Sam looks utterly baffled. “Poppy, don“t go like that. Please.”

“I’m not going like anything!” I say brightly. “Really. I’ve got things to do. I’ve got a wedding to cancel, people to give minor heart attacks to—”

“Wait. Poppy.” Sam’s voice stops me, and I turn around. “I just want to say … thanks.”

His dark eyes meet mine, and for a moment my prickly, defensive shell is pierced.

“Same.” I nod, a lump in my throat. “Thanks.”

I lift a hand in final farewell and walk away down the corridor. Head high. Keep going. Don’t look back.

By the time I reach the street, my face is lightly spattered with tears and I’m fizzing with furious, agitated thoughts—although who I’m most furious at I’m not sure. Maybe myself.

But there’s one way I can make myself feel better. Within half an hour I’ve visited an Orange shop, signed up for the most expensive, full-on contract going, and am in possession of a slick, state-of-the-art iPhone. Ted said “any budget”—well, I’ve taken him at his word.

And now I’ve got to christen it. I head out of the shop to an open, paved area away from the traffic. I dial Magnus’s number and give a satisfied nod when it goes straight to voice mail. That’s what I wanted.

“OK, you little shit.” I imbue the word with as much venom as I can manage. “I’ve spoken to Lucinda. I know it all. I know you slept with her, I know you proposed to her, I know this ring has been round the houses, I know you’re a lying scumbag, and, just so you know—the wedding’s off. Did you hear that? Off. So I hope you can find another good use for your waistcoat. And your life. See you, Magnus. Not.”

There are moments in life that the white-chocolate Magnum ice cream was invented for, and this is one of them.96

I can’t face the phone calls yet. I can’t face telling the vicar, or my brothers, or any of my friends. I’m too battered. I need to restore my energies first. And so, by the time I’ve reached home, I have a plan.

Tonight: watch comfort DVDs, eat Magnums, cry a lot. Hair mask.97

Tomorrow: break news to world that wedding is canceled, deal with fallout, watch Annalise try not to whoop with joy, etcetera, etcetera.

I’ve been texting my new mobile number to everyone I know, and a few friendly texts have already come back—but I haven’t mentioned the wedding to anyone. It can all wait till tomorrow.

I don’t want to watch anything with weddings in it, obviously,98 so in the end I plump for cartoons, which turn out to be the biggest tearjerkers of the lot. I watch Toy Story 3,99 Up,100 and by midnight I’m on Finding Nemo. I’m curled up on the sofa in my ancient pajamas and furry throw, with the white wine within easy reach, my hair all oily with conditioning mask and the puffiest eyes in the universe. Finding Nemo always makes me cry anyway, but this time I’m a sniveling wreck before Nemo’s even lost.101 I’m wondering if I should find something else to watch which is less savage and brutal, when the buzzer sounds.

Which is weird. I’m not expecting anyone. Unless … are Toby and Tom a day early? It would be just like them to arrive at midnight, straight off some cheapie coach. The Entryphone is conveniently within reach from the sofa, so I pull the receiver down, pause Finding Nemo, and tentatively say, “Hi.”

“It’s Magnus.”

Magnus?

I sit up straight on the sofa as though I’ve had an electric shock. Magnus. Here. On my doorstep. Has he heard the message?

“Hi.” I swallow, trying to pull myself together. “I thought you were in Bruges.”

“I’m back.”

“Right. So why didn’t you use your key?”

“I thought you might have changed the locks.”

“Oh.” I brush a lock of hair out of my tearstained eyes. So he has heard the message. “Well … I haven’t.”

“Can I come up, then?”

“I suppose.”

I put the receiver down and look around. Shit. It’s a pigsty in here. For one panicked instant I feel an urge to jump up, dispose of the Magnum wrappers, wash off my hair mask, plump up the cushions, shove on some eyeliner, and find some attractive matching loungewear. That’s what Annalise would do.

And maybe that’s what stops me. Who cares if I’ve got puffy eyes and a hair mask? I’m not marrying this man, so it’s irrelevant what I look like.102

I hear his key in the lock and defiantly put Finding Nemo back on. I’m not pausing my life for him. I’ve done enough of that already. I turn the volume up slightly and fill my wineglass higher. I’m not offering him any, so he needn’t expect it. Or a Magnum.103

The door makes a familiar squeaking sound and I know he’s in the room, but I keep my gaze resolutely fixed on the screen.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” I shrug, as though to say “Whatever.”

In my peripheral vision I can see Magnus exhale. He looks a teeny bit nervous.

“So.”

“So.” I can play this game too.

“Poppy.”

“Poppy. I mean, Magnus.” I scowl. He caught me out. By mistake I lift my eyes to his, and he immediately rushes over and grabs my hands, just like he did that first time we met.

“Stop it!” I practically snarl at him, pulling them away. “You don’t get to do that.”

“I’m sorry!” He lifts his hands as though I’ve scalded him.

“I don’t know who you are.” I gaze miserably at Nemo and Dory. “You lied about everything. I can’t marry someone who’s a lying cheat. So you might as well go. I don’t even know what you’re doing here.”

Magnus heaves another huge sigh.

“Poppy … OK. I made a mistake. Hands up. I’ll admit it.”

“A ‘mistake’?” I echo sarcastically.

“Yes, a mistake! I’m not perfect, OK?” He thrusts his fingers through his hair in a frustrated gesture. “Is that what you expect out of a man? Perfection? You want a flawless man? Because, believe me, that man doesn’t exist. And if that’s why you’re calling off this wedding, because I made one simple error … ” He holds his hands out, his eyes reflecting the colored light of the TV. “I’m human, Poppy. I’m a flawed, imperfect human being.”

“I don’t want a flawless man,” I snap. “I want a man who doesn’t sleep with my wedding planner.”

“We don’t choose our flaws, unfortunately. And I’ve regretted my weakness over and over again.”

How is he managing to sound all noble, like he’s the victim here?

“Well, poor old you.” I turn up the volume of Finding Nemo, but, to my surprise, Magnus grabs the remote and switches it off. I blink at him in the sudden silence.

“Poppy, you can’t be serious. You can’t want to call everything off for one tiny—”

“It’s not only that.” I feel an old, burning hurt in my chest. “You never told me about all your other fiancées. You never told me you’d proposed to Lucinda. I thought that ring was special. Your mum’s got it, by the way.”

“I have proposed to other girls,” he says slowly. “But now I can’t think why.”

“Because you loved them?”

“No,” he says with a sudden fierceness. “I didn’t. I was nuts. Poppy, you and I—we’re different. We could make it. I know we could. We just have to get through the wedding—”

“Get through it?”

“That’s not what I mean.” He breathes out impatiently. “Look, come on, Poppy. The wedding’s all set up. It’s all arranged. It’s not about what happened with Lucinda, it’s about you and me. We can do it. I want to do it. I really want to do this.” He’s speaking with such fervor, I stare at him in surprise.

“Magnus—”

“Will this change your mind?” To my astonishment, he sinks down on one knee beside the sofa and reaches in his pocket. I stare speechlessly as he opens a little jewelry box. Inside is a ring made of twisted golden strands, with a tiny diamond perched at the side.

“Where … where did that come from?” I can hardly find my voice.

“I bought it for you in Bruges.” He clears his throat, as though embarrassed to admit it. “I was walking along the street one day. Saw it in a window, thought of you.”

I can’t believe it. Magnus bought a ring for me. Specially for me. I can hear Wanda’s voice in my head: When he really wants to commit to someone, he’ll find a ring for himself. He’ll choose something carefully. Give it some thought.

But I can’t relax.

“Why did you choose this ring?” I probe. “Why did it make you think of me?”

“The strands of gold.” He gives an abashed smile. “They reminded me of your hair. Not the color, obviously,” he amends quickly. “The shine.”

That was a good answer. Quite romantic. I raise my eyes and he gives me a hopeful, lopsided smile.

Oh God. When Magnus is sweet and puppy-dog like, he’s almost irrestistible.

Thoughts are still spinning round my head. So he made a mistake. A big, big mistake. Am I going to throw away everything for that? Am I so perfect myself? Let’s face it, twenty-four hours ago my arms were wrapped around another man in a wood.

I feel a tiny pang in my chest at the thought of Sam and give myself a mental shakedown. Stop. Don’t go there. I got carried away by the situation, that’s all. Maybe Magnus did too.

“What do you think?” Magnus is watching me eagerly.

“I love it,” I whisper. “It’s amazing.”

“I know.” He nods. “It’s exquisite. Like you. And I want you to wear it. So, Poppy … “ He puts his warm hand on mine. “Sweetest Poppy … will you?”

“Oh God, Magnus,” I say helplessly. “I don’t know … ” My new iPhone is flashing with messages and I pick it up to buy myself some time. There’s a brand-new email from samroxtonpa@whiteglobeconsulting.com.

My heart skips a beat. I sent Sam my new number this afternoon, just so that he had it. And at the last minute I added, Sorry about this afternoon, with a couple of kisses. Simply to clear the air. Now he’s answering me. At midnight. What does he want to say? With trembling fingers, my thoughts veering onto wild possibilities, I click on the message.