Sophie Kinsella: I've Got Your Number

Deep down inside, I feel a crushing disappointment. Of course he doesn’t love me. He just thinks I shouldn’t marry Magnus. He’s just putting right what he sees as a wrong. That’s a totally different thing. It doesn’t mean he has any feelings for me whatsoever. Let alone—

“All I can say is, she’s the one I think about.” Margaret pauses, and her voice softens as she reads. “All the time. She’s the voice I want to hear. She’s the face I hope to see.”

My throat is full of lumps. I’m swallowing desperately, trying to keep my composure. He’s the one I think about. All the time. He’s the voice I want to hear. When my phone bleeps, I hope it’s him.

“Who is he?” Magnus sounds incredulous.

“Yes, who is he?” pipes up Annalise from beside the altar, and there’s a ripple of laughter around the church.

“He’s just … a guy. I found his phone… .” I trail off helplessly.

I can’t even begin to describe who Sam is and what we’ve been to each other.

Margaret’s phone bleeps again, and the hubbub dies down to an expectant hush. “It’s from him,” she says.

“What does he say?” I can hardly trust my voice.

The church is so silent and still, I can almost hear my own heart beating.

“It says, And I’ll be standing outside the church. Warn her. ”

He’s here.

I don’t even realize I’m running until one of the sidesmen backs out of my way, looking alarmed. The heavy church door is closed, and it takes about five tugs before I manage to wrench it open. I burst out and stand on the step, panting hard, looking up and down the pavement, searching for his face …

There he is. On the other side of the road. He’s standing in the doorway of a Starbucks, in jeans and a dark-blue shirt. As he meets my gaze, his eyes crinkle, but he doesn’t smile. He keeps looking at my hands. His eyes have a huge question burning in them.

Doesn’t he know? Can’t he tell the answer?

“Is that him?” breathes Annalise beside me. “Dreamy. Can I have Magnus?”

“Annalise, give me my phone,” I say, without taking my eyes off Sam.

“Here you go.” A moment later the iPhone is in my hand, lit up and ready to go, and I’m sending him a text.

Hi.

He texts something back, and a moment later it arrives.

Nice outfit.

Involuntarily, I glance down at my wedding dress.

This old thing.

There’s a long silence—and then I see Sam typing a new message. His head is bowed and he doesn’t look up, even when he’s finished, even when the text arrives in my phone.

So are you married?

I carefully line up my phone and take a picture of my bare left finger.

Sam Mobile.

Send.

A crowd of wedding guests is jostling behind me to see, but I don’t move my head an inch. My eyes are glued on Sam, so that I see the reaction on his face as the text arrives. I see his brow relax; I see his face expand into the most brilliant, joyous smile. And finally he looks up at me.

I could go to bed in that smile.

Now he’s texting again.

Want a cup of coffee?

“Poppy.” A voice in my ear interrupts me, and I turn to see Wanda peering anxiously at me from under her hat, which looks like a massive dead moth. “Poppy, I’m sorry. I acted dishonorably and selfishly.”

“What do you mean?” I say, momentarily confused.

“The second ring. I told Magnus … At least, I suggested that he might—” Wanda breaks off, wincing.

“I know. You told Magnus to pretend he’d chosen the ring for me especially, didn’t you?” I touch her arm. “Wanda, I appreciate it. But you’d better have this one back too.” I pull the twisty gold ring off my right hand and give it to her.

“I would have loved you to join our family,” she says wistfully. “But that shouldn’t have clouded my judgment. It was wrong of me.” Her gaze drifts across the road to Sam. “He’s the one, isn’t he?”

I nod, and her face softens like a crumpled rose petal being released.

“Go on, then. Go.”

And without waiting a beat longer, I walk down the steps, across the road, dodging the cars, ignoring the hooting horns, tearing off my veil, until I’m a foot away from Sam. For a moment we just stand there, facing each other, breathing hard.

“So you’ve been sending a few texts,” I say at last.

“A couple.” Sam nods.

“Interesting.” I nod back. “Did Lucinda help out?”

“She turned out to be pretty keen to derail the wedding,” Sam says, looking amused.

“But I don’t understand. How did you even find her?”

“She has a pretty fancy website.” Sam smiles wryly. “I called her mobile and she was only too eager to help. In fact, she sent the text for me. Didn’t you know that you have some state-of-the-art automatic mechanism to contact all the guests?”

Lucinda’s text-alert system. It finally came in useful.

I shift my bouquet to the other hand. I never realized how heavy flowers were.

“That’s a pretty fancy outfit for Starbucks.” Sam is eyeing me up and down.

“I always wear a wedding dress for coffee dates. I think it adds a nice touch, don’t you?”

I glance back at the church and can’t help giggling. The entire congregation seems to have spilled out of the church and is standing on the pavement like an audience.

“What are they waiting to see?” Sam follows my gaze, and I shrug.

“Who knows? You could always do a dance. Or tell a joke. Or … kiss the bride?”

“Not the bride.” He wraps his arms around me and gradually pulls me close. Our noses are practically touching. I can see right into his eyes. I can feel the warmth of his skin. “You.”

“Me.”

“The girl who stole my phone.” His lips brush against the corner of my mouth. “The thief.”

“It was in a bin. ”

“Still stealing.”

“No, it isn’t—” I begin, but now his mouth is firmly on mine and I can’t speak at all.

And suddenly life is good.

I know that things are still uncertain; I know that reality hasn’t gone away. There’ll be explanations and recriminations and messiness. But right now I’m entwined with a man I think I might love. And I haven’t married the man I know I don’t love. And from where I’m looking, that’s pretty good going, for now.

At last we draw away from each other, and across the road I can hear Annalise whooping in appreciation. Which is pretty tacky of her, but that’s just Annalise.

“I brought you some reading matter, by the way,” Sam says. “In case there was a dull moment.”

He reaches inside his jacket and produces a bundle of coffee-stained A4 papers. And as I see them, there’s a thickening in my chest. He kept them. Even after we parted so badly. He kept our texts.

“Any good?” I manage a nonchalant tone.

“Not bad.” He flips through them, then lifts his head. “Looking forward to the sequel.”

“Really?” And now the way he’s looking at me is making me tingle all over. “So, do you know what happens next?”

“Oh … I have a fair idea.” He trails his fingers down my neck, and I feel an instant bolt of lust. I am totally ready for my honeymoon night. 109I don’t need the champagne or the canapés or the three-course dinner or the first dance. Or even the last dance.

But, on the other hand, there’s the small matter of two hundred people standing across the street, watching me, as though waiting for instructions. Some of them have traveled for miles. I can’t bail out on them.

“So … we’ve got this party,” I say tentatively to Sam. “It’s, like, all my friends and family, all at once, in a really intimidating bunch, plus all the friends and family of the guy I was supposed to marry today. And sugared almonds. You want to come?”