I rolled my eyes. “And he’s going to grant me three wishes?”
“Exactly. He said to think about what you want. You might not be going for partnership at your recruitment consultancy, but maybe he can help you get a different job.”
“Have you forgotten the price the genie’s asking me to pay? You can’t think that it’s a good idea for me to go to that wedding. I’d rather stab myself through the hand with a rusty knife over and over.”
What was Florence thinking? She didn’t even want to go to the wedding. A wedding was about celebrating two people in love, not watching two people who had lied and betrayed you in the worst way possible start their lives together.
“Of course, going to the wedding would be horrific,” Florence said.
“Well, we both agree on that.”
“But . . .”
What was she thinking with her buts? There were no acceptable buts in this situation. There was no way I was going to that wedding.
“You really want your business back. Your life back. Right?”
“Of course.” I wanted to rewind to back when Matt loved me, and we were happy together. But I didn’t know when that had been. Had he and Karen been sneaking around behind my back while we were in Manchester? Was the reason we’d come to London so they could be together? I took another swig of water.
“If Beck can give you that, then maybe a few days at the wedding would be worth it.”
Had Karen got to her? Had someone convinced Florence that what Karen and Matt had done wasn’t so bad? “Beck can’t rewind time. He can’t stop Matt and Karen getting married.”
“If he can’t undo your past, he might be able to make your future better.”
I couldn’t think about the future. I was still stuck in the fog, trying to figure out which way was up. The two months before the invitations arrived, I’d gone about my business, thinking that ultimately Matt would come back to me. I hadn’t actually thought we were done for good. I hadn’t started planning for life without him.
“I know it would be awful,” Florence continued. “But think of it this way—they sent you that invitation because they were cowards, because they wanted to hurt you. Who knows? But, if you were to go? It’s the last thing they’re expecting. You take some control back. You’d make them feel really uncomfortable.”
“Making them feel uncomfortable isn’t worth making myself miserable.”
“Agreed. But it’s more than making them feel uncomfortable. It’s about putting yourself first for once.” As I went to interrupt her, she continued. “Just hear me out. If, in theory, this guy, Beck, could give you something that would make going to this wedding worth it, then you should do it. Agreed?”
Florence was like a dog with a bone. I didn’t understand why she wouldn’t drop this. “There isn’t anything I could want from Beck. Nothing would be worth going to that wedding for.”
“I’m not sure that’s true,” she said. “He says he’s a property developer, right?”
“Yes,” I said. “He wants to buy some property that Henry Dawnay owns in Mayfair.” I grabbed the latest issue of Elle Decoration from my bedside table. I’d let Florence keep talking—she clearly needed to get this out of her system—but there was no way I was going to that wedding.
“Right. So, I’ve been looking him up. Because, what else is there to do on the bus but research strangers on your phone? I’ve been known to nab shots of people who look interesting when they get on and run them through facial recognition software.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“Nope. Knowing more about someone than they know about me is powerful. Anyway, Google Wilde Developments.”
There was no point arguing. I was just going to have to placate Florence. I pulled my laptop from the end of the bed and did as she asked.
“First, everything he said seems to be true. He’s in real estate and has made a lot of money developing boutique, high-end residential units in central London. Can you see them?”
As I brought up the sleek, image-heavy website, my heart began to flutter as if it were being brought back to life. The projects displayed were breathtaking. Spacious, airy, with incredible views. The finishes used were expensive—Italian marble, Murano glass, and beautiful porcelain tiles. As a designer, I’d love to work with this kind of budget. And I loved the unusual spaces that had been carved out of the old buildings. Modern classic was my personal style, not that anyone would know if they came to my home, despite me being an interior designer. Matt had been very particular with our flat. When I was in the business, my portfolio had been much more traditional because that was what my clients had wanted. The stuff Wilde Developments was doing was much more what I liked to work with. “I wonder who his designer is,” I said, scrolling through the pages. “They have great taste.”
“So do you,” Florence said.
“With a budget like this, there’s a lot I could do.” I missed transforming spaces from shabby and unloved to fresh and exciting. I felt like a fairy godmother, making people’s lives a little better by improving their homes—providing a space they loved they could retreat to when they needed comfort or show-off when they wanted to impress friends. The way I saw it, I was like a doctor or a therapist—I produced medicine for the soul.
“That’s exactly my point. You can ask Beck to give you that opportunity.”
“What? A check so I can redesign my flat? No way—I’m not taking money from a stranger in return for a date.”