Love Connection (A Feel Good Romantic Comedy) Read online

  I look around the deserted bus stop to see if I can find a taxi station. Jake’s getting married in some sort of fancy castle in the area, and I need someone to take me there. Yountville looks like a cross between an Old West outpost, a French country town, and a Disney park—thanks to a garden of stone mushrooms on the side of the main road. Maybe tapping one would turn them into the cutesy trolls from Frozen.

  Mushroom trolls aside, the town looks desolate. No cars zooming on the street, no passersby, no one. The only open place seems to be a red brick building with an ivy covered wall that looks like a shopping mall. I head there to ask for some information and enter a chocolate shop with the cutest truffles you’ll ever see on display. A nice looking girl is standing behind the counter leafing through a magazine. She looks up as a bell above the door chimes, announcing my arrival.

  “Hello. How may I help you today? Are you looking for a present?”

  “Err, no. Actually, I was wondering where I could find a cab.”

  “Oh.”

  Another oh. I don’t like ohs.

  “You won’t be lucky today,” she says. “It’s wedding season, and all the taxis are working as shuttle services, booked way in advance. You’ll hardly find one passing by.”

  “But how do people get to weddings if they don’t have a car?”

  “Ah, well. Usually, transportation’s arranged by the bride and groom. Are you going to a wedding?”

  “Yes, at the Castello di Amorosa.”

  “What hotel are you staying in?”

  “I’m not exactly staying in a hotel. I just arrived.”

  She gives me a puzzled look.

  “I wasn’t supposed to come,” I explain. “I changed my mind at the last minute, but I need to get there quickly. The wedding starts in one hour.”

  “You’re going dressed like that?” she asks even more suspiciously, narrowing her eyes at me.

  I stare down at my crumpled blouse, jeans, and traveling flats. “Yes. I’m going dressed like this because, guess what, I’m not a guest. Okay? I’m not even invited if you really must know.” All the stress, the fatigue of the past twenty-four hours, is finally bubbling out. The shaken beer can has been opened. “But I need to get to that wedding before it starts. And I need to get there fast as it’s my intention to steal the groom before he gets married. So if you could please tell me if there are any means of transportation I could use to get there, I’d be eternally in your debt.”

  The girl claps her hands and squeals, “You should’ve told me that in the first place. Nothing this exciting has ever happened to me.” I refrain from pointing out that nothing’s really happening to her and let her babble on. “You’re going to be the talk of the town. Stealing the groom, like in the movies. This is so romantic!”

  “So, can you help me?”

  “Of course. I’m Jody, nice to meet you.”

  “Gemma.” I shake her hand.

  “Let me call my brother. He has to go there to deliver some hay; there’s a pretty farm near the castle. I’ll see if he can give you a ride.”

  ***

  “Are you all right back there?” Jody’s brother, Mike, shouts from the cab of his tractor half an hour later.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” I shout back. At least as fine as I’ll ever be riding on the back of a noisy tractor, perched on a stack of hay bales. It turns out Jody’s brother drives a one-seater tractor.

  If this was a chick flick, I’d be thoroughly enjoying watching the adventures of the female lead as she struggles to reach her one true love. But I’ve never been more aware of how much TV can make anything appear cool, when it’s not. Like riding on the back of a tractor. And this not being a movie, I’m not even sure it won’t all have been for nothing.

  As the castle gets closer, I worry less about if I’m going to get there in time, and more about what Jake’s reaction will be. Does he still love me? What will he say? Will we look into each other’s eyes and run away into the sunset, holding hands? I hope he’ll look me only in the eyes, as the rest of my body can’t be much to look at right now. I probably smell too, and the hayride isn’t helping.

  The tractor stops. “All right,” Mike shouts, killing the engine. “We’re here. I can’t go up the hill with this, but there’s the parking lot, and the entrance is just behind it.”

  I hop off.

  “You need help with the bag?” Mike asks.

  “No, I’m fine, thank you,” I say, pulling my trolley bag off the hay. “Thanks again! You saved my life.”

  “Good luck,” Mike yells, before restarting the tractor and blowing a dark cloud of exhaust on me. Just about all the freshening up I need.

  I check the time on my phone; it’s already past six. The ceremony must be underway. There goes my plan of a discreet talk before everything started. I guess it’ll be “burst inside and yell in the middle of the ceremony” instead. I hurry up the hill, dragging my hand language behind me, and reach the castle’s entrance.

  There’s a guy guarding the door.

  “I’m sorry, madam, we’re closed for a private event today.”

  “Yes, I’m here for the wedding,” I say nonchalantly.

  The guy eyes me suspiciously. “You have an invitation?”

  “Sure,” I lie, and open my trolley to pretend to look for it inside. “I can’t seem to find it right now… I’m already late. Is there any chance you could let me pass? The ceremony must’ve started by now.”

  “I’m sorry, madam, I need to see an invitation before I can let you through.”

  “Sure, I’ll find it. I’m sure it’s here somewhere.” I try to appear calm and unconcerned, but inside I’m panicking. What if this guy doesn’t let me in? Will I be on the other side of the wall while Jake says, “I do”? How pathetic would that be? No, it can’t happen. I came here from the other side of the world; I won’t have this stupid, sorry excuse for a bouncer keep me out. I need a distraction; just a few seconds to have him drop his guard so I can slip through the door.

  I’m still rummaging inside my luggage when an idea hits me. I position the trolley bag so that the wheels are facing downhill and push it. The bag rolls down the slope, sprawling some of my clothes along the way. I yell in surprise and bouncer guy instinctively runs after the rolling bag. As soon as he turns his back, I duck inside the castle.

  I run down a random corridor, having no idea where I’m going or where the ceremony’s being held. Someone shouts behind me, but I don’t turn around. I keep running through a pair of wooden doors, under an arcade, and through another door, until I find myself in a square courtyard crowded with many elegantly-laid round tables. They must be for the wedding reception. I’m getting closer, but where is the ceremony?

  “You stop right there, miss,” bouncer guy yells from under the arcade. He’s running toward me at a menacingly fast pace.

  A bunch of closed doors overlooks the courtyard. I slalom through the tables and launch myself at the door straight ahead of me, bursting inside just as bouncer guy catches up with me. I’ve made it into a frescoed room full of people.

  Someone’s speaking.

  “Should anyone here present know of any reason why this couple should not be joined in matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace…”

  I made it. I’m in.

  “Gotcha.” Bouncer guy grabs my elbow forcefully.

  “STOP!” I yell. “You have to stop! Let me go. Let me go.”

  Bouncer guy has grabbed me from behind, lifting me from the floor, and he’s carrying me outside while I’m kicking my legs furiously in the air. “Stop!” I scream again. “You have to stop. I speak! I want to speak now! STOP!”

  “Gemma?”

  The groom turns toward me and the entire room falls silent. I freeze, one leg kicked out in midair. If ever someone could master the make-you-feel-like-the-only-person-in-the-room stare, Jake was your man. Suddenly, I don’t seem able to talk anymore.

  Four


  Not Holding Peace

  ♦♦♦

  Saturday, June 10—Chicago Area

  “Should anyone here present know of any reason why this couple should not be joined in matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace…”

  “STOP!” I yell at the top of my lungs as I run up the aisle. “I need to speak. Stop. You have to stop.” I’m drenched in sweat and panting.

  “Gemma?” The groom turns toward me, and the entire room falls silent. I freeze in the middle of the aisle and suddenly I don’t seem able to talk anymore. Because I want to kill the bastard! I don’t trust myself with getting any closer to him.

  “Gemma?” Amelia blinks, perplexed. She’s resplendent in her white gown. My heart breaks for her. “You made it! What happened to you? I got your text saying you were coming, but you disappeared. You should’ve landed hours ago. What happened?”

  “Long story.” I try to catch my breath. “Expired driving license, maxed credit card, public transportation, traffic, chicken trucks…”

  The journey here was a nightmare. The resort where Amelia’s getting married is lost in the country in the middle of nowhere. I’d tried to rent a car to come here, but it turned out my license had expired and my credit card maxed out. I didn’t have enough cash on me for a cab all the way from Chicago, and once I got to the closest town by bus, there were no cabs. So the only passage I found was in a truck transporting chickens. I’m sure I still have feathers on me.

  “Are you okay?” Amelia asks.

  “Mostly…”

  “Err-hem.” The minister clears his throat in the background. “If you don’t mind, miss, we’re in the middle of a ceremony here.”

  “Right.” Amelia seems to realize for the first time that I’ve just interrupted her wedding. “Why don’t you take a seat and we can talk later?”

  “Actually,” I mumble, twisting my fingers, “I need to talk to you right now.”

  “Can’t it wait until later? I’m kind of in the middle of something here,” Amelia says, annoyed now.

  “Don’t you think I know? I need to talk to you before you go through with the something. It’s important.”

  “Okay then, say what you’ve come to say so we can get a move on.”

  “It’d be better if you could step aside for a second and talk to me in private.”

  “Gemma, I love you. But I’m getting married, right now. I’m not stepping aside for a girl talk.”

  Mr. Taylor, Amelia’s father, grabs my elbow and drags me gently to the side. “Come on, dear, this can wait until later.”

  “Let me go,” I protest. “Let me go! Amelia, I need to talk to you, seriously, please. Give me five minutes.”

  “Gemma, I know you have a taste for drama, but today is not the day. We will talk after I get married.”

  “Nooooo!” I scream as Mr. Taylor revives his efforts to drag me away. “You can’t marry him, you just can’t.”

  “Have you gone mad?” Amelia screeches. “Why have you decided to ruin this day for me? First, you say you’re going to be my maid of honor, then you dump me to run after your ex-boyfriend, then you change your mind again, get here half an hour late, and try to stop the wedding. Why? Why?”

  “I really think we should talk about it in private.”

  “If you have something to say, just say it, for goodness’ sake.”

  Amelia’s dad chimes in. “Young lady, I’ve known you your entire life and I’ve never been more disappointed in you.”

  “Mr. Taylor, I’m sorry, but I assure you I have a very good reason. Amelia, please. I have something serious I need to tell you, but it’s better for you if I don’t say it in front of everyone. Trust me on this.”

  “I’ve had enough,” she snaps. “Dad, can you please take her outside? I’ll talk to her later.” She turns to talk to the minister. “You can go on.”

  “Hem, technically…”

  “What?” Amelia spits.

  “The ritual imposes that when a claim is made, I am to listen to it.”

  “It’s nothing serious, I can assure you,” Amelia says caustically, shooting me a furious look. “My friend’s jetlagged. We can move forward.” Amelia turns to her brother. “Malcolm, get her out of here.”

  Amelia’s brother joins their dad and grabs me from behind, lifting me off the floor. I try to resist, but I can only kick my legs uselessly in the air while he drags me outside.

  “Stop, let me go. Even the minister says I should talk. Amelia, please listen to me. You can’t marry him. You can’t. Let me go!”

  As we near the exit door, I panic. They’re going to drag me out in five seconds, and Amelia’s going to marry that bastard. I can’t let it happen. So I blurt my secret out in the worst possible way.

  “He’s a cheating, lying bastard!” I scream.

  There’s a general intake of breath from the guests, and Amelia’s brother drops me to the ground. I shake him off with some indignation and walk back up the aisle.

  “Why are you doing this to me?” Amelia asks, close to tears.

  “Because it’s true.” I’m about to cry myself. “Her name’s Esther, she lives in New York, and she works as a flight attendant. He’s been having an affair with her for a year, and he called it off two weeks ago because he didn’t have the guts to leave you even though he’s in love with her. He’s been living two lives since he got that teaching job at Columbia. One with you in London and one with her in New York.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Amelia hisses.

  “If you don’t believe me, ask him,” I say quietly.

  All heads turn toward William. He looks like a corpse. Ghastly skin, bluish bags under his eyes, and hollow cheeks. He doesn’t look like someone who’s getting married but more like someone who’s walking down death row.

  “Tell me it’s not true,” Amelia squeals. “Tell me.”

  William stares at her, petrified.

  “William?”

  He finally breaks.

  “I’m sorry…”

  “Sorry? You’re sorry?”

  “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

  “Tell me? Tell me what, exactly? That you don’t love me? That you’re in love with someone else? That you cheated on me for a year?”

  “I-I’m sorry…”

  “No. NO. You don’t get to be sorry, you bastard.”

  That’s when she goes Carrie-Bradshaw-after-Mr.-Big-leaves-her-at-the-altar crazy and hits William on the head with her bouquet. “You humiliated me,” blow. “You cheating,” blow. “Lying,” blow. “Loser,” blow. “I hate you,” blow.

  Petals fly everywhere. When there’s nothing left of the bouquet, Amelia throws it away and stares at the room, disoriented. She catches my gaze and something switches on her face. She runs toward me and I’m afraid I’m going to be next on her hit list, but instead she grabs my hand and pleads, “Get me out of here. Get me out of here as quick as you can.”

  Hand-in-hand, we run out the door, down the long, carpeted hallway, and burst onto the grassy lawn.

  “I don’t have a car,” I say.

  “How did you get here?”

  “On a truck full of chickens. Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

  A whistle resounds behind us, and we turn to see Amelia’s brother running after us.

  “Dad says to take his car.” He throws the keys at me and gathers Amelia in a bone-crushing hug. “Call us when you’re a little calmer—promise?”

  “I promise,” Amelia says. “But now I just want to get the hell out of here.”

  I follow her panicked gaze to the chapel’s entrance door where the first guests are streaming outside. I catch a glimpse of my trolley lying against the wall.

  “My bag,” I say to Malcolm. “I need my bag.”

  “I’ll get it. You get the car around.” He hugs me and whispers in my ear, “Thank you, and sorry. We owe you.”

  I wave him away, em
barrassed and close to tears again, and follow Amelia to the car. Malcolm puts my bag in the trunk and bangs his hand on it twice to signal we can go. I push my foot on the accelerator, sending grit flying under the tires as I steal the bride away.

  I look at her. She’s staring out of the window and I can’t see her face.

  “I’m sorry I had to tell you this way.”

  “I can’t talk about it. Not yet.” Her voice is broken, as is my heart for her.

  “Where do you want me to take you?”

  “Away. As far away as possible.”

  “Okay.”

  I’m not sure what she means, but I’m okay with driving the car until we have a better idea of where we’re going. That is until I remember my driving license has expired. I hit the brakes. We’re on a road in the middle of a crop field. There’s no police here, but once we get to the main road, I can’t risk being arrested.

  “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to drive. My driving license’s expired.”

  “Of course you’d come to steal the bride with an expired license.”

  Amelia shakes her head amused, steps out of the car, and becomes immediately serious again as she looks down at herself in her wedding gown, which becomes the next victim of her blind rage. She tears, trashes, and screams. This time, instead of petals there’s crinoline and tulle flying everywhere. When she’s accomplished the look of a zombie bride from Dawn of the Dead, she starts pulling at the dress like a mad woman.

  “Help me. Get it off me. I need it off me.”

  I run toward her and start undoing all the tiny hooks and buttons on the back.

  “It’s taking too long. I can’t breathe.”

  “This dress has a thousand buttons.”

  “I don’t care about the buttons—tear it off. Get me out of it.”

  I rip the fabric apart with some satisfaction and help her slip out of the zombie dress.

  She takes a couple of calming breaths before saying, “Clothes. I need clothes.” She’s wearing only her bridal lingerie. Thank goodness we’re in the middle of nowhere. “My honeymoon bag should be in the trunk with yours. I slept at my parents’ yesterday.”