The It Girl in Rome Page 2

  “How is the book going?” Danny asked politely, as though he were actually interested.

  “It’s . . . er, coming along, thank you,” Dad said, hesitating. “A lot of pressure with the wedding on top of it all. It would be a bit easier if we weren’t hounded by reporters the whole time, of course, but”—he smiled—“you have to make sacrifices when you’re marrying the woman of your dreams.”

  “Ew, Dad. GROSS!” I wrinkled my nose.

  He laughed. “Right, keep the noise down. I better get back to my parachutes.”

  “Are you seriously writing a whole chapter about parachutes? What can you even say? They are just big floaty bits of material.” Jess shrugged, receiving a pointed look from Danny, which she failed to notice. “I don’t think you should write a parachute chapter. If you ask me, Mr. H, I would stick to explosions and stuff. Give the people what they want. Throw in a love story and you’re golden.”

  “Thank you, Jessica,” Dad replied drily. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your advice on my life’s work.”

  Jess smirked.

  “Your dad is seriously cool,” Danny announced, looking at me enviously when he had gone. “He is writing army books AND dating a movie star.”

  “All right, Danny, careful you don’t drool too much on the pillow,” Jess snorted. “It is quite sweet the way he talks about Helena, though. You can tell they’re the real deal even though they’re celebrities.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “You know.” She shrugged and picked up the magazine, flicking to a page inside and pointing at the showbiz news pages. “There’s always drama with famous people and their relationships. They fall in love, they split up, they start dating someone half their age, they go into politics, they get back together and so on and so forth.” She slapped the magazine back on the table again. “Maybe it’s because your dad and Helena are older and wiser. It’s very refreshing that they’re different.”

  “Your dad is very patient to put up with all the press attention,” Danny added solemnly.

  “I guess it is tiring for him, especially when he’s trying to plan a wedding and write a book. And then I make things worse by destroying comic-book conventions, and the photos are on every front page in the country.” I felt my cheeks go hot as I remembered the look on Connor’s face when someone insensitively asked him to take a photo of them with me when we were desperately trying to find the exit. At least he laughed about it afterward. “Connor is very patient too. He can have a break from it while I’m away.”

  “Don’t worry, Anna,” Jess said, moving back to my pile of clothes and beginning to sift through them again. “Look at Notting Hill. It worked out for Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts.”

  “Is Connor really not coming on the trip?” Danny looked disappointed. “Who am I going to hang out with when you girls are being . . . girls?”

  “Who am I going to hang out with when you’re all on your double date?” I said glumly.

  Jess rolled her eyes dramatically. “Maybe it’s time to make new friends in Rome.”

  “No way.” I groaned as Jess threw one of my skirts across the room. “It’s taken me fourteen years to make friends in England. And I speak the same language here. In Italy they wouldn’t even know what I was saying.”

  “That could work to your advantage,” Danny said under his breath with a smile before I threw him an evil glare.

  “Stop being so pathetic—you are a particularly awesome friend and . . . Hey, Anna . . .” Jess hesitated. “What’s this? Wait a moment. Is this . . . is this . . . a CAPE?”

  She yanked out a large red piece of material from the pile of clothes and held it up so that Danny could get a good look.

  “Does that big glittery gold A on it stand for Anna?” Danny asked, sitting upright and looking mesmerized by it.

  “Uh . . .” I blushed. “No?”

  There was a moment’s pause before they both burst into hysterical, uncontrollable, tear-inducing laughter.

  Note to self: It’s time to make new friends in Rome.

  3.

  THINGS YOU WOULD NORMALLY EXPECT to happen at a bridesmaid dress fitting:

  1. You are cheerily greeted by the bride and anyone else present.

  2. You try on your bridesmaid dress.

  3. The bride and other bridesmaids tell you how wonderful you look.

  4. You all laugh and discuss the wedding.

  5. Everything goes perfectly.

  Things that happen at a bridesmaid dress fitting when the bride is Helena Montaine:

  1. You enter the bride’s house and are greeted by an angry Chihuahua.

  2. You are introduced to the prime minister’s wife, who has dropped by for a cup of tea, while an angry Chihuahua slides along the floor behind you, refusing to let go of your shoelace.

  3. The angry Chihuahua is removed from your shoelace by a member of the bride’s wedding team, and Fenella, the wedding planner, makes a remark when she sees you about how hairbrushes must have gone out of fashion with teenagers.

  4. As you wait for the bride’s daughter to arrive, your own mother decides to fill the time with demonstrations to the bride and the prime minister’s wife of some Chinese martial-arts moves she learned on a recent business trip.

  5. Everything is a disaster. And nothing has started yet.

  “Sorry I’m late, everyone!” Marianne sang as she breezed into the hall, placing her huge designer handbag down on the ground and whipping off her sunglasses, looking every inch the perfect British It Girl as she swept her glossy brown hair away from her face. “Did I miss anything?”

  “Tai chi,” I informed her as she came over to give me a hug. “And the prime minister’s wife. She just left.”

  “Sounds like a normal day in Mom’s household.” She gripped my shoulders. “How are you? After the events of your first date, I mean.”

  “Trying to forget about it. The Internet won’t let me.”

  “Oh, have I been there.” Marianne grinned. “It will go away. Tom thinks you looked adorable, by the way, in that avocado costume.”

  “I was a turtle, but please thank Tom on my behalf.”

  Marianne laughed and went over to say hi to Helena and my mom. Tom Kyzer was her rock-star boyfriend, who she was completely in love with, to the point where she could hardly talk about anything else. As a couple they were a particularly big attraction for the paparazzi—they couldn’t do anything without the whole world knowing about it. But unlike my dad—and even Marianne, who was indifferent to it all—Tom seemed to love the attention. “I was born for the cameras,” he once said to me with a wink.

  “So, Rebecca,” Marianne said to my mom as she ignored Fenella’s Chihuahua yapping at her from the arms of the dismayed-looking man holding him, “I hear that, unlike Anna and me, you’ve had the privilege of already seeing the bridesmaid dresses.”

  My mom smiled mysteriously. “You can never know what it’s going to look like until you see it on.”

  “Speaking of which, let’s get going, shall we?” Fenella encouraged our two mothers to take their place on the sofa and bustled Marianne and me behind separate screens that had been set up in the sitting room. Two elegant ladies followed me and began to help me undress.

  I heard my mom chuckling about something with Helena on the sofa. Mom is a travel journalist and is often on the other side of the world on some kind of weird assignment, but she was staying in England for the summer. Even though my parents weren’t together romantically—they never really had been in the first place—they were best friends, and Mom completely ADORES Helena. So, when it came to the wedding, Mom was very much involved with the plans, and Helena seemed to need her approval on every aspect of it.

  “I can’t wait to see you girls!” Helena crowed as one of the elegant ladies yanked my hair into a bun to get it out the way, and the other one began to unzip a suspiciously large clothing bag hanging up on the screen.

  Marianne and I had already be
en subjected to a traumatic dress moment when Helena made us try on bridesmaid dresses that looked as if they had been snaffled from the cast of Sesame Street, but I had full faith that everyone had learned from that experience and that Helena’s excellent taste as an international fashion and acting icon would shine through.

  Hmm . . . whatever was being pulled over my head by various assistants did feel quite heavy.

  And there was a lot of puffing going on.

  “There we are,” one of the ladies said, panting as though she’d just finished a workout.

  “You look like you belong in a fairy tale,” the other lady whispered as she looked me up and down wistfully.

  Yeah, for sure, I did look like I belonged in a fairy tale.

  AS ONE OF THE GOBLINS!

  “Helena!” I yelped as the lady fiddling with the waistline of the dress practically knocked the breath out of me.

  “Divine, isn’t it!” Helena exclaimed. “Diana designed them—she’s with you right now—so you have her to thank for it!”

  The lady who had just finished winding me tilted her head to the side and then smiled. “It’s perfect. You look like a princess.”

  Okay, so I know I’m no fashion designer, but is this woman BLIND?! She had put me in some kind of lavender monstrosity that contained enough netting to catch a pod of killer whales.

  “Let me see!” Helena squealed, and Mom added, “Yes, we’re dying to see.”

  Diana shooed me out from behind the screen and at the same time Marianne appeared from behind hers. The expression on her face reflected exactly how I felt.

  “Oh, girls,” Helena whispered, her eyes welling up.

  THANK GOD. She must have realized that this was the worst decision she’d ever made and now it was going to be an absolute pain to change the bridesmaid dresses again—and with hardly any time to go before the Big Day. Plus it would cost a fortune so Dad wouldn’t be too happy about it. I actually felt a little sorry for her.

  I prepared myself to say in my most comforting and reassuring voice, Don’t worry, Helena, we can achieve this feat together, when her face broke into a Cheshire Cat smile.

  “You look so beautiful! It’s just what I wanted—the dresses are perfect!” She jumped up and tottered over to Diana, embracing her, and as a tear of joy slid down her cheek, she turned to us again and said, “I could not be happier. This was so terribly important to me. I’m so proud of my girls!”

  I stood in shock, confused about whether there had been some kind of chemical leak nearby and everyone in the room was losing their vision or something.

  I turned to my mom for confirmation but even she was nodding slowly, a hand on her heart as she took us both in. I made a face at her, attempting to convey through the medium of my eyes that she needed to speak up and say how awful we looked.

  “I think they look splendid, Helena; you are truly talented, Diana. What are you doing with your face, Anna? You look like you’re trying to impersonate Fenella’s dear little Chihuahua.”

  “Mom,” Marianne began, picking her words carefully, “I love the color bu—”

  “Oh, Marianne,” Helena interrupted, breezing across the room and pulling Marianne into her arms, which in these dresses—with the skirt poofing out so much—was not easy. She had to go in from a side angle just to reach her. “I knew you’d love it! I am so lucky to have such a wonderful daughter!”

  Marianne froze, unsure what to do as Helena dabbed her eyes. They all turned to look at me for my verdict. Marianne furrowed her brow in concentration at me and I knew she was trying to do what I had been attempting with Mom. She was desperate for me to tell the truth.

  But how could I? Helena was so happy and the designer was standing next to me and do you know what she was holding? PINS. A load of very sharp pins. I had no choice.

  “I think these dresses are just . . . great.”

  Marianne looked at the ceiling in despair.

  “Oh, Anna,” Helena cried, coming over to embrace me and stroke the sleeves of the dress lovingly. “Don’t you just love all these ruffles?”

  “I . . . er, sure do.”

  “And the skirts are so big and voluminous—I just love them!”

  “Yeah.” I smiled weakly, trying to sound enthusiastic. “Are you sure we’ll all fit down the aisle? Haha.”

  “I think I need to take it in at the chest,” Diana was saying, examining me closely. “I didn’t realize you were quite so small there.”

  Brilliant, thanks for that, Diana.

  “Yes, she hasn’t developed in that area quite yet.”

  Wonderful, thank you, Mom.

  “If only you could wear this dress to the family dinner we’re having before you head off to Rome on your adventure,” Helena sighed. “Because then Connor could see you in it! Such a shame!”

  “Uh-huh. That’s really . . . uh . . . That is a big shame.”

  “We should get out of them now,” Marianne said hurriedly. “Don’t want to crease them. You know. Any more than they are. Haha.”

  “Good point, Marianne, you’re so thoughtful.” Helena clapped her hands. “But don’t worry, darlings, just a few more weeks and the whole world will see you in these magnificent designs! Doesn’t that just make you want to cry?”

  Marianne and I exchanged a grimace. Helena had hit the nail on the head.

  4.

  From: jess.delby@zingmail.co.uk

  To: anna_huntley@zingmail.co.uk

  Subject: So

  Are you feeling nervous?

  J x

  PS Why aren’t you answering your phone?

  From: anna_huntley@zingmail.co.uk

  To: jess.delby@zingmail.co.uk

  Subject: Re: So

  Why would I be feeling nervous?

  Love, me xxx

  PS Dog gave my phone to Hamish. You know, the Pomeranian that lives down the road. His owner only just returned it to me.

  From: jess.delby@zingmail.co.uk

  To: anna_huntley@zingmail.co.uk

  Subject: Re: So

  Because you’re about to go for dinner with your whole family. And Connor.

  What is it with your dog stealing your phone?!

  J x

  From: anna_huntley@zingmail.co.uk

  To: jess.delby@zingmail.co.uk

  Subject: Re: So

  What’s the big deal about going for dinner with my family and Connor?

  I think it’s kind of sweet what Dog did. Maybe it was Hamish’s birthday or something. Dog is very thoughtful that way.

  From: jess.delby@zingmail.co.uk

  To: anna_huntley@zingmail.co.uk

  Subject: Re: So

  Anna. For the last time. Dog is a DOG. He doesn’t understand birthday occasions. He doesn’t go out of his way to bring a present to the Pomeranian down the road. He is simply a canine thief.

  Anyway, I’m glad you’re not nervous or anything. I was just worried you would be because of the time Danny and I went for dinner with your whole family.

  You know, when we were at that Turkish restaurant and your mom and Helena joined in with the belly dancers and your dad drank all that raki or whatever it’s called and then told us the story about when a director told him he could be the next Brad Pitt, but he turned it down for the, and I quote, “bewitching nature of the written word.”

  But that’s good you’re not worried! I’m sure it will be great.

  Right. I’m going to shut down my computer now and go check I’ve got everything ready to go for Rome for the hundredth time.

  I’M SO EXCITED!

  Message me after. Now that you have your phone back there’s no excuse.

  J x

  Hi! You’ve reached Jess. Leave me a message and I’ll give you a buzz.

  *BEEP*

  “Jess. It’s me. Anna. You’re right. I can’t believe I didn’t stop to consider the family of weirdos I was born into and the disaster zone into which Connor is about to step. You have to HELP. How do I cancel the dinner?! ANSWER
YOUR PHONE.”

  * * *

  Hi! You’ve reached Jess. Leave me a message and I’ll give you a buzz.

  *BEEP*

  “Jess, pick up, this is an emergency. Oh, Lord, I just remembered when Mom and Marianne had just met and Mom told her a story about how she befriended a bushpig in Malawi. WHAT IF SHE TELLS CONNOR THE STORY ABOUT BEFRIENDING A BUSHPIG?! Would you date someone whose mother told you a story about befriending a bushpig? Exactly. It’s all over.”

  * * *

  Hi! You’ve reached Jess. Leave me a message and I’ll give you a buzz.

  *BEEP*

  “Plan A has failed. Dad didn’t buy the story I told him about there being a panther on the loose, escaped from London Zoo, and that we should all stay inside for our own safety. Turns out London Zoo doesn’t even HAVE panthers. I’ll have to come up with a Plan B. What kind of zoo doesn’t have panthers? Stupid zoo.”

  * * *

  Hi! You’ve reached Jess. Leave me a message and I’ll give you a buzz.

  *BEEP*

  “Plan B failed. And now my arms are covered in ketchup for no good reason. Dad is yelling at me to clean up otherwise we’re going to be late. Well, the dinner is going ahead. Connor has no idea what he’s getting himself into. I’ll call you later when I no longer have a boyfriend and my life is over.”

  * * *

  Hello! It’s Anna here. Leave a message. Okay, bye!

  *BEEP*

  “Just got all your messages. What on EARTH was Plan B?”

  * * *

  “Anna”—my mom chuckled over her salmon—“I think when people ask what you’re most looking forward to on a trip to beautiful Roma, you shouldn’t lead with ‘getting away from all the stupid London pigeons.’ ”

  “They’re getting out of control. It’s like they’re plotting, the way they strut around the place,” I argued, letting Marianne steal a chip from my plate. “When there’s a pigeon on the throne, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “They are truly a threat to national security.” Connor nodded, throwing me a disarming smile. “Thank goodness Helena knows the prime minister personally.”

  “Well, yes. You know, he has a wicked sense of humor, although you wouldn’t have guessed it from the ties he wears. Anyway, I think it’s just fabulous that you get to go on such a trip,” Helena enthused. “You’ll come back for the wedding completely refreshed.”