wrapped his ankles round mine all night, as though he never wanted to let go. We just giggled and laughed and kissed all through dinner, at stupid things like how awesome the French fries were (the secret is they cook them in truffle oil or something crazy like that).
The only thing that slightly freaked me out in the first few months was Adriana A. A few times when I was over at Zach’s loft in Chinatown, the phone rang and Zach didn’t pick up. Adriana’s voice came on the answering machine, asking Zach for lunch or dinner or drinks, to discuss work. Anyway, it turned out I was worrying about nothing. After a while she stopped calling.
The only person who wasn’t delighted by my romance was Mom. It wasn’t that I shared all the details of my Manhattan love life with her, but she’d read about it in a gossip column and called to check whether or not it was true.
“Darling, I heard Little Earl might be coming home for Christmas”—it was late December—“and I do think you two are meant for each other.”
I took a deep breath.
“Mom, I’m sure Little Earl would loathe me on sight. And I have no intention of spending my life in a drafty castle looking at sheep. Anyway, I’m sure you and Dad would like Zach.”
“Who are his parents, darling?”
“I’ve no idea. He comes from Ohio, he’s a successful photographer.”
It was true that I actually knew very little about Zach—apart from the fact that he was very handsome, lived in Chinatown in a huge loft, and never went to bed without drinking an espresso first. Hetook his career very seriously and sometimes would disappear for days without warning. He could be very mysterious and elusive when he wanted—which of course I adored.
Julie always says she can pack a bag for a weekend in St. Barths “in a heartbeat.” This is an outright lie. She actually takes about a week to pack for a trip, but the point I’m trying to make is that when you’re as madly in love as I was, everything seems to happen in a heartbeat. After what seemed like fifteen seconds—but in real time must have been six months, around the middle of March—Zach asked me to marry him. Can you imagine? We’d been having such fun it felt like no time at all had passed.
The only trouble was that the proposal meant that moi and not Julie would be the one with the PH, which was somewhat of a conflict of interest. But even if I was secretly freaked that Julie was going to be beyond mad at me about it, I couldn’t say no. I was madly, madly in love. Zach was the perfect PH in every way. Despite the fact that sometimes his work binges meant that he vanished into a black hole for a whole week and didn’t return my phone calls, he’d always emerge with a fabulous dinner invitation and thrill me all over again.
Julie was surprisingly relaxed when I told her I wasengaged. She approved of Zach, recognizing that he was way too arty for her. She didn’t seem to mind as much as you’d think that I’d snagged my PH first, saying, “Your wedding will be my dress rehearsal—I’ll learn from your mistakes.”
You can imagine Mom’s reaction when I told her I was marrying Zach. First she threatened to die of a headache and then she insisted on throwing the wedding at Swyre Castle, which you can hire for functions. Even if it wasn’t exactly my first choice of venue, I was so happy I decided to let Mom do whatever she wanted. She had the church, flowers, hors d’oeuvres, cake, scheduling, and even the particular type of confetti (freeze-dried rose petals from Covent Garden Market) mapped out in immaculate detail within hours of hearing my news. I guess Mom had been planning my wedding since the day I turned sixteen and had decided to put a brave face on the fact that I was marrying an American photographer rather than a British Earl.
After the engagement I felt like the most popular kid in high school or something. Everyone in New York was as addicted to Zach as I was. We were
The only thing that slightly freaked me out in the first few months was Adriana A. A few times when I was over at Zach’s loft in Chinatown, the phone rang and Zach didn’t pick up. Adriana’s voice came on the answering machine, asking Zach for lunch or dinner or drinks, to discuss work. Anyway, it turned out I was worrying about nothing. After a while she stopped calling.
The only person who wasn’t delighted by my romance was Mom. It wasn’t that I shared all the details of my Manhattan love life with her, but she’d read about it in a gossip column and called to check whether or not it was true.
“Darling, I heard Little Earl might be coming home for Christmas”—it was late December—“and I do think you two are meant for each other.”
I took a deep breath.
“Mom, I’m sure Little Earl would loathe me on sight. And I have no intention of spending my life in a drafty castle looking at sheep. Anyway, I’m sure you and Dad would like Zach.”
“Who are his parents, darling?”
“I’ve no idea. He comes from Ohio, he’s a successful photographer.”
It was true that I actually knew very little about Zach—apart from the fact that he was very handsome, lived in Chinatown in a huge loft, and never went to bed without drinking an espresso first. Hetook his career very seriously and sometimes would disappear for days without warning. He could be very mysterious and elusive when he wanted—which of course I adored.
Julie always says she can pack a bag for a weekend in St. Barths “in a heartbeat.” This is an outright lie. She actually takes about a week to pack for a trip, but the point I’m trying to make is that when you’re as madly in love as I was, everything seems to happen in a heartbeat. After what seemed like fifteen seconds—but in real time must have been six months, around the middle of March—Zach asked me to marry him. Can you imagine? We’d been having such fun it felt like no time at all had passed.
The only trouble was that the proposal meant that moi and not Julie would be the one with the PH, which was somewhat of a conflict of interest. But even if I was secretly freaked that Julie was going to be beyond mad at me about it, I couldn’t say no. I was madly, madly in love. Zach was the perfect PH in every way. Despite the fact that sometimes his work binges meant that he vanished into a black hole for a whole week and didn’t return my phone calls, he’d always emerge with a fabulous dinner invitation and thrill me all over again.
Julie was surprisingly relaxed when I told her I wasengaged. She approved of Zach, recognizing that he was way too arty for her. She didn’t seem to mind as much as you’d think that I’d snagged my PH first, saying, “Your wedding will be my dress rehearsal—I’ll learn from your mistakes.”
You can imagine Mom’s reaction when I told her I was marrying Zach. First she threatened to die of a headache and then she insisted on throwing the wedding at Swyre Castle, which you can hire for functions. Even if it wasn’t exactly my first choice of venue, I was so happy I decided to let Mom do whatever she wanted. She had the church, flowers, hors d’oeuvres, cake, scheduling, and even the particular type of confetti (freeze-dried rose petals from Covent Garden Market) mapped out in immaculate detail within hours of hearing my news. I guess Mom had been planning my wedding since the day I turned sixteen and had decided to put a brave face on the fact that I was marrying an American photographer rather than a British Earl.
After the engagement I felt like the most popular kid in high school or something. Everyone in New York was as addicted to Zach as I was. We were
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