Make or Break at the Lighthouse B & B - Portia MacIntosh

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Chapter 1

Mrs Gia Delaney’s wedding has been the wedding to end all weddings.

Seriously, if you’re planning your wedding right now I probably wouldn’t even bother because today has been a day that would put most royal weddings to shame. Gia’s nuptials made Meghan Markle’s look

like nothing more than a piss-up down the pub!

She had a swan ring bearer, for crying out loud. How do you even coerce a swan into performing sucha duty? A cute dog or trustworthy relative, sure, those are things that can be worked with, but a swan?

I’ve never met a swan that didn’t want to kill me. Still, I booked it for her, like she asked me to. Beingchief bridesmaid left me standing awfully close to the angry bird (not the bride, although she does seem

especially hot-headed today) and I was absolutely petrified. It sure will look good in the pictures, though.

Gia and her husband Kent, the spoilt son of a dotcom millionaire who managed to survive the 2000 tech bubble burst (because people will always want, ahem, adult material, but that’s nothing to talk about

at a wedding), have gone all out, all day.

The wedding ceremony took place at an enormous castle, belonging to a friend of the family who is something like ninetieth in line to the throne. It’s gorgeous, like something out of a fairy tale. Honestly,

it’s like the kind of building you usually only see in romcom movies – or horror movies, depending on whether the venue is playing host to a lavish wedding with a Matthew McConaughey-type groom or a

petrifying poltergeist with a smoky glow and chains hanging from it.

Speaking of dripping with chains, Gia’s bling is like nothing I have ever seen in real life. It’s the kind of diamond necklace you would expect to see the likes of Margot Robbie wearing on the red carpet at the

Oscars – and even a mega star like her would only be borrowing them. Honestly, it’s all I can look at right now. Then again, I am jammed into a toilet cubicle with her, carefully holding her dress up while she has a wee. I didn’t really realise, when I agreed to be her right-hand woman for the day, that I would be taking on many of the duties of her actual right hand, but these are the kinds of things we do for our best friends, right?

‘Are you having a nice day?’ I ask her.

‘God, Lola, seriously, it’s amazing,’ she says. ‘I knew it was going to be amazing because, you know, I planned it, and because Kent has spent a fortune on it. Like, honestly, you could buy a house with the money we’ve spent. Not one that I would live in though.’

I laugh. Even when she’s on the toilet, Gia is a snob. She’s my snob though.

‘You deserve it,’ I tell her.

‘Thanks, babe,’ she replies. ‘And thanks so much for all your help with the planning – I can’t wait until I can return the favour for you. Any chance Patrick will be popping the question soon?’ 

‘Gosh, I doubt it,’ I say with an awkward chuckle. ‘We’ve only been together for nine months, and we hardly see each other with him being away for work so much. Things are going great, we just need to  work on our schedules…but anyway, when I do get married – if I get married – then you will absolutely  be right there by my side, and you can hold my dress in the air while I use the loo.’ 

‘Thanks so much for this,’ she says. ‘You can get these…I don’t know what to call them, sort of weird pant things that you can wear under your dress, that you can kind of bundle your dress up in while you 

use the lav.’

‘That sounds like a really good idea – why didn’t you get some?’ I ask.

Well, money was clearly no object, and I don’t mind doing this for her at all, it just sounds like a much better system, with much less awkward eye contact. 

‘They were a little…granny pants-esque,’ she says. ‘Very ugly. I’d rather have my bestie do it.’

‘Aww, thank you,’ I tell her, only a little sarcastically. ‘It’s the closest I’ll come to wearing a dress like this anytime soon.’ 

‘You look hot in your bridesmaid dress,’ she tells me, as I sort out her dress by the sinks. ‘Patrick won’t be able to keep his hands off you.’ 

‘He looks amazing in a suit, doesn’t he?’ I say. I’m not usually one for boasting, but Patrick looks incredible when he’s all dressed up. 

‘If I weren’t just married,’ Gia jokes as she washes her hands. ‘Right, let’s get back out there, get some more champagne.’ 

‘You don’t need to tell me twice,’ I say. ‘Let’s go.’

Gia and I have always enjoyed the finer things in life. Our friendship was formed over £12 cocktails and lengthy shopping trips. We would frequent the Sky Bar, an exclusive rooftop cocktail bar in London, 

which is where Gia met Kent – it’s also where I met Patrick. Gia is basically my brunette counterpart.

She’s like the sister I never had. It actually made me a bit emotional today, watching her get married. I’ve never had a friend I felt so close with and I was genuinely delighted. I was so proud of how beautiful she  looked; like wow, that stunning babe is my best friend, and I’m helping her celebrate the best day of her  life. 

Gia kisses me on the cheek before getting back to her rounds, circulating, checking on all the guests, thanking them for coming. 

This quick break in bridesmaid duties allows me to hurry over to Patrick, to steal a quick kiss.

‘Hey, handsome,’ I say as I sneak up behind him at the bar, wrapping my hands around his waist.

‘Hey there, sexy,’ he replies. ‘God, look at you in that dress. Every time you walk away, when I see

you again I convince myself more and more that we should sneak off upstairs to our room, see how you

look out of it.’

I feel myself blush, just a little, as a massive grin spreads across my face.

Patrick is so confident and it’s ridiculously sexy. He’s self-assured, but in the best possible way. It’s

like he knows who he is and what he wants and he’s not afraid to get it. On the first day we met, he just

walked over to me, bought me a drink and asked me to go on a date with him. He reckons he just knew

that I would say yes – and I did. Imagine having that much self-confidence! I know all the right things to

say and do when approaching the opposite sex but I could never have that level of self-possession fuelling

it. Patrick has so much it’s spilling out of his pockets – and he has so much to spare, he isn’t concerned

with picking any up.

I unsubtly bite my lip. I am more than tempted to take Patrick up on that offer; he looks so good today.

His pompadour haircut is so stylish, as is his trendy, neat beard. He’s tall and muscular and there’s just

something about his posture…so relaxed, but so confident.

I do wonder, as you do when things are going well with someone you are seeing, whether or not

Patrick is the person I’m going to spend the rest of my life with. I would absolutely love to get married

one day – though I’d probably be a little more low-key than Gia is being. I’m not exactly shy, and I know

that you are supposed to be the centre of attention on your wedding day, but even so, this is a little much

for me.

I got a real lump in my throat, watching her and Kent exchanging the vows they had written for each

other (or paid a professional writer to pen, in Gia’s case) and it made me wonder what I would say about

Patrick, if it were us. Only in a just-wondering-to-myself kind of way – there’s no way we’re ready to get

married anytime soon. With Patrick working as a stockbroker, and spending a lot of time abroad, I don’t

get to see him as much as I would like. We’ve got a trip planned in the not too distant future, just a little

break away, but it will be some much-needed time alone together. I worry about him, working so hard all

the time, travelling so much, doing such a stressful job. He loves it though; he loves the risk and the action

– somehow this only makes him seem sexier to me.

‘How are you doing?’ Patrick asks me. ‘Are you having fun?’

‘I am,’ I say. ‘So, so much fun… I’m really hungry though. I was so nervous when we were eating –

I think I was worried I might spill on my dress or something else classically clumsy me.’

‘I hear they’re doing the rounds with dessert items,’ Patrick tells me. ‘And apparently the disco is

about to start, if you fancy a dance?’

It isn’t long before Gia’s favourite song, ‘Stop’ by the Spice Girls, starts playing.

Gia charges towards the dance floor, a champagne glass in her hand, without a care in the world. Her

dress cost more than most people’s annual salaries, yet she’s carrying herself without a care in the world;

she may as well be in her pyjamas. Whoever said money can’t buy you happiness obviously never tried

to eat a three-course dinner in a dress most people couldn’t afford to dry-clean – I know I couldn’t. I’m going to lock it away in its protective box as soon as I take it off.

My gaze shifts from Gia to the waiter behind her, carrying a mountain of profiteroles around. And they’re not just normal profiteroles, they are salted caramel profiteroles – I know because I helped Gia choose them, and they are incredible. 

‘I’m going to grab some dessert, then we’ll dance, OK?’

‘Can’t wait,’ Patrick replies.

Gia has put so much time, effort and money into making today the happiest day of her life. She really has thought of everything. There is one thing she hasn’t considered though: that her best friend might fall flat on her face on the dance floor. 

I was making a beeline for the profiteroles, heading across the dance floor – not dancing, I hasten to add – balancing on the pin-like heels I’ve been wearing all day (the ones Gia insisted I had to wear, even though I said they weren’t the easiest of shoes to walk in), and I was doing a great job of balancing on them until about ten seconds ago, when I stacked it in front of everyone. Still, I suppose you can see the red soles now that I’m laid out on the floor, which was the main reason Gia wanted me to wear them in the first place. 

Patrick comes running over and tries to help me up, but as soon as I try to move my leg, I cry out in pain. 

‘Shit, shit,’ I blurt out.

I watch as one of Gia’s aunties ushers one of her young cousins away from me, her hands placed lightly over their ears. 

‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘It’s just…I’ve never felt anything like it… It’s…God, I think I’m going to be sick.’

‘We’d better take you to hospital,’ Patrick says.

‘I’m sure I don’t need to go to hospital,’ I insist, trying to get up, but this only makes me cry out again.

I look for Gia in the crowd around me. There she is, with a face like thunder. Hell hath no fury like a bride upstaged at her own wedding. I swear, the way she’s looking at me, it’s almost as if she’s jealous. 

Like she wishes it were her, sprawled out on the floor, trying not to cry all over her £1,299 bridesmaid dress (for some reason, I think Gia thinks reminding me of the price might encourage me to get up quicker, 

but I can’t). If she knew how much pain I were in, she’d be happy where she was, even if everyone’s eyes are off her for a fleeting moment. It takes a few people to help me up from the floor and it is the most pain I have ever known in my life. 

I feel bad for Gia. I know that she knows I can’t help it, even if she does look upset, but it’s bound to ruin her day a little, having her best friend carted off to A & E. I’ll just get it checked out and try to get back here ASAP. I hate hospitals but I’m sure it will be just a quick in and out. I’ll find out that I’m a big baby, I’ll walk it off, I’ll be back on the dance floor in no time. I’ll probably get my flats on the way back though.