Text from Mum: Tessa, it’s your mum. Do you have a key? Dad and I are going to bed early to ‘watch Netflix and chill.’ That’s what all the young people are doing these days, right?

Email from Rory to Me:

Choosing of the Dress

Tessa,

Your request to have Olivia Paul has been denied by Baz, as she is virtually unknown.

As per my previous email, Baz has managed to secure Ralphio, but you must meet with him by the end of this week in order to finalize these arrangements.

Baz wanted me to remind you that the dress sets the tone for the entire event, which is why it is imperative to have a seasoned designer assist in this regard. Baz will make himself available on Friday at 10 AM to help you choose the best dress for your body type. You would be wise to take him up on this offer.

Regards,

Rory

Email to Rory from me

Re: Choosing of the Dress

Dear Rory,

As per my first email on this matter I have already secured Ms. Paul’s services, and having had excellent luck with her in the past I feel very confident that she will provide me with the best dress for the occasion. In addition, the Royal Family, especially the Dowager, believe in using these types of events to provide up-and-coming artists with visibility, as an act of patronage.

I have a fitting scheduled with Ms. Paul on Thursday at five in the evening, to accommodate my work schedule. I will be happy to provide your team with sketches once they are completed.

Sincerely,

Tessa

Email to me from Rory

Re: Re: Choosing of the Dress

Baz will be most displeased.

* * *

“So, how’s engaged sex?” Nikki asks, squeezing an unbelievable amount of honey into her coffee. “Is it incredible? I bet it’s incredible.”

“Could we hold off on discussing that particular topic until there are fewer people around?” I say as a large man jostles me out of the way so he can reach the creamer.

“Not really—I barely have any time with you these days, so I have to make the most of it. If I leave all the good stuff for the end, we’ll never get to it.” Nikki picks up her mug and her plate bearing a chocolate croissant, and leads the way through the busy coffee shop to a table tucked away in the far corner, close to the fireplace.

I follow her, dodging customers as my mug of tea starts to burn my fingers. When we’re seated I stare longingly at Nikki’s croissant, wishing I had ordered that instead of the fat-free, sugar-free, taste-free zucchini brownie. Xavier stands near the table facing the door, which means that Nikki can stare freely at his arse.

“When we actually manage to have some time alone together, it’s amazing.” I take a bite of the brownie, only to discover it’s exactly as boring as I thought it would be. “But between work, all the wedding prep, and trying to choose my charities, we barely see each other.”

“He barely sees you? What about me?” Nikki says, taking a big bite of her croissant. She and Dr. McPerfect broke up a few weeks ago, and instead of me being ready with a bottle of wine and a carton of ice cream, I was on the solarium floor with Arthur.

“It’s been, like, three weeks since I’ve laid eyes on you.” Her words come out muffled as she talks. She wipes her mouth with her napkin and then gives me a thoughtful look. “You look sick or something. Like a little pale, maybe. Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Just a little stressed.” And really frigging hungry.

Nikki nods, and licks some chocolate off her fingers. “This is about your hate club and that fashion critic?”

My shoulders drop and I sigh. “Yes.”

“Fuckers. Every one of them.”

“It’s karma coming for me, isn’t it?”

“Karma’s a bunch of bullshit. If it were true, how come most Fortune 500 companies are run by sociopaths?”

“Good point.” I have a sip of my tea, the liquid warming my insides. “The fashion critic I can handle. I mean, it just takes extra thought as to what to put on before I go out the door.”

Nikki glances at my sweater, under which is a collared shirt done up to the top. She wrinkles up her nose. “Umm…”

“You don’t like my outfit?”

“It’s very…proper.”

“I can’t very well be dressing like a hooker.”

“You never dressed one before, but you did look like a woman in her twenties. Except that one pair of granny shoes.”

“Okay thanks, friend. Point taken.” I sigh. “I’m just trying to polish myself up a bit. Is there anything so wrong with that?”

“No, but just don’t polish yourself until there’s no sign of the real you under that buttoned-up shirt.” Tilting her head, she says, “I like Tessa 1.0 just fine. Now, back up. You said you can handle the fashion critic, which means you’re not handling the I Hate Tessa person as well.”

“Not exactly. I can’t seem to get it out of my head, you know? It’s really awful to know that someone you don’t know hates you so much.”

“Oh, shit.” A look of understanding crosses Nikki’s face, then she wipes it away.

“What?” My heartbeat picks up a bit.

“Nothing.” She shoves another bite of croissant into her mouth.

“Seriously, you can’t just say, ‘Oh, shit,’ and leave me hanging.”

Swallowing, she says, “What if it’s someone you know? Like someone really high up in the Royal Family?”

“Oh, Christ, I never thought of that. What if it is someone I know? Like Arabella? Or the king?” I push the brownie away, suddenly feeling sick. “If that were the case, I don’t think I’d want to know. I mean, how do you get past something like that?”

“It would make for very awkward family dinners.”

“Wouldn’t it?” I shake my head, hoping to shake the thought loose from my brain before it sticks. “It’s not someone in Arthur’s family. It’s very likely some sad little troll with nothing better to do.”

“Yup, you’re right. It’s just a troll. The smartest thing to do would be to stop looking at that Twitter feed. In fact, maybe just stay off social media all together.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I should do.”

Nikki narrows her eyes a bit. “Which means it’s the opposite of what you’re actually going to do—stop doing.”

Nodding, I say, “But the entire time, I’ll know you told me not to.”

“That’s why I love you,” Nikki says with a laugh. She has a sip of her coffee and then leans in and nods toward Xavier, who’s standing rather conspicuously about two feet from our table, watching the door. “But enough about you. I’m in serious need of a rebound. Have you found out if he’s single yet?”

* * *

“How are the obituaries coming?” Hazel glides past my desk as she makes her way back to her office from the break room.

“Fine. As long as no one else dies today, we’ll be all set for tomorrow’s issue.” I laugh a little at my tasteless joke.

It’s nearly eight o’clock on Friday evening, and Hazel and I are the only ones still in the office. I watch through the glass window as Hazel settles herself behind her desk. I really need to tell her I’m going to have to quit. She deserves to know. I’ll tell her on my way out this evening. I busy myself finishing the last of the spell-checking on the Osborne family’s announcement. They’ve welcomed new baby Destynie Maddisynne, who is destined to spend her entire life pronouncing and spelling her name out for people. Good luck with that, kiddo.

A few minutes later I shut down my computer, pack up my things, and knock on Hazel’s open door. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure, come on in.” She leans back in her chair and smiles at me.

“I need to tell you something.”

“You’re quitting?”

“How did you know?”

“The writing’s been on the wall since you got engaged.”

“I suppose it has.” I fiddle with my ring, trying to push aside the yucky feeling in my stomach. “I wanted to give you plenty of time to replace me. I was thinking maybe I’d stay on until early spring, if that’s okay.”

“Of course it is. Stay on as long as you can. You’ll be missed around here, you know.”

“Thank you. I’ll miss coming into work here but I’ll be doing a lot of charity work, so that will feel good as well.”

“I’m sure it will.” She gives me a small nod, then smiles. “You remind me of me when I was your age. Young, ambitious, the whole world at your feet. And, like you, I fell in love with a powerful man with whom I had little in common.”

Oh, dear, I don’t like where this is going. “Arthur and I have a surprising amount in common actually.”

Hazel nods and makes a little hmph sound. “I’m sure you do; I was just talking about the very different upbringings. It was the same with my husband and me. And, like you, we also got married very quickly. We were going to have the perfect, carefree marriage. Travel the world together, see everything, do everything, lazy Sundays in bed.”

She smiles wistfully for a second. “He was offered a job in Paris, and we jumped at the chance even though it meant I had to give up my career. So, instead of reporting the news, I spent my mornings reading it while sitting at little cafés sipping coffee. I didn’t have to worry about money for the first time in my life—no stress, only freedom. I took some cooking classes, and for a while everything was wonderful. He liked coming home to a hot meal and a wife who was starved for company because I hung on his every word.”

“Well, I won’t be cooking at least,” I say with a little laugh.

She continues as though I haven’t said anything. “It didn’t take long before I was completely dependent on him. I was learning French but I’d never been good at it, even in school. I had difficulty making friends because of the language barrier, and soon I had very few interests outside of my husband, which is not a healthy way for anyone with a brain to live.

“In the end, I could hardly stand myself—the endless talk of which colour curtains I should put up in the bedroom or what the spinach looked like at the market that day. I begged him to move back to Canada so I could work again, but he didn’t want to give up his new life. He suggested a baby and I considered it. I wanted it to be the answer, but in the end I said no. He found a woman from his office who didn’t mind giving herself up for him. They have four kids and six grandkids.”

“I’m sorry. That sounds like it was very hard,” I say.

“I’m over it.” Hazel shrugs. “The thing is, when I see you and what you’re about to do, it worries me because twenty years later the world hasn’t changed one bit even though we women like to think it has. Women still have to give up so much for love, and once the passion is gone all those things that made you different and drew you together at the beginning, end up pulling you apart.”

“I’m not going to lose myself, Hazel. I know who I am.”

“Do you? Because I can’t see any way a woman wouldn’t get completely lost in her husband’s world, if her husband is someone in Arthur’s position.”

I shake my head. “With all due respect, you don’t know Arthur, and you don’t know what we’re like together. We need each other. We make each other better people and that’s not going to change after were married.” I stare at her, feeling very annoyed by her assumption that I’m going to end up exactly like her. “I know that you’re going to think I’m naive, but Arthur fell in love with me because of who I am, because of the drive that I have to succeed and to keep him on his toes.”

“Open your eyes, Tessa. If you marry him, something will have to give, and I have the feeling that it will be you.”

“I should get going.”

“Sure.” Hazel nods. “I didn’t mean to upset you, Tessa. I’m just trying to help. I like you very much and I think you have a lot of potential. I’d hate to see you exchange it for a sparkly tiara.”