Truly...Madly...Deeply

“Arden,” Liane, my boss began. “I am assuming you are aware of the Royal Wedding which is coming up in a mere two weeks. The whole world’s in a frenzy. Every magazine within every country is begging to get an interview or at least, be allowed to attend the wedding.” She chuckled dryly.

A stray curl of my darkly coloured hair fell in front of my face, “So?”

She sighed, removing her glasses, “The Royals have made a last minute agreement for just very few to send a photographer and a journalist to take a few pictures inside and cover the story. However, you won't be attending the reception or doing a one-on-one interview.”

“Me?”

She nodded, “Only Hello! Magazine in the USA and UK will be covering this story personally,” she snickered. “I guess we're the safest to them.”

“So,” I tried to swallow down this new piece of information down but failed miserably. “You're sending one of your newest journalist’s to London to cover the Royal Wedding? Isn't this a bit risky? What if I mess this entire thing up?”

“Well, you can consider your job here a very, very short period.”

I raised my eyebrows, “Oh.”

“Besides, your quite accustomed to England. Aren't you? I recall you saying you're from Surrey but moved to LA when you were- what? Twelve? Plus, you normally visit your home every now and then.”

I nodded, still not quite grasping the situation.

“Do this article well. Your job depends on it.”

She smirked and I exited her office quietly. She was a true minger, she was and she knew it. Liane definitely wasn't ashamed of it. Pssht, in lieu she was rather proud of it, if you ask me.

“Liane being her bitchy self again?” My mentor, Tristan, questioned, an eyebrow raised to his hairline and a disgusted look on his face as her name rolled off his tongue sounding unbelievably pungent and sour.

I'm not sure what the deal between them was but she brought out the worst in him. She must value him, though. He'd been working here for years apparently and had been put in charge of me for the first few months I was here.

“More or less,” I shrugged. “I've somehow landed myself a place as the journalist to cover the Royal Wedding. Don't ask me how.”

He suddenly seemed genuinely interested and propped his clean-shaven chin on his fist. “Really? That's interesting. She must either secretly like you or she's attempting to get rid of you. Make sure you don't screw this up. If it's the latter then I reckon that you acing it will drive her up the wall.”

I cracked a small smile and scuffed out of my seat, “Thanks for the advice, Tristan. I've got to go. My mom’s in town. See you, Monday.”

“Bye, Arden.”

|V|

It'd been a whole two weeks since Liane had announced the news to me and I was now in a swanky hotel in the heart of London with my lanky photographer, Jon. The phone rang and I answered it swiftly.

“Hello?”

Jon’s voice rang through, “Hey, doll.“

I cradled the phone between my neck and left cheek, “Oh. It's you, Jon. What's up?”

“Are you ready yet?”

I rolled my eyes, “Relax! We've got about three hours before it even starts,” My lips curved into smirk. I joked, “You're a panicky, what my cousin would call. A panicky nincompoop.”

He ignored my childish reference and wisely stated, “The early bird gets the worm besides it's always best to arrive early. Just in case, something is happening like a friend that arrives early might be able to share an opinion on what's happening. Maybe the bride getting cold feet.”

“We're supposed to be the nice magazine. That's why they trust us.”

“Doesn't mean that the fact Kate Middleton is doubting whether she wants to marry a Prince any less interesting.”

“Whatever, Jon. I'll be down in a sec.”

I stole one, last, fleeting glance at my reflection in the mirror. I was attired in a burnt orange, chiffon, sleeveless dress with a sweetheart neckline. I swabbed on my red lipstick on and my muddy brown hair that was usually in loose curls was now straightened, just for this occasion, and in an elegant side bun. A black fascinator propped on my head, they weren't really my type of thing but everyone seems to be wearing them lately.

Satisfied with my appearance, I grabbed my purse and started to make my way down to the reception in the hotel.

“You look great!” Jon complimented then teased. “You here to give the soon-to-be duchess a run for her money?”

“Very funny, Jon. You look fantastic as well.”

He thanked me and took my hand as we entered a black car. The whole ride we chatted and laughed. It wasn't till we approached the church that I actually started to hyperventilate, just thinking of my family all watching eagerly, crowded in our living room, and I got to attend the Royal Wedding. Jon’s camera hung loosely around his neck and we got out of the car, handing the security our passes.

The church was nearly empty as of now apart from Carole Middleton, who was doing a last moment check that everything was in order. Jon snapped pictures silently as I walked up to Carole to ask a few questions.

“Hello, there!” She smiled, seeming a bit taken aback to see me. I could understand. After all, there was quite some time left before guests would even arrive.

I smiled back, “Exciting morning, isn't it?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “It's a really big day, for us all, really! I reckon I'm more nervous than Kate, who's-”

She stopped short, biting her lip warily. I brushed it off, “Don't worry, it's only Hello! Magazine. I'd say we're a fairly kind magazine, occasionally filled with junk.”

She laughed too, “Oh! Kate’s hardly worried, she's very confident about marrying William and William to her, I should think. I've never actually seen a couple not get cold feet so just this is making me believe even more that they're meant to be. I'm sounding a bit of a romantic now, aren't I?”

“No, I think the wedding really brings the romance out in everyone. Who doesn't enjoy a Royal Wedding?”

She agreed, nodding and frowned, “Well, I must be on my way. It was lovely meeting you.”

“You too.”

I exhaled, it wasn't that bad to be honest. She was pleasant and if everyone else I talked to was like her then I truly do think that this will be a breeze.

“I got great photos of her.” Jon grinned, the camera dangling around his neck swayed ever so slightly.

“I can't believe I'm actually at the Royal Wedding. Damn, being a journalist definitely has its perks.”

“You got that right.”

Suddenly, the door slammed and we spun around to be met with the sight of a a wide-eyed girl with big brown eyes peering out of her glasses, a camera in her hand. She was promptly followed by a pretty woman, who looked at us for a minute then her grey eyes trailed to the professional camera that Jon possessed and her face twisted into an unpleasant grimace.

Ahh, it dawned on me, another journalist and her photographer. There's nothing like competition especially since journalists don't usually ‘interact’ per se unless they are of the same company.

If not, then another journalist is merely a threat that could possibly write an article better than yours.

She eyed me before walking past me stiffly, her photographer trailing after her like a lost puppy. She tossed her auburn ringlets over her shoulder and commanded her photographer to take pictures of the bare altar. Domineering is the one word I'd use to describe her. Her British accent was posh but I could tell fake as it went up higher pitches at each word she spoke. Occasionally, going back to a normal voice then she'd mentally reprimand herself and it would go back up a few pitches.

“Come on,” Jon gently nudged me. “Keep taking notes.”

I nodded and reluctantly diverted my lingering gaze from them and back to the scenery, taking a few notes of everything. Slowly, the guests began to flood in and we were led to our seats.