a moment I just stare dazedly at it, half secretly delighted and half completely furious with Suze.
And then my eyes focus. And I see the little envelope.
To Becky
.
An envelope addressed to me in Suze’s bouquet?
I look up bewilderedly at Suze, and with a shining face she nods toward the envelope.
With trembling fingers, I open the card. There’s something lumpy inside. It’s . . .
It’s a ring, all wrapped up in cotton wool. I take it out, feeling dizzy. There’s a message in the card, written in Luke’s handwriting. And it says . . .
It says
Will You
. . .
I stare at it in disbelief, trying to keep control of myself, but the world is shimmering, and blood is pounding through my head.
I look up dazedly, and there’s Luke, coming forward through the people, his face serious but his eyes warm.
“Becky—” he begins, and there’s a tiny intake of breath around the churchyard. “Will you—”
“Yes! Yeee-esssss!” I hear the joyful sound ripping through the churchyard before I even realize I’ve opened my mouth. I’m so charged up with emotion, my voice doesn’t even
sound
like mine. In fact, it sounds more like . . .
Mum.
I don’t believe it.
As I whip round, she claps a hand over her mouth in horror. “Sorry!” she whispers, and a ripple of laughter runs round the crowd.
“Mrs. Bloomwood, I’d be honored,” says Luke, his eyes crinkling into a smile. “But I believe you’re already taken.”
Then he looks at me again.
“Becky, if I had to wait five years, then I would. Or eight—or even ten.” He pauses, and there’s complete silence except for a tiny gust of wind, blowing confetti about the churchyard. “But I hope that one day—preferably rather sooner than that—you’ll do me the honor of marrying me?”
My throat’s so tight, I can’t speak. I give a tiny nod, and Luke takes my hand. He unfolds my fingers and takes out the ring. My heart is hammering. Luke wants to marry me. He must have been planning this all along. Without saying a thing.
I look at the ring, and feel my eyes start to blur. It’s an antique diamond ring, set in gold, with tiny curved claws. I’ve never seen another quite like it. It’s perfect.
“May I?”
“Yes,” I whisper, and watch as he slides it onto my finger. He looks at me again, his eyes more tender than I’ve ever seen them, and kisses me, and the cheering starts.
I don’t believe it. I’m engaged.
Three
OK. NOW, I may be engaged, but I’m not going to get carried away.
No way.
I know some girls go mad, planning the biggest wedding in the universe and thinking about nothing else . . . but that’s not going to be me. I’m not going to let this take over my life. I mean, let’s get our priorities right here. The most important thing is not the dress, or the shoes, or what kind of flowers we have, is it? It’s making the promise of lifelong commitment. It’s pledging our troth to one another.
I pause, halfway through putting on my moisturizer, and gaze at the reflection in my old bedroom mirror. “I, Becky,” I murmur solemnly. “I, Rebecca. Take thee, Luke.”
Those ancient words just send a shiver up your spine, don’t they?
“To be thine . . . mine . . . husband. For better, for richer . . .”
I break off with a puzzled frown. That doesn’t sound quite right. Still, I can learn it properly nearer the time. The point is, the vows are what matters, nothing else. We don’t have to go over the top. Just a simple, elegant ceremony. No fuss, no hoopla. I mean, Romeo and Juliet didn’t need a big wedding with sugared almonds and vol-au-vents, did they?
In fact, maybe we should even get married in secret, like they did! Suddenly I’m gripped by a vision of Luke and me kneeling before an Italian priest in the dead of night, in some tiny stone chapel. God, that would be romantic. And then somehow Luke would think I was dead, and he’d commit suicide, and so would I, and it would be incredibly tragic, and
And then my eyes focus. And I see the little envelope.
To Becky
.
An envelope addressed to me in Suze’s bouquet?
I look up bewilderedly at Suze, and with a shining face she nods toward the envelope.
With trembling fingers, I open the card. There’s something lumpy inside. It’s . . .
It’s a ring, all wrapped up in cotton wool. I take it out, feeling dizzy. There’s a message in the card, written in Luke’s handwriting. And it says . . .
It says
Will You
. . .
I stare at it in disbelief, trying to keep control of myself, but the world is shimmering, and blood is pounding through my head.
I look up dazedly, and there’s Luke, coming forward through the people, his face serious but his eyes warm.
“Becky—” he begins, and there’s a tiny intake of breath around the churchyard. “Will you—”
“Yes! Yeee-esssss!” I hear the joyful sound ripping through the churchyard before I even realize I’ve opened my mouth. I’m so charged up with emotion, my voice doesn’t even
sound
like mine. In fact, it sounds more like . . .
Mum.
I don’t believe it.
As I whip round, she claps a hand over her mouth in horror. “Sorry!” she whispers, and a ripple of laughter runs round the crowd.
“Mrs. Bloomwood, I’d be honored,” says Luke, his eyes crinkling into a smile. “But I believe you’re already taken.”
Then he looks at me again.
“Becky, if I had to wait five years, then I would. Or eight—or even ten.” He pauses, and there’s complete silence except for a tiny gust of wind, blowing confetti about the churchyard. “But I hope that one day—preferably rather sooner than that—you’ll do me the honor of marrying me?”
My throat’s so tight, I can’t speak. I give a tiny nod, and Luke takes my hand. He unfolds my fingers and takes out the ring. My heart is hammering. Luke wants to marry me. He must have been planning this all along. Without saying a thing.
I look at the ring, and feel my eyes start to blur. It’s an antique diamond ring, set in gold, with tiny curved claws. I’ve never seen another quite like it. It’s perfect.
“May I?”
“Yes,” I whisper, and watch as he slides it onto my finger. He looks at me again, his eyes more tender than I’ve ever seen them, and kisses me, and the cheering starts.
I don’t believe it. I’m engaged.
Three
OK. NOW, I may be engaged, but I’m not going to get carried away.
No way.
I know some girls go mad, planning the biggest wedding in the universe and thinking about nothing else . . . but that’s not going to be me. I’m not going to let this take over my life. I mean, let’s get our priorities right here. The most important thing is not the dress, or the shoes, or what kind of flowers we have, is it? It’s making the promise of lifelong commitment. It’s pledging our troth to one another.
I pause, halfway through putting on my moisturizer, and gaze at the reflection in my old bedroom mirror. “I, Becky,” I murmur solemnly. “I, Rebecca. Take thee, Luke.”
Those ancient words just send a shiver up your spine, don’t they?
“To be thine . . . mine . . . husband. For better, for richer . . .”
I break off with a puzzled frown. That doesn’t sound quite right. Still, I can learn it properly nearer the time. The point is, the vows are what matters, nothing else. We don’t have to go over the top. Just a simple, elegant ceremony. No fuss, no hoopla. I mean, Romeo and Juliet didn’t need a big wedding with sugared almonds and vol-au-vents, did they?
In fact, maybe we should even get married in secret, like they did! Suddenly I’m gripped by a vision of Luke and me kneeling before an Italian priest in the dead of night, in some tiny stone chapel. God, that would be romantic. And then somehow Luke would think I was dead, and he’d commit suicide, and so would I, and it would be incredibly tragic, and
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