Wedding Games

Say ‘I do’ to Scotland’s wedding of the year!

Wedding bells are finally ringing for Rory and Zoe! But setting a date and saying ‘yes to the dress’ is a lot more complicated when their mothers are mortal enemies and Rory’s stepfather is a Hollywood star with a death wish.

And if their families weren’t complicated enough, their friends are determined to make the bachelor and bachelorette parties ones they will remember forever – or desperately try to forget…

A castle, a cast of thousands, a superstar who’s lost the plot, and an unlikely stripper. Can Rory and Zoe unravel the tangles in time to tie the knot, or is eloping the only answer? 

Get your glad rags on and hold onto your hats. It’s time to unleash matrimonial madness!

They waited until they could hear the television from the living room next door, then Zoe spoke.

‘Rory, what’s going on, and why have you been ignoring your mum?’

Barbara inclined her head as if giving the floor to her son.

He cleared his throat. ‘I’m sorry. To you, Mum, for not having a much-needed conversation, and to you, Zoe, for not telling you about it.’

‘About what?’ she asked, anxiety pricking at her stomach.

‘The wedding.’

‘The wedding?’ she squeaked, her heart in her mouth. ‘Are you calling it off?’

‘Oh god, no! Fuck no! Not at all! No!’

‘What is it then?’ she asked, her heart hammering.

‘It’s the guest list, the press, the stuff we haven’t planned.’

‘I don’t understand.’

Barbara sighed. ‘Zoe. I appreciate you feel this wedding should be your day, however, when you marry the Earl of Kinloch there are certain expectations.’

‘There are? Like what?’

‘This is a society wedding, and as such, society must be invited.’

‘What kind of society?’

Rory reached for her hand. ‘We don’t have to do any of this.’

His mother ignored him, focusing her attention on Zoe.

‘The right kind, not gossip rag fodder who turn up to the opening of an envelope. You may not be aware, but my late husband had an extended family, and it is expected, as well as courteous, to invite them. The Foxbrookes, for example. Well, the legitimate ones at least.’

‘But I don’t know them. This is my—our wedding.’ She glanced at Rory. ‘Do you want them there?’

He rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand. ‘You know what I think. I don’t care if it’s just us and your—our parents.’ He looked at his mother. ‘All of this is irrelevant. We can’t afford it.’

Barbara took a breath.

‘No,’ said Rory, cutting her off.

His mother pressed her lips together as if steeling herself to remain in control, then took a measured breath.

‘I was going to suggest a compromise.’

‘Compromise?’ Zoe and Rory uttered in unison.

Barbara blinked. ‘Up until this year, my entire life has been a compromise,’ she replied icily.

‘Sorry,’ said Zoe. 

Barbara was right. She’d had a difficult childhood, and the apparent victory at marrying Rory’s father at the age of eighteen had come at a huge personal cost.

‘I am suggesting you invite whoever you want to a few days of festivities leading up to the main event,’ Barbara began. ‘Bradley has been enlightening me as to the American custom of holding a “rehearsal dinner”, which would be an excellent way of having the kind of intimate celebration you seek. I understand the financial concerns when you still have an estate to manage, so my husband and I are offering to foot the bill for the entire wedding.’ She paused. ‘In exchange for being able to add extra attendees to the wedding day itself.’

‘No,’ replied Rory.

‘How many?’ asked Zoe, squeezing his hand. Even though they’d planned a small celebration, she would rather the money was put into the estate.

‘Five hundred,’ Barbara replied.

‘Oh my god!’

‘No, no, no,’ said Rory. ‘That’s nuts.’

Barbara sighed. ‘Is it? Take the Foxbrookes. If you include the illegitimates, that’s ten people. And if any of the children are wed, that number only increases.’

‘No,’ Rory repeated.

Zoe elbowed him. ‘One hundred and fifty,’ she said to Barbara.

‘Four hundred,’ she replied, her cornflower blue eyes glinting with victory. ‘And exclusive rights given to Vanity Fair or Vogue.’

‘Zoe—’

‘Two hundred,’ said Zoe, cutting him off. ‘We have a veto on all pictures and the fee goes to a charity of our choice.’

‘Three hundred and fifty, and the gift list is with Harrods.’

‘Two hundred and twenty-five. No gift list, but charity donations encouraged.’

‘Three hundred. And your dress is couture.’

‘No. I’ve already bought it. Two hundred and fifty, and whoever the Foxbrooke “illegitimates” are, they still get an invite.’

Barbara raised an eyebrow. ‘Two hundred and seventy-five. That’s my final offer.’

‘Two hundred and fifty is mine.’

Silence.

‘Deal,’ said Barbara, extending her hand.

Zoe shook it.

Rory sighed and hung his head.

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