The Chocolate Lovers' Diet (37 page)

‘You don’t catch a cold from chocolate,’ I remind him. ‘In fact, it’s a well-known cure for the common cold.’ With
the amount I’ve eaten today, I probably won’t catch a cold for another five years or more.

‘Is that right?’ There’s a hunger in his expression that I can’t wait to sate. ‘Maybe we ought to err on the side of caution. Just in case.’

He starts with my tiara, taking it from my head and placing it carefully on the dressing-table. Then he sets to work on my veil, carefully teasing out all of the clips and pins which Darren the hairdresser has rammed into my head to hold it there. I think it would have been quicker to spot-weld it in place. Either way, this thing wasn’t going to move, even in a force nine gale. Darren clearly imagined that all of my troubles today would be weather-related. Crush is unphased by my hairdresser’s over-engineering. He meticulously and tenderly unpins me as if he has all the time in the world. I know this sounds a bit sad, but I’m getting turned on already. Just as I’m about ready to risk losing parts of my scalp and rip the thing off my head, Crush takes out the last pin. He carefully lays the veil over a conveniently-placed chair. I wonder if he’s had much experience of undressing brides as he’s making an expert job of it.

‘I could do this myself,’ I tell him, meaning, ‘I’m in a bit of a rush to jump your bones, so get a move on!’

‘I’ve waited a long time to do this, Gorgeous. I’m going to enjoy it.’ He takes the pins out of my hair too, until it’s free once more. Then I do that porn-Librarian move and shake it loose. I never really bought into that cheesy old stereotype thing, but believe me, it feels very horny. Aiden smiles his appreciation. ‘You are one sexy lady, Lucy Lombard.’

Then Crush moves behind me. He covers the back of my neck and shoulders with hot kisses, slipping the straps from my gown – my gown that looks as if Jackson Pollock has had a chocolate frenzy on the front. Maybe if I was an artist I could use it as a statement about the consumerism associated with the modern wedding – something like that. Instead, I’m a woman in love and I can’t wait to get the damn thing off me.

There are hundreds of tiny buttons all down the back and, I kid you not, he takes about ten minutes to undo each one as he kisses and nibbles every part of my back as it is bared. I’ve gone past the point of being aroused and am now in a state of complete torture. I want to grab him, throw him to the bed and have my wicked way with him. I’ve no idea how he’s showing such restraint.

When Mr Aiden Holby finally lets my dress fall to the floor, at this point I’m really glad that I invested in some knockout underwear. His hands skim over my basque, my suspenders, my stockings. Now we’re both breathing heavily, but slowly he unhooks my stockings. I slip off my shoes and inch by inch, he rolls the silky fabric down my legs, stroking them as he does so. When he unhooks my basque and I’m finally standing naked before him, I don’t feel in the slightest bit shy. I feel empowered, wanton and more than a little hot.

My new love drinks me in. ‘You’re so beautiful,’ Crush says.

This is the point where, usually, someone would crash through the door with bad news, or the ceiling would fall in or I’d trip over an inopportunely placed pouffe, breaking
a limb, or a water main in the hotel would burst and a million gallons of water would come pouring down on my head. But I realise that my luck has changed as nothing happens. I take a deep breath. Nothing whatsoever. And I know that all is going to be well from now on.

I wiggle my eyebrows at Crush. ‘Now it’s your turn.’

And I’d really like to say that I go for the slow burn too, but I don’t. I throw myself onto Aiden who starts to kick off his shoes and tug at his socks all at once – which I’m pleased about because you don’t want the first image of your lover to be him standing there in nothing but his shoes and socks. While he does that, he tries to shrug out of his jacket at the same time. I tear at the buttons of his shirt and yank at the buckle of his belt. My disrobing of him might not be as seductive, but it sure is fun.

My boyfriend would make a great quick-change artist as, within seconds, he’s naked with a pile of crumpled clothes at his feet. I might not be a great judge of people, but taking in the picture before me, I’d certainly say that Crush is as ready for this as I am.

He lifts me into his arms again and, both of us giggling like loons, spins me round wildly until I’m shrieking for mercy. Then he makes a dive for the bed and we crash-land all tangled together. Crush pins my arms above my head, just as he did that day on the forest floor at the paint-balling extravaganza, the day that I started to wonder how I was going to live without him.

‘I love you, Gorgeous,’ he says.

I don’t think of my wedding that never was, of the pain of Marcus jilting me, nor that my parents are getting down
to it right now in the room that I should have been sharing with my husband as I started out on my married life. I think of none of that. I bask in the here and now, looking up at the wonderful man above me, and know what it is to feel true happiness. Instead of trying to express all that, I simply smile and say, ‘I love you too.’

Chapter Eighty-Seven

S
o. Life is back to normal. We’re all gathered in Chocolate Heaven. We’ve bagged our favourite spot on the comfy sofas and have dug in for the afternoon. We have plates of chocolate brownies and chocolate chip cookies – already half-devoured – in front of us. I have some of Clive’s extra-special single Madagascar truffles working their magic. There are blissed-out smiles on all of our faces. I’m exhausted by all the excitement I’ve been through in the last few days, but I do feel – at last! – as if I’ve stepped off the emotional rollercoaster and am once more cruising aimlessly down life’s highway. I put my feet up on the coffee-table and lay back my head. This is what it all should be about.

The only person that’s struggling in here is Clive. Tristan has officially departed with Raunchy Roberta, the drag queen – sorry, female impersonator – and our dear friend is having to manage Chocolate Heaven alone. The queue at the counter is getting steadily longer and Clive has a harassed flush to his cheeks. He’s managed to fix himself up with a date with Darren the hairdresser tonight – as they were both checking out of Trington Manor, they
were checking out each other too. So it seems my skill as a matchmaker wasn’t required after all. I was worried that it might take Clive a long time to get over Tristan, but perhaps this
is
a long time in the gay world. I don’t know. But I do hope that he manages to shut up shop in time.

Things are going well for me too. Crush has just texted me to say that he loves me, leaving me with a silly grin on my face. I haven’t seen my best girls for just a few days but, already, we’ve got heaps of stuff to catch up on. Aiden’s moving in tomorrow – the prospect of having a new roommate is filling me with nothing but joy and excitement. Frankly, I can hardly contain myself. I’m going to take home one of Clive’s sublime chocolate tortes to mark the occasion. Though whether it will last in the fridge overnight is a moot point. We might have to celebrate early.

‘I brought your ring back, Lucy,’ Autumn says. ‘Addison and I are going to pick up mine this afternoon. Thank you so much for the loan of it.’ No doubt Autumn has chosen something more ethnic, made by someone in the ‘developing world’ with a material that’s easy to recycle. But I don’t care what her engagement ring looks like, so long as she’s happy. And, patently, she is.

I take back the huge rock that until so recently graced my finger. ‘What am I going to do with this now?’

‘Bank it,’ Chantal says. ‘One day you might need the money and you can sell it.’

‘I couldn’t do that.’

‘Believe me, honey, one day it will cease to have any
sentimental value and it will be just an asset that you can dispose of if you want to. Marcus isn’t likely to want it back.’

She’s probably right; he’s hardly going to pass it onto the next person he decides to get engaged to. I slip it into my handbag and think that I’ll figure out what to do with it later.

‘Have you set a date for the wedding yet?’ Nadia wants to know.

Autumn shakes her head. ‘We don’t seem to have had a minute to discuss things. But one thing’s for certain – it’s going to be a very quiet affair.’

‘Hear, hear to that,’ I chip in.

‘To quiet weddings,’ Nadia says, and we all raise our mugs of hot chocolate in a toast.

Then I pull Nadia to me. ‘You and Lewis both got through the wedding day brilliantly,’ I tell her. ‘I’m so proud of you.’

‘You did a good job yourself, kid,’ she says.

‘I did,’ I agree with a small flush of pride. ‘It was certainly a wedding to remember.’

‘I have a lot to thank Lucy for,’ Chantal says. ‘Ted and I decided to try to make a go of things. I’m giving up my apartment and I’m moving home again.’

‘This is after Ted punched out Jacob’s lights?’ I query.

Chantal acknowledges it with a rueful smile.

‘Well, I’m pleased to hear that some good came of it.’

‘None of us wanted you to marry Marcus,’ Nadia says. ‘You’re better off without him.’

‘I know.’ I nod sagely. ‘You all tried to warn me.’

‘Any more news from the fall-out after your non-wedding?’ Chantal asks.

‘My mother’s moving back in with Dad,’ I say with a sigh. ‘She’s gone back to Spain to bring all her stuff over.’ That should tie up an entire fleet of removal lorries for the foreseeable future.

‘You don’t sound too pleased.’

‘I can’t see it lasting and then we’ll have to go through the upset of them splitting up all over again.’ I’m actually very worried about the possibility of my mother ending up on my couch. She’s not the easiest of people to live with and my dad seems to have forgotten all that in the heady rush brought on by a few cheesy songs and a few glasses of champagne too many. Let’s see how long their rediscovered love lasts when my mother is back in the cold, windswept fields of Blighty on my dad’s unnecessarily tight budget. He might have plenty of cash but he doesn’t like to splash it about – particularly where my mother’s concerned. Another reason why they split up in the first place. I can see that flush of love fading quicker than her tan when she’s not lounging by the pool at her eight-bedroom villa in the year-round Spanish sun with a limitless charge account and a doting Millionaire to cater for her every whim. Hmm.

And I hope they don’t decide to have another wedding as I just don’t think I could stand the strain. With a bit of luck they’ll slink away to a desert island together and all I’ll have to do is send a card. From now on, I’m going to be permanently traumatised every time I hear the ‘Wedding March’.

‘The Millionaire doesn’t seem to be unduly concerned about my mother’s departure,’ I tell my friends. ‘Neither he nor Marcus’s mother have been seen since the reception.’ I wonder if Marcus’s mum got fed up with trying to convince Clive that he wasn’t gay and set her sights on the balding playboy instead. Maybe they’ve flown off somewhere wonderful in his private jet to start a new life together.

They all laugh. ‘It’s not funny!’

‘I wonder how Marcus’s dad is taking it?’ Autumn worries about everyone. Frankly, I think Dave the Groper had it coming to him. Last I saw of him, he was still wrapped round The Hairdresser. Perhaps his lust will wane when he discovers she’s incapable of having a conversation that doesn’t involve straightening irons or volumising shampoo.

‘You haven’t heard from Marcus?’ Nadia asks.

‘No.’ I shake my head sadly. ‘It seems strange not to have heard anything at all from him. I don’t know where he is or who he’s with. I was going to give him a call, just to make sure he’s okay . . .’

‘Lucy!’ they all chorus.

‘But I didn’t!’ I hold up my hands. ‘I didn’t. Okay?’ But it’s hard to get my last image of Marcus walking away all alone out of my head. I know my friends would kill me if I even mentioned it . . . and who could blame them?

Then the door opens and we all watch as Tristan walks in. Despite the fact that Clive has a great long queue, his former boyfriend goes straight to the front and announces, ‘I’ve come to collect my things.’

‘Fine,’ Clive says tightly over the heads of his customers. ‘Don’t let me stop you.’

Tristan looks tired and pale, his normal ebullience missing. I wonder if it’s Raunchy Roberta who’s responsible for the downturn in his appearance. That’s got to be a whole lot of man/woman to handle. ‘I don’t have to go,’ Tristan says.

‘Is that your way of saying you made a mistake by running off with that . . . that . . .
gorilla
?’ Clive’s goatee is trembling with rage and his customers have stepped away from the counter, jaws falling open. He doesn’t wait for Tristan’s answer. ‘Don’t do me any favours. Go on, get out. Pack your bags and get out.’

Clive reaches for a cappuccino fairy cake and hurls it, missile-like, over the counter. His customers duck for cover. Even the members of The Chocolate Lovers’ Club who, after my non-wedding, are more used to these displays, stop with their own chocolate cakes halfway to their mouths. Tristan covers his head with his hands as the fairy cake bounces off his brow. You can never fault the lightness of Clive’s sponge.

‘Ohmigod,’ I say.

‘I’ve learned all that I need to know about unfaithful men from Lucy,’ Clive shouts.

Gee, I think. Glad to be of service.

‘I am
so
not going there.’

I’m out of my seat. ‘I have to stop this before Clive ruins his business,’ I mutter to the girls.

When I get to the counter, I put myself between Tristan and the fairy-cake grenades. ‘Now, boys,’ I say like a strict
schoolteacher. ‘Perhaps you should go upstairs to the flat and continue this discussion in private.’

I walk Tris to the end of the counter, still providing a human shield, and then I pick up an apron. ‘Clive, I’ll take over here for the time being. Go and sort this out once and for all.’

Clive, now cowed, obeys. Digging out a scrunchy from my pocket, I pull back my hair with it. I tie on the apron and give my hands a good wash. The boys disappear towards the staircase that leads to their first-floor apartment, giving each other a wide berth.