Match Me If You Can, page 30
‘Oh, Poppy, you’ve made me so happy,’ he whispers.
He pulls back slightly, and I peer up at him. A hand bearing a tissue appears between us and I take it gratefully and wipe my tears, but when I turn to thank whoever it was, they’re gone.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t propose with a ring,’ says Tristan, pulling my attention back to him.
‘Oh, no don’t worry about that.’ He could have proposed with a packet of Hula Hoops, and I still would have said yes – well, the second time, that is.
‘I just didn’t have a chance to arrange anything. This was all so last-minute.’
‘Tristan, I promise, it’s okay.’
‘How about we go together – choose something that’s as lovely as you are?’
I don’t think I’ve truly understood what it feels like to swoon until now. ‘Perfect,’ I reply, not trusting my voice to say more. He grins and stoops for another kiss.
‘Hello,’ says a voice.
I (reluctantly) break the kiss and glance over, ready to shoo away whichever colleague is interrupting our moment, but it’s the woman I saw at reception earlier.
‘Um, hello?’
‘I’m Jacinda, Ravi’s wife.’
‘Oh, hi!’ I say, right as Tristan says, ‘Jacinda, what are you doing here?’
‘I hope you don’t mind me crashing your proposal,’ she says to me, ignoring him. ‘It’s just’ – she looks at Tristan adoringly – ‘when Tris finally admitted that he loved you—’
‘Oh no,’ Tristan groans and it only just occurs to me that we haven’t exchanged ‘I love you’s yet.
‘You do,’ she says to him and he shakes his head, then flicks an apologetic glance my way. ‘Anyway,’ she says, coming back to me, ‘I just really wanted to be here. That’s not too strange, is it?’
‘No,’ I reply. ‘Yes,’ Tristan says at the same time.
Jacinda and I share a laugh.
‘Seriously, though,’ she says to me, ‘from everything Tris has said about you – and Ravi – I just know that this is…’ She points a finger between us. ‘This is really…’ She seems at a loss for words, finally landing on, ‘Good.’
‘Good?’ asks Tristan, amused.
Jacinda fans her face, her eyes filling with tears. ‘Leave me alone, I’m overcome. It’s not every day one of my closest friends proposes, you know.’
I reach out and pull her into a hug which she returns. ‘Thank you. That’s really sweet,’ I say. We hug a moment longer.
‘Mind if I have my fiancée back?’
Jacinda and I step away from each other, exchanging smiles, and Tristan fills the space she’s vacated. He snakes an arm around my waist, his hand resting on my hip and giving it a squeeze, then kisses the top of my head. All of it, every sensation, is wonderful and surreal at the same time.
‘Time to open these yet?’ asks Nasrin, holding up two bottles of bubbly. My tiny circle of attention widens and I realise that the entire agency is watching us, making me more than a little self-conscious. Nasrin doesn’t wait for a response and begins the business of opening the bubbly while Mia and Freya ferry champagne flutes from the kitchen. Nasrin pours and they dole them out.
‘I think these are for you,’ says Anita, handing me an enormous bouquet of sunflowers. She winks at Tristan, eliciting a broad smile, then returns to reception, scooping up a glass of bubbly as she goes.
‘Thank you, Anita,’ I call after her. She waves over her head with her free hand. ‘Are these from you?’ I ask my (gasp) fiancé.
‘Yes. I remembered they’re your favourite and if you’d said no, they would be a parting gift.’
‘I did say no,’ I say quietly as the others mill about us excitedly.
‘I know. I didn’t care for it.’
‘I’m sorry.’
He dips his head to kiss me, swiftly and softly. ‘You’re forgiven.’
Tristan
I think I’d forgive Poppy anything now that she’s agreed to become my wife. My wife! For weeks now that word has weighed heavily on me and now it represents a bright future with this incredible woman – something I couldn’t imagine when I first walked through the agency’s door. Yes, there is much to discuss and decide – logistics mostly – but as I said to Poppy, we don’t have to rush the relationship side of things. It’s that part – how we are together and who I am when I’m with her – that makes me happiest.
Poppy shifts the bouquet from one arm to the other.
‘Here, allow me,’ I say, taking the sunflowers from her and placing them on her desk.
‘Thank you. They’re lovely, just…’
‘Heavy?’
She nods.
‘Hi everyone!’ says Jacinda, tapping on her champagne flute to get everyone’s attention. ‘I’m Jacinda, Tristan’s friend, and I’d like to propose a toast.’
I steel myself, hoping she’s not going to embarrass me. It’s already been a turbulent morning and I’m not sure how much more I can bear. One of Poppy’s colleagues hastily shoves a flute into my hand, nearly sloshing champagne over the rim, then hands one to Poppy.
‘To Tristan, who I love like a brother…’
Well, that’s lovely and echoes exactly how I feel about Jacinda.
‘Actually,’ she continues, ‘I love him way more than two of my brothers – the younger ones are really annoying’ – everyone laughs – ‘and to lovely Poppy,’ she says, regarding Poppy thoughtfully, ‘we’re going to be like sisters, you and me. I just know it.’
When I look down at Poppy, she places her free hand on her heart. ‘I’m already madly in love with her, you know,’ she says to me quietly.
I look between her and Jacinda and smile, my heart brimming. Many times over the years, I’ve felt like an interloper around Jacinda and Ravi, and now with Poppy by my side, we’ll be a firm foursome – something else I’ve never imagined before.
‘To Tristan and Poppy,’ Jacinda calls out.
‘To Tristan and Poppy,’ rings out over the office and I clink the rim of my flute against Poppy’s. We sip, watching each other closely, the moment not feeling quite real.
‘Well, that’s just perfect, that is!’ I turn towards the voice and a livid-looking woman surveys the scene from an office doorway. ‘A bloody proposal? How very rich! If you people don’t start taking me seriously—’
Another of Poppy’s colleagues deftly bundles the woman back inside the office and closes the door.
‘What was that all about?’ I ask.
‘I’m not a hundred per cent across the details, but—’
‘Poppy, dear.’ Ursula appears, smiling benevolently, and leans in to kiss Poppy on the cheek. ‘Wonderful news. Congratulations.’
‘Thank you,’ she says.
‘And to you, Tristan,’ Ursula says. ‘She’s a good egg, this one.’
‘I couldn’t agree more,’ I reply and Poppy grins up at me. ‘And Ursula, can I just ask – only out of curiosity – that woman…’ I nod towards the closed door.
‘Yes,’ Poppy says, ‘did you figure out what happened?’
‘As a matter of fact, we did,’ Ursula replies, obviously exasperated. ‘It turns out that Mrs Carruthers believed that Mr Carruthers married her because he was in love with her.’
‘And he wasn’t? Isn’t?’ Poppy asks.
‘Isn’t and never was apparently. He married her because his bachelor status had become something of an obstacle, at least to the higher-ups at his place of employment. As he approached fifty, he was informed that he would not make partner unless he married.’
‘What misogynistic twaddle,’ says Poppy, her face puckered with distaste.
‘Even at my firm, that sort of archaic strong-arming no longer exists,’ I say.
‘You’d be surprised how prevalent it still is,’ Ursula says to me. ‘That practice should have disappeared with the three-martini lunch but alas,’ she adds, one eyebrow twitching almost imperceptibly. ‘Anyway, Mr Carruthers was under pressure and engaged the agency to help him find a wife, omitting that pertinent detail. Shortly after, we matched him with Mrs Carruthers.’
‘Who believed it was a love match,’ Poppy concludes.
‘Exactly. Only it all came out in a recent argument about her wanting children. And, as is evidenced, she’s furious – with him and with us. That’s why she’s threatening to expose us.’
‘So, what do we do?’ asks Poppy.
‘We – that is, Saskia and I – have offered to help her navigate a divorce as quickly as possible, then find her a true love match – our fees waived, of course.’
‘Sounds reasonable,’ I say.
‘Yes. Now, all we have to do is convince her. And on that, if you’ll excuse me.’
Ursula departs and I turn to Poppy. ‘Is that what you were referring to earlier? You said something about everything else that was going on.’
‘Yes, that was part of it. And there’s my dad’s accident and I thought I was going to lose my job and—’
‘Hold on, your dad’s accident? What happened? Why didn’t you say?’
‘Oh, that’s right, you don’t know about that. He had a fall—’
‘Oh no, is he—’
‘Yeah, no, he’s okay – just bumps and bruises. But on top of everything else…’ She shrugs. ‘It’s been a hectic few days.’
‘Only days? I feel like my life has been topsy-turvy ever since the day we read Grandad’s will.’
‘I can’t even imagine. I wish I’d had the chance to meet him,’ she says regretfully.
I give her a squeeze. ‘He would have adored you.’
‘Oh my god, I have to meet your mum,’ she says suddenly, making me laugh. ‘What? She sounds terrifying.’
‘She’s an old bat,’ says Jacinda, butting in.
‘Jass!’ I chide.
‘What? Forewarned is forearmed, I say. Anyway, now that I’ve drunk half a glass of fizz, I’d better get to work.’ She stands on tiptoes to kiss my cheek, then plants one on Poppy’s. ‘You two, dinner at ours tonight.’
Poppy and I start speaking at once – perhaps, like me, she was hoping that tonight we’d be picking up where we left off in Edinburgh – but Jacinda cuts us off.
‘Nope, not having it. You have the rest of your lives for shagging. You can at least wait till after dinner.’
‘Jesus, Jacinda,’ I say, my chin dropping to my chest. Poppy’s properly laughing now, most likely at me.
‘Bye, loves,’ Jacinda says undeterred. ‘Seven thirty – and bring wine,’ she says, pointing at me.
‘Don’t I always?’ I ask. Jacinda leaves without answering and I turn to Poppy. ‘I always take wine to theirs.’
‘I believe you,’ she says, reaching up for a kiss, only right as our lips are about to touch, we’re interrupted again.
Poppy
‘You must be the infamous Mr Fellows,’ says Saskia. Tristan and I spring apart like kids caught snogging at a school social. ‘Saskia Featherstone.’ She extends her hand and he shakes it.
‘Lovely to meet you. I believe you know my closest friends, Ravi and Jacinda Sharma. And don’t they have you to thank for their match?’
Saskia smiles proudly, one shoulder shrugging in false modesty. ‘I do and they do. I adore them – gorgeous couple.’
‘You’ve just missed Jacinda, actually. She came to spectate my proposal.’
‘I caught her on her way out. Anyway, I wanted to say hello and to offer my congratulations – to both of you.’
‘Thank you, Saskia,’ I say, hoping I’m conveying my full appreciation, not just for the congratulations, but if it weren’t for her, we wouldn’t have anything to celebrate. In a way, she’s responsible for this match as well.
‘Yes, thank you,’ says Tristan. ‘And I know this case didn’t exactly go as planned…’
‘Well, no,’ she agrees with a knowing smile.
‘But I hope you will accept my apology for the disruption – for today, of course, but also throughout my engagement with your agency.’
‘Not to worry,’ she says good-naturedly – Saskia The Swan making an appearance. ‘I’m sure you’re familiar with the saying, “the course of true love never did run smooth”?’
‘Shakespeare,’ Tristan replies.
‘Exactly. He was so astute about matters of the heart,’ she says. ‘Anyway, I’m a firm believer that a love hard won is all the sweeter.’ They exchange smiles. ‘And Poppy? I suggest that as you have closed your latest case, you take the rest of the day off.’
‘Oh, I—’
Is my boss sending me off to spend the rest of the day shagging?
‘Actually, I’ll insist on that,’ she continues. ‘No doubt you have family and friends to contact and arrangements to make.’
Oh, so not permission to shag, then. And she’s right – I need to call Mum and Dad and Shaz.
‘That’s very thoughtful and we will take you up on that,’ says Tristan, clasping my hand.
‘Oh, one more thing before I head back to sort the other matter,’ says Saskia, gesturing towards her office. ‘If it’s not too much to ask, I’d love an invitation.’
‘An invitation?’ I ask.
‘To the wedding!’ She looks at me as if I’m being daft – which, of course, I am.
‘Oh, right, yes, of course,’ I say, even though it only now occurs to me – in less than a fortnight, I will be married.
Married!
40
TRISTAN’S 35TH BIRTHDAY
Poppy
‘Oh, Pop, you look stunning. STUN-NING.’
‘Thanks, Shaz.’
It’s just us now that the hair stylist and makeup artist have left and she’s standing behind me, regarding me in the full-length mirror. She tilts her head, then reaches up and tugs gently on the strap of my dress, moving it further off my shoulder and evening it up with the other side. ‘There, perfect.’
‘I agree,’ I say, making her laugh. ‘What? The dress – I meant the dress.’
‘You, the dress, you in the dress. It’s all perfect, Pop.’ Shaz heads to the bed where she props herself carefully on the edge, and I look at myself from top to toe. For a change, I’m wearing my hair down, parted on the side and sitting in carefully constructed ‘beachy waves’. My makeup is not overdone – I didn’t want to look like a Kardashian, I wanted to look like me – and I do. Me with flawless skin, a hint of blush, rose pink lips, and lashes for days.
And the dress! I fell in love with it as soon as I clapped eyes on it. Saskia hooked me up with a friend of hers who has a design house in Soho. It was the first and only dress I tried on. It’s cream silk, cut on the bias, sleeveless with a cowl neck, and it skims my body, kicking out in a fishtail at the bottom. Seriously, I love it so much, I may have to wear it once a week until the fabric wears thin. Tristan will come home from work and I’ll be reclined on the sofa reading, wearing the dress! And why not? What is it they say? Use the good china every day because every day is a gift – or something like that. This dress will be my good china.
And I’m not really a ‘shoe gal’, a Carrie Bradshaw-type like Freya with more shoes than pairs of knickers, but these are so pretty – strappy low-heeled sandals in cream silk to match my dress.
I turn to Shaz, who’s wearing a similar dress, only tea length and in teal to make her blonde hair and green eyes really pop.
‘How long till the car gets here?’ I ask.
She checks her phone. ‘Fifteen minutes.’
‘Phoo.’ I expel a long breath, the nerves suddenly kicking in. I use my hands to fan myself.
‘You okay?’ she asks, leaping up.
‘Yep.’
‘’Cause you look like you’re about to freak out.’
‘Yep.’
She approaches me, her hands resting gently on my shoulders, and looks down at me – like, properly down because she’s already several inches taller than me and she’s opted for four-inch heels.
‘In-two-three-four, out-two-three-four.’ She repeats the sequence several times until my breathing returns to normal. ‘Good?’ she asks, dropping her hands.
I nod. ‘Thanks’
‘I mean, what’s the big deal, right? You only met the guy a month ago, he was your client, you guys ran the full gamut of romance tropes – enemies-to-lovers, forbidden love, grumpy–sunshine – and when he proposed, you not only turned him down, you shouted at him! See? No big deal. Just a run-of-the-mill love story and today you happen to be getting married – that’s all.’
I snigger, smiling up at her. ‘Do you use this tactic with your patients?’
‘What?’ she says, returning to the bed to collect her clutch. ‘Sarcasm? All the time.’
‘I was going to say “irony” – it’s a little more elevated.’
She shrugs. ‘I’m way too basic for “elevated”.’
I’d disagree, but she’d only argue with me. Shaz (too) often puts herself down with little barbs, but now is not the time to be her therapist.
‘Okay, so,’ she says, holding up the clutch, ‘I’ve got your lippie for touch-ups, plus tissues, eyedrops, and breath strips. Am I missing anything?’
‘You’ve got my phone?’
She peeks inside the clutch. ‘Yes. All set for live streaming to Mum and Dad in Tassie.’
‘Okay, I think that’s everything. Should we wait downstairs?’ I start huffing out loud breaths.
‘Hey, stop that immediately. You’re working yourself up again.’ I nod at her and get my breathing under control.
‘I can’t believe that the next time I’m in this room, I’ll be married.’
‘I can’t believe you’ve moved in with Tristan but have your own room!’
‘Is that weird? It’s weird, isn’t it?’ She shrugs, indicating that she does think it’s weird. ‘It’s just that we’re still getting to know each other and he wants me to be comfortable here, have my own space. I imagine someday, probably soon, I’ll move into his room. I haven’t even properly left my flat yet.’ Most of my stuff is still there while we work out how to combine two households – the only furniture I’ve brought so far is my beloved secretary desk, which now inhabits the study nook.
