Louise Bentley is a feisty, wild, 'let's-go-to-Capri-for-the-weekend-yeah?' kind of girl. She spends her days working at a party-planning company. Oh, and she never wants kids. Ever.
Ben Langford is a studious, quiet, 'I'm-busy-reading' sort of man...
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When Louise was in eighth grade, her teacher had given her a survey to fill out called "What Would You Like to Be?" The border had been illustrated with astronauts and ballerinas, doctors and firemen. Mrs. Gladwell had given each student a red crayon, which fourteen-year-old Louise had found mildly condescending.
"Start with the first question," Mrs. Gladwell had explained. "If you could pick any dream career, what would it be?"
The other students had begun writing immediately, their crayons bobbing madly. Louise had tapped her chin. Sucked on her lip.
She'd leaned over to the desk beside her.
"Ella," she'd whispered. "What are you going to put?"
Ella — who'd already been doodling music notes and a violin — frowned. "You have to come up with your own answer, Lou."
Louise sighed. "Can't you pick for me?"
She shook her head. "Just write something."
It was easy for the other girls. Ella had scribbled down 'singer.' Their other friend, Sophia, had carefully written out 'actress/celebrity.' And their last friend Ophelia had doodled several books and written 'librarian.'
Louise stared at the blank sheet of paper.
Then she wrote down "professional partier."
It had been a joke. At least, that's what Louise said two weeks later, when she was sitting in the principal's office with Ella's mother, who had been acting as her de facto guardian. Mrs. Gladwell had sternly explained that nobody could become a "professional partier" and scolded Louise for not taking the activity seriously. Louise had apologized and promised to clean computer keyboards as punishment.
But truthfully, Louise had meant it.
Partying was the only thing she was good at. She loved the thrill of it, the ritual of doing her make-up and drinking cocktails with friends and someone inevitably changing out of a backless top because "I just can't be arsed with the boob tape." She loved the energy of a crowd. She loved the electric feeling of being in a cab at night, the neon city lights streaking by like watercolour paint, feeling like everything was possible.
Anyway, it turned out that Mrs. Gladwell was wrong because Louise had become a professional partier, in a sense. She worked as an events planner, and that was practically the same. She attended parties for a living.
Even if it was a lot less glamorous than she'd imagined.
Louise tapped away at the keyboard. The screen was full of seven web browsers, each showing the name of a different florist: Hansel and Petal; Bride and Bloom; Flower Puff Girls. She clicked through to the next page, running her teeth over her tongue. Red flowers stared back at her mockingly.
Louise sighed. Stupid, buggering, blood lilies.
This, Louise thought tiredly, was the part of wedding planning they never told you about: the strange requests. Celebrity appearances. An underwater venue. The dog that could hold a paintbrush in its mouth and draw pictures of the guests.
