handed in your notice to Bitch Boss from Hell at theTimesand struck out on your own. That is not the act of some pathetic little pencil-pusher. That’s the act of a smart, gutsy woman who owns her intuition and her power.’
I stare at her in admiration and disbelief. ‘Jesus. Thank you.’ She’s right. I did that. And I never looked back. I’m so much more fulfilled now than I could have imagined.
‘Look at you now,’ she continues. ‘You’ve pulled together the wedding of the year for one of the most uptight, demanding men I know. I’m sure you never could have imagined that when you were in your sad little cubbyhole at theTimes.Nor, life never turns out exactly how you imagine.’
‘Says the Oscar winner who got her very own Hollywood happy ending.’ I give her a watery smile.
‘Exactly.’ She puts her arms around me and pulls me in. ‘And you will, too. Repeat after me. I don’t need an AGA or a rectory to feel secure in my future.’
‘I don’t need an AGA or a rectory to feel secure in my future,’ I mumble reluctantly. Sometimes it’s a total bummer, having friends who know you so well.
After Elle’swandered off to ‘get herself some orgasms’ in her own words, making me promise not to ruin my eye makeup with any more tears, I call Saoirse.
‘Ready to go get that painting?’
She giggles. ‘Definitely! Let’s do it!’
She’s so sweet. So upbeat about everything. She sounds as though picking up her wedding present for her fiancé is up there with the most exciting adventures she’s ever undertaken.
‘How far away is this place?’ I ask once we’re strapped ourselves into her gorgeous new car.
‘Ightham.’ She keys a postcode into her SatNav. ‘Ten, fifteen minutes away.’
That’s good, at least.
‘And where are you picking it up from?’
‘From the painter.’ She gives me a huge grin and I smile back weakly, miserably failing at matching her enthusiasm. ‘From her house.’
As she drives, we chat about who’s arrived so far, how the preparations in the Walled Garden are going, and the fact that her mum has taken Bea to the Oast House for ice cream to get her out of Miles’ hair. If anyone’s more excited than Saoirse, it’s Bea.
‘I know I’m going to say it a million times this weekend, Nora.’ She turns to me. ‘But thank you for giving me my dream wedding. I know it’s going to be amazing.’
I pat her hand. ‘It will be. And if I can give you any advice after planning forty-plus weddings, it’s not to sweat the small stuff. Things are bound to go wrong, but try not to let them ruin your day.’
