Duties as maid of honor include but are not exclusive to: being invested in any and all wedding-related matters; a knowledge of princess-cut rings and what is an appropriate amount to spend on them; current trends in the wedding industry, such as which song to walk down the aisle to that is current but not too overdone.
I’m not sure a viral YouTube video exactly counts as a proposal trend, but no offense to Kim, her engagement was definitely not as good a story as vlogger Ethan Maddox and his mystery girlfriend, Charlotte.
Addison saw it online this morning and made us all watch the entire thing after breakfast. She squished herself between me and Kim on the sofa, and I wasn’t sure if she was trying to snuggle into me or if she was just trying to get comfortable.
Kim gave me a look, but I still wasn’t entirely convinced. Maybe she’s just a tactile kind of person, I thought.
I still wonder if I’m reading too much into it now that we’re sat on the balcony, and she’s laughing that honking, loud laugh of hers at something I just said about work, even though it really wasn’t that funny. She reaches over, her fingers brushing against my arm.
“Oh my God,” she says, pretending to wipe a tear away. She grins at me, but there’s something . . . if I’m not wrong, there’s something coy about it. And I swear to God, she flutters her eyelashes. “Where has Kim been hiding you all this time?”
I mumble, blushing.
It’s not as though I’m a useless flirt, but something about Addison feels . . . different.
Charged.
I’m snapped out of it by shouting from somewhere down below.
I get to my feet and lean over the balcony, Addison following suit.
From five stories up it’s hard to see much more than a redhead standing outside the building.
“Look,” Addison points to one side. “Isn’t that the caretaker?”
As if it could be anybody else in that luminous yellow hazmat suit.
“What’s going on?” she wonders aloud, just as some guy a couple of floors below yells down to ask the same thing.
I can’t quite make out the ginger girl’s reply, but then another voice is added to the mix: some brunette hanging off the balcony just above her who shouts, “Oh my God, it’s Dear Charlotte! Dear Charlotte, I’ve been wearing your clothes! You’re famous!”
Loathe as I am to bring up any wedding-related conversation after Kim has finally stopped being a bridezilla and returned to being an actual human, I am left with, quite honestly, no choice.
I cannot, cannot, let this go unnoticed.
“Oh my God,” I say, grabbing Addison’s hand on the balcony and squeezing it tight. “It’s her! It’s Charlotte, from the video!”
“Shut the fuck up,” Addison tells me, leaning farther out, her mouth agape.
I let out a high-pitched squeal before I can stop myself and shriek, “No way! Kim, Luce, get out here, it’s the couple from that video!”
“And bring the rose petals!” Addison barks at them. She wraps her hands around my arm, leaning in close and tucking her chin over my shoulder as the girls hurry out to join us.
Maybe it’s not a good idea to drag Kim into some kind of wedding drama, but if there is one thing I have learned in my time as maid of honor, it’s that nothing is more important than celebrating romance.
And this viral-video-turned-real-life proposal is, quite probably, with no offense to Jeremy and Kim, the most romantic thing any of us will ever witness.
apartment #15 – isla
Chapter Thirty-nine
“Oh my God,” Danny murmurs. “Isla! Isla, are you seeing this?”
He springs up from my favorite rattan chair to lean over the balcony, both hands clapped over his mouth, his eyes shining, utterly enchanted—despite his cynicism that it was all some publicity stunt.
I’m already up and videoing, zooming in and focusing the camera on Maisie’s slightly shorter, slightly chubbier twin, Charlotte. I can’t see their balcony or Ethan from here, but I can hear him calling back to her, “Is it really you?”
It’s London Lane’s own personal rom-com, I think, unfolding right before our eyes.
And as embarrassing as this probably is for Ethan, it is very sweet.
She’s yelling at Mr. Harris when Zach calls down, “What’s going on? What’s the shouting?”
Charlotte asks him politely to shut the hell up, but someone else from an apartment downstairs is shouting down—something about how she’s wearing Charlotte’s clothes—and another girl upstairs calls for people to come and join her.
I see Zach lean far out over the balcony, his body twisted so he’s looking up toward the top of the building. He cups his hands around his mouth to shout, “Shut up! Let them talk!”
And since everybody else is participating, I can’t help myself either. I shove the phone into Danny’s hands, jumping up and down and waving my arms wildly, while Charlotte’s attention is directed up at all of us instead of at her boyfriend.
“Charlotte!” I cry. “Charlotte, it’s me! Hi! Maisie told me you were on your way. I’m recording it all!”
She’s smiling so wide, and her face is flushed, and she’s not even really gotten to talk to Ethan about his weird, awkward, online proposal yet. She looks like she’s on cloud nine.
I glance at Danny, expecting to find him still focused on the scene below, but instead he’s looking at me, beaming, eyes creased around the corners.
And I know, I just know, that in that instant, he’s thinking exactly the same thing as me. Momentarily, he’s oblivious to the scene playing out below us, with only one thing on his mind.
I love you.
There’s more commotion below, though, and we tear our eyes away from each other. Let Charlotte and Ethan have their moment, I think, stealing another glance at Danny. I can tell him later.
apartment #6 – ethan
Chapter Forty
My face is burning, and I’m glad I can’t see anybody else on the other balconies right now. Charlotte’s face is pink and flushed, too, but she’s got this great big, goofy grin on her face and giggles when she looks back at me.
She’s waiting for an answer.
“I forgot what you said,” I admit.
“Did you mean it?” she repeats herself. “All those things you said in your video? Is that really how you feel about me?”
I don’t remember most of what I said in the video, to be quite honest, but I do know I meant every word. So I yell back down to her, “Yes! All of it!”
“Then yes!” she shouts up to me, jumping again.
“Yes what?”
“Yes, I’ll marry you, you moron! I love you!”
“I love you too!” I shout, but I’m not even sure she can hear me over the chorus of cheers and excitable shrieks that erupt from all the other balconies on this side of the building. A cascade of rose petals flutter down from one of the apartments above. A couple of them land in Charlotte’s hair and she giggles at them, blowing a kiss to whoever threw them and then looking at me with a smile so big, so goddamn ecstatic, it melts my heart.
She said yes.
She—said— yes.
Sunday
apartment #14 – imogen