Page 59 of From Notting Hill with Love…Actually (Actually #1)

Vivaldi could be heard filtering from the church as Maddie made the final adjustments to my train and Dad held out his arm to me.

That’s funny, I thought, as we entered the church and began to walk down the aisle. I don’t remember my dress having a train when I was fitted for it.

In fact, I’m sure this wasn’t the dress I’d chosen with Oscar and Ursula for my big day at all. This dress was a very fitted gown in raw ivory silk. I could hardly breathe as I tried to waddle down the aisle with a smile fixed rigidly to my face.

But I couldn’t stop to complain because my father was whisking me toward the altar at such a speed that I could hardly feel my feet on the ground below—was he that desperate to get rid of me?

We arrived in front of the vicar, who looked suspiciously like Rowan Atkinson, and Dad passed my hand quickly to David. At least that part was right.

The vicar rushed through the preliminaries swiftly, and it was soon time for the first hymn. I looked about me for a hymn sheet, but there didn’t seem to be one .

“What are you looking for?” David hissed at me. “Surely you of all people should know the words to this one?”

A band appeared out of nowhere among the congregation and part of me wanted to shout, “Hey, that’s just like in Love Actually !

” But then I remembered I wasn’t counting movie scenes anymore—so I just stood and silently listened as they began to play the first few bars of… no, it couldn’t be, could it?

But it was—and then suddenly up in the pulpit there he was, wearing the biggest pair of feathery white wings I’d ever seen: Robbie Williams, and he was singing “Angels.”

I wanted to rub my eyes—but I daren’t in case my mascara smudged.

Robbie Williams—at my wedding—singing “Angels”?

This couldn’t be happening. I looked around at everyone, but they all seemed completely unmoved by the whole thing, as if Robbie Williams singing at a wedding was just an everyday occurrence.

I decided to ignore them and enjoy it; after all, this was Robbie.

But when “Angels” quickly turned into “Let Me Entertain You,” and then “Rock DJ,” the romantic ambience was soon lost.

Robbie finished singing and disappeared back down into the pulpit as quickly as he’d appeared. I began to applaud loudly but was the only one who did. Embarrassed, I quickly hid my hands behind my bouquet.

What was wrong with these people?

The vicar resumed the service and soon came to the part about anyone having any reasons why David and I shouldn’t get married. I secretly hoped I might hear Sean’s voice floating across the church pews toward me. But sadly I heard nothing, only a deathly silence .

Then there was a polite cough at the back of the church, and all heads swiveled round to look at the offender.

“Does somebody have something to say?” the vicar asked, seeming worried. I looked at him closely—he looked even more like Rowan Atkinson now than he had done at the start of the service.

“Yes, I have a reason,” I heard a familiar voice call from the back of the church.

“Please, stand up,” the vicar requested, squinting into the distance.

I nearly dropped my bouquet when Hugh Grant stood up. What the hell was he doing here?

“You have an objection, sir?” the vicar inquired.

“Yes,” Hugh said in his clipped English voice. “I do.”

Wasn’t I supposed to say that?

“Perhaps you’d like to share it with us?” the vicar asked.

I looked at Hugh in amazement—what on earth was he going to say?

“I suspect the bride is having doubts,” he said. “I suspect that the bride does, in fact, love someone else.”

The congregation’s heads swiveled in unison away from Hugh and back toward me again.

I looked at Father Rowan. “Do you?” he asked me sternly. “Do you love someone else, Scarlett?”

My breathing was quick and shallow, and I could feel my chest rising up and down as I tried desperately to get enough air into my lungs to speak. I turned frantically to David. But David had vanished and in his place, and his morning suit, was Colin Firth .

“Well, do you, Scarlett?” Colin now demanded of me. “Do you love someone more than you love me?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing would come out.

I looked desperately into the congregation for help, but all my family and friends had disappeared now too.

Replacing them on the groom’s side of church were Darth Vader and the cast of Star Wars , and on my side the pews were now filled with Mickey Mouse and his Disneyland friends.

I searched frantically for my father. He would help me; Dad was always there for me when I needed him. But in the place where my father had been standing until a few minutes ago was Harrison Ford dressed as Indiana Jones complete with fedora and whip.

I turned to Colin again. He just stared at me; like everyone else in the church, he was awaiting my answer.

“Yes!” I shouted at the top of my voice. “Yes, I do love someone else! I do…I do…I do!”

I awoke with a start and sat up in bed. Still breathing heavily, I wiped away the sweat that was pouring down my face.

“Scarlett,” my mother said, rushing into the room in her nightdress. “Are you all right?”

My breathing was beginning to calm down now. “Yes…I had a bad dream, that’s all.”

My mother sat down on the side of my bed. “Was it about the wedding? Only you were shouting out ‘I do’ at the top of your voice.”

“Yes, it was about the wedding. Things were…well, they weren’t going too well at the service.” Apart from Robbie being there, of course—of all the dreams I’d had about Robbie Williams, I couldn’t say I ever recalled being in a church with him before .

“That’s quite understandable the night before your wedding. I’m sure most brides have the odd strange dream about their big day.”

Strange? Nightmarish, more like.

“Well,” my mother said, looking at her watch.

“There’s not much point in going back to sleep now, is there?

Not now your big day is here at last.” She jumped up to the window and flung back the curtains.

Sunlight streamed through the glass and down onto my bed.

“And it looks like it’s going to be a beautiful day! ”

I yawned and rubbed my eyes now mascara wasn’t an issue. “After that dream, as long as no more instances of movies where the wedding goes disastrously wrong crop up during the service, I’ll be quite happy, whatever the weather does.”

Mum came over to the bed again. “Weddings don’t always go wrong in the movies, Scarlett.”

“Oh, come on, Mum,” I said, holding up my hand ready to count on my fingers, “there’s loads.

Apart from Four Weddings , there’s The Runaway Bride , The Wedding Planner , Bride Wars , er…

” I tried to think of one from my mother’s era.

“What about The Graduate when Dustin Hoffman runs off with Anne Bancroft’s daughter at the end?

It’s hardly a recipe for success, is it? ”

“Scarlett,” Mum said, taking my hand. “Like you said, they are just movies. This is real life and everything is going to turn out just fine at your wedding. Trust me.”

I sighed and gave her a half-smile. “I suppose just as long as I don’t look like the Bride of Frankenstein when I walk down the aisle later this morning, there is half a chance it could just be a perfect day for love—actually.”