Wedding Belles Read Online Free

smushville. I have to skedaddle. I’ve got an urgent band meeting that plain slipped my mind before. Tell Clover —”
    “Tell Clover what?” Clover asks, appearing beside us. She’s been parking the car. She slips her arm into his. “Not thinking of running off on me, were you, babes?” She kisses him firmly on the lips. When she pulls away, Brains is beaming at her like she’s a Disney princess. From the very first day they met over a broken printer — he was the computer guy at the
Goss
magazine before his band, the Golden Lions, took off — he’s been crazy about Clover.
    “No way, José, girlfriend,” he says. “You want me, you got me. Even in this spooky pink palace.”
    She pats his arm. “Good-o, spiffing, and all that, what?” she says, like a posh actor from a Second World War movie. “I have plans for you, Sir Lancelot. I need you to be Dave for the day. We need to get his groom’s outfit settled. But first, the VIP reception. This a-way. Tally-ho.” Saffy — Clover’s editor on the
Goss
— has asked Clover to cover this VIP bash for a friend of hers who edits a magazine called
Irish Bride
.
    Clover pulls Brains toward a smaller doorway to the left of the main entrance. It’s also framed by an arch of balloons, white and silver ones this time. I catch up with them and throw Brains a sympathetic look. He just shrugs and smiles. He’d do anything for Clover.
    “Do keep up, Beanie, old girl,” Clover says. “The nibbles will be all wolfed down by starving wedding-dress models unless we hurry. I think most of them exist on canapés, and olives from vodka martinis.”
    As we make our way into a big hallway with a marble floor like a checkerboard, a girl not much older than Clover, wearing a very short black skirt and ultra-high high heels, waves a clipboard in our faces.
    “I’m afraid this is a private function,” she trills, giving Clover the once-over. Clover’s wearing silver shorts, red tights, and black biker boots. She looks amazing, as always, but this girl clearly doesn’t think she is dressed well enough for a high-class journalists’ do. She isn’t impressed by my outfit either. Her eyes dismiss my jeans and black-and-white stripy sweater in a second. But they linger over Brains’s Afro and black-rimmed geek glasses. He may have an unusual style, but he’s very handsome.
    She turns back to Clover and physically winces as if she has only just caught sight of the pink stripe in Clover’s white-blond hair. This girl is really rude! Clover doesn’t seem in the least bit bothered, though. She shimmies around her so she can read the clipboard and then points at the top of the list. “We’re right there — ‘Clover Wildgust and guests,
Irish Bride
.’”
    “
Irish Bride
? You seriously expect me to believe you’re from
Irish Bride
? Where are your invitations, then?”
    “In one of my editor’s many handbags,” Clover explains. “She couldn’t find them, but she rang your office to change the name on the invite list. I didn’t think it would be such a problem.”
    The girl smiles nastily. “If you’re from
Irish Bride
, then I’m Lady Gaga. I’m sorry, but as I said, it’s a private party. You’ll have to leave.”
    Brains and I exchange looks. “It’s no biggie, babes,” he says. “It’ll probably be boring anyway. Let’s vamoose.”
    “It
is
a big deal. I told Saffy I’d make some business contacts for the
Irish Bride
advertising department. Hettie, the editor, is her best friend, and Saffy’s taking her away to a spa this weekend for her birthday. I promised I’d cover this. And it’s all good experience for the future.”
    “Why don’t you show Miss Clipboard your driver’s license?” I suggest. “Prove who you are.”
    “Genius, Beanie,” Clover says, taking her wallet out of her handbag. She holds the license out to the girl.
    “I’m so sorry, Ms. Wildgust,” the girl says after reading the name on it. “It’s just you all seem so