Free The One Who Got Away by Caroline Overington Page A

say.
    â€˜David’s not actually pretending,’ I said. ‘I suppose what I mean is, he wants to show his appreciation to certain big clients by having them at the wedding.’
    â€˜Well, I don’t know,’ said Dad. ‘What do you make of this, my love?’
    â€˜Well,’ said Val carefully, ‘if David sees the wedding that way – as a way to entertain clients – and, I mean, if he wants to put in, maybe we should let him.’
    Dad’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Have you gone mad?’ he said. ‘Of course David’s not paying. I’m paying. Loren here is my daughter. I’m the father of the bride. My job is to cover the cost of the wedding. And I mean, how much can a wedding even cost?’
    Was he kidding, or did he really have no idea? A wedding can cost nothing more than seventy-five dollars for a licence at City Hall or a wedding can cost … well, the sky’s the limit, and J.J. Kim was aiming for the sky.
    â€˜I guess that depends …’ I said.
    â€˜It doesn’t matter,’ said Dad, picking up his novel, ‘because we have it covered. Don’t you worry. It’ll be fine.’
    I looked over at Val. The conversation was over.
    â€˜Well, if you insist,’ I said, rising to smooth my skirt, ‘and thank you, Dad. It’s generous of you.’
    Dad sipped, satisfied to have won the argument. I stayed a while longer, then Val walked me out to the car.
    â€˜What are we going to do?’ she whispered.
    â€˜Don’t worry, I’ll just send him a few bills,’ I whispered back.
    â€˜Oh, thank you,’ she said. ‘I mean, there’s just no way …’
    â€˜Stop,’ I said, putting a finger to my lips. ‘Of course there’s not.’
    * * *
    â€˜The quote for the cake has arrived,’ I said, opening the email on my laptop.
    â€˜Let me guess,’ said David, ‘is it nine hundred dollars?’
    We were curled up on the L-shaped sofa in David’s house, with David in the ‘big corner’ and me with my legs down the chaise.
    â€˜How do you even know that?’ I said, because the cake was in fact $900.
    â€˜Your wedding planner copied me in,’ said David. ‘I think even he’s worried.’
    â€˜How can I send this to Dad?’ I said. ‘Can’t you just hear him? He’ll be saying: “Nine hundred dollars? What kind of cake do you get for nine hundred dollars? Is it a gold-plated cake?”’
    â€˜For nine hundred dollars, it should be a gold-plated cake,’ said David. ‘And just out of interest, what kind of cake do you get for this exorbitant amount?’
    â€˜I got the croquembouche.’
    â€˜The what?’
    â€˜The croquembouche. It’s a tall cake in the shape of a triangle, made of balls stuffed with custard and dribbled with treacle.’
    â€˜Well, whatever you want,’ said David.
    â€˜It’s more like what J.J. Kim wants,’ I said, cuddling closer, ‘which today was flamingos …’
    â€˜Flamingos?’
    â€˜Pink flamingos,’ I confirmed, ‘because that’s retro, not kitsch, or maybe it’s retro kitsch. I can’t remember. Plus, we have three suites at the Bonsall.’
    â€˜Three suites!’ said David, moving his hand into the space under my yoga singlet. ‘Do we get to try them all?’
    â€˜They aren’t for us.’ I slapped his hand away. ‘They’re for me – well, for me and my bridesmaids – to get ready.’
    â€˜You need three rooms to get ready?’
    â€˜Apparently,’ I said, and actually, we did need to hire rooms because where else would we get ready? Not at David’s. He’d already claimed his house for himself and the groomsmen.
    Not at Molly’s, because she had a one-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment, and there were four of us; and certainly not at Dad’s, because that’s