The Man She Married: A gripping psychological thriller with a heart-pounding twist(9)

‘The fact is, babe, I’m pretty much living at the house already. May as well make it official.’

I can’t argue with this logic. ‘I suppose so.’

Sensing my reluctance, Dominic takes my hand and kisses the tips of my fingers. ‘Are you sure? I’m not going to force it if you’re not ready. Or if it’s about us living together without being married, then we can just bring the wedding forward.’

I set my glass of punch down on the table. The pub is noisy and I’m not sure I’ve heard correctly. ‘Forward? As in sooner?’

He laughs at my seriousness. ‘Why not? It’s not like we have big families we need to consider. Tell you what – I’ll go to the registry office tomorrow in my lunch hour and sign for the first appointment they’ve got.’

I’m already shaking my head firmly. ‘No. Absolutely not. I’m going to need a minimum of three months to organise this wedding. And, even then, we’ll have to keep it simple.’ I can see that I’m not going to be able to put off Dominic moving in, but I’m not going to marry even faster as a consequence. ‘Trust me, that’s an absolute minimum. Most people give themselves twelve to eighteen months.’

A small wedding is fine, I tell myself. It can still be romantic and stylish.

Dominic’s already counting on his fingers. ‘January, February, March… we’ll do it in March.’

‘Three months takes us to the beginning of April.’

‘Aw come on…’ He cuffs me playfully, ruffling my hair. ‘You should be happy that I can’t wait to be your husband. End of March, how about that as a compromise?’

‘Fine.’ I grin. ‘You win.’ I open the calendar app on my phone. ‘April first is a Friday. How about that?’

‘April Fools’ Day – perfect!’ Dominic tips his glass in a mock salute.

The waiter comes to take our order, returning a few minutes later with two heaped plates of meat and a tray of vegetable side dishes, which he crams onto our small table.

I spear a roast potato. ‘You know what you said about not having to worry about family… well, my brother and his girlfriend will definitely be invited. And you must ask your mother and your brother. I’m dying to meet them.’

Dominic pulls a face. ‘I’m not sure about Mum… her health isn’t great: cardiac problems and high blood pressure. She doesn’t drive, and I’m not sure how she’d cope with the train by herself.’

‘Dom!’ I’m genuinely shocked. ‘You’ll have to drive up and fetch her. Take some time off work the week before or something. Or maybe your brother could bring her?’

‘I don’t know about that. I haven’t seen him for a couple of years; it would feel a bit weird.’

‘Well, ask him, at least. It may solve the problem of getting your mum here, and if he can’t come, or doesn’t want to, at least you’ll have asked.’

‘I suppose so,’ Dominic shrugs. ‘But where will they stay?’

‘In the house, silly! We’ve got four bedrooms: there’s plenty of room.’ I pause midway through serving us both broccoli, taking in his expression. ‘What?’

‘I dunno, it would just feel a bit weird. My mum’s a dreadful fusser; it would get right on your nerves. And my brother and I are like strangers… it would make for a tense atmosphere. I don’t want you being stressed playing hostess in the days running up to your own wedding, sweetie; it’s not fair.’

‘Fine, then we can book them into a hotel.’

‘Sure.’ He nods. ‘That’s probably a better idea.’

‘Will you do it, or shall I? Only we ought to sort it soon: decent places in central London get booked up.’

Dominic smiles at me and kisses me on the forehead. ‘I’ll take care of all that; don’t you worry. You just concentrate on looking a million dollars.’





Five





Alice





Then





We marry at midday on 1 April, at Marylebone Town Hall.

Things are not straightforward, but then when does a wedding ever go without a hitch? Firstly, there’s the issue of the dress. Our time frame is too tight for me to have something made to measure, so I order from an online supplier of nearly new dresses. On 14 March I receive an email informing me that the parcel containing the dress has been shipped. Over a week later, it still hasn’t arrived. I frantically call and email the company that sold it, the courier company, and any neighbours who might have received it by mistake, but it’s no use. Four days before my wedding I’m forced to accept that my dress has gone missing. The supplier offers to ship a replacement, but I no longer trust the process and demand a refund instead. Which leaves JoJo and me frantically scouring local wedding dress shops for a sale sample, with just two days to go. I can’t find anything that I like, that’s also going to fit me properly.

‘You realise what this means?’ JoJo says, as I have a Bridezilla meltdown in the middle of Chiltern Street. ‘You’re going to have to dig the Philippa Lepley out of the attic.’

‘I can’t!’ I wail. ‘I bought that dress to marry Alex. It’s bad luck.’