Chapter one: GENESIS
Sunday mornings were reserved for her purification ritual.
Eden watched London's concrete crumble mile after mile along the railway line, giving way to the low profiles of the suburbs and finally to the green perimeter and almost wild nature of Richmond Park.
It was the perfect place to reset after a week of financial statements, balance sheets, and meetings.
At thirty, she held a secure and respectable professional position, built with resilience through an educational path she hadn't chosen and which clashed with her bohemian soul, but which she had decided to use to her advantage.She couldn't say the same for her love life.
Possessing a somewhat bearish nature, she jealously guarded two prehistoric and totalizing friendships—Erin and Mawa, two schoolmates she rarely heard from lately as they were deeply caught up in family life.
However, she also possessed a plump collection of shipwrecked relationships, which her mother, Cheryl, loved dearly to throw back in her face. Like "that good boy Kevin," the plumber, who had fixed a pipe for free at her parents' house, only to go and check someone else's pipes later. Or "Kyle, who was so sweet" just because, after four months of dating, she invited him to a family lunch and he brought a cheesecake; too bad that very evening he proposed they become an open couple—a brilliant idea she welcomed by handing him his coat and firmly inviting him to admire the door from the outside.
She didn't know if the problem lay in her expectations of love, slightly influenced by K-dramas and her tiny inclination to build them skyscraper-high, or in her obvious talent for running into individuals of questionable inner splendor. Or perhaps, deep down, those men were unconsciously and meticulously selected to confirm her belief that her person, in this lifetime, was missing in action. Who knows.
During the short train ride back, her phone rang: it was Amanda, her elderly neighbor. The wedding of Amanda's favorite niece, Nicole, was taking place that afternoon, and a month prior, Amanda had insisted that Eden accompany her, offering quite respectable incentives: "You never know, maybe you'll meet a nice young man, dear Eden. Or at worst, we'll have a few drinks together, heh heh."
She answered the phone.
— Hey Amanda! Shoot.
Amanda's voice was clear and bright.— Hello dear! Can we be at the reception by 3:30 PM today? Or is that too early for you? I want to get there a bit early to gossip with Peter's grandmother. Peter, you know, the groom. Susan used to be a florist, and she told me she wants to tour all the arrangements before the reception to check how they set up the flowers. I want to hear all that old grump's criticisms.
Eden smiled.
— No, I can make it. Is this Susan arrogant enough for my taste?
Amanda replied decisively, as if she were waiting for nothing else.
— Very arrogant, dear.
— Then I'm in. You know I like irreverent people.
Eden was incredibly fond of Amanda. Having grown up without grandparents, Eden found in her a calm and welcoming yet stubborn and sharp presence upon whom she relied fully—much more so than on her own family.Beneath a blanket of teasing and poking fun, they had built a sincere and affectionate bond.
She would never disappoint her for anything in the world, and the idea of spending the afternoon with two grumpy old ladies actually amused her to death, even if it was... a wedding.
Eden detested weddings.
She hated getting dolled up to the absolute maximum and destroying her feet in heels for hours, and she viewed receptions as a useless drain of time and money.
But for Amanda, she told herself, anything.
Getting off at Elephant & Castle station, she set off on the short walk to her terraced house in the Walworth Road area, on Penton Place.
She had chosen that little townhouse even though the rent—or rather, "the hidden tax for survival," as she called it—evaporated a massive chunk of her salary. She chose it because it was a comfortable area with plenty of character, well-served by public transport, and she loved the aquamarine color of the front door. Was it a superficial reason? Yes. Did she care? No.
That color was her favorite, and when she had gone to view the apartment, she recognized that specific shade as a sign of destiny.
When she then heard the shrill little voice of an elderly lady—Amanda—scolding a big ginger cat for knocking over its water bowl, saying, "No, young man! I'll do the meowing around here!" she no longer had any doubts.
Arriving at her doorstep around lunchtime, she saw Amanda on the steps of the adjacent block, busy plucking dead leaves from the flowers, towered over by a hat with a brim so massive it looked like a tropical sunshade.
— Hola muchacha! We put on the sombrero today, huh?
Amanda looked at her with an amused smile.
— Don't mess with me, Eden! Go eat and get ready instead! Do you want me to make you something?
Eden knelt to stroke Oliver, the red cat, who had come over to purr against her as always.
— Sooner or later I'm going to steal this beautiful heartbreaker from you, Amanda. And thanks, but no need, I did meal prep this week and I have a portion of chickpea curry just waiting to be reheated.
Amanda stepped closer to her lemon-yellow front door, which Eden adored, paired with her own.
— Alright then. I'm off to fix up my bodywork. I need to look radiant today. I'll wait for you at 3:00 PM.
Eden nodded while throwing her little jab.
— I think the weather will hold. And if it rains, there's always your hat.
Amanda showed her the middle finger, chuckling, and stepped across the threshold of the yellow door.
By 3:00 PM, Eden was ready. She had prepared with the bass blasting in her earbuds, humming under her breath a track she would never admit to listening to.
After her shower, she dried her long, dark, wavy hair, disciplining it with a few dollops of mousse, applied a very light base of makeup, a line of perfect eyeliner and mascara, and stood in front of the full-length mirror to make her assessments of the day.
Five foot three and a hundred and thirty pounds of soft, earthly curves that had absolutely no intention of apologizing for existing—a compact mix of cynicism, stubbornness, and too much honesty.
She slipped into the teal cocktail dress, which slid over her shapes without reducing her to a vacuum-packed sausage.
She picked up a yellow clutch and looked in the mirror. At second glance, she realized she looked like a traffic light.
She discarded the yellow clutch from her options and rummaged through her wardrobe until she found the small, camel-colored vintage leather shoulder bag that Amanda had gifted her straight from her own youth, which she had accepted with a little shriek of joy.
It was spacious enough for her phone, wallet, and some tissues she wouldn't use, because she never cried at weddings.
She put on nude pumps, hoping she wouldn't regret it bitterly, and with her caramel-colored overcoat under her arm, she walked out.
When Amanda opened the door, Eden was slapped by a cloud of Italian perfume scented with pink pepper and warm woods.
Amanda didn't just wear perfume; she brandished it.
Eden scanned her from head to toe. The elderly lady had styled her medium-length hair, strictly dyed a color Eden defined as "sunset," into soft gathered curls, made impregnable by half a bottle of hairspray and sheer determination.
A purple lace fascinator perched askew, a fuchsia two-piece dress as fierce as her temperament peeking out from beneath a champagne-colored overcoat that matched her shoes and bag, and her look was complete.
She lit up upon seeing Eden in her outdoor ceremony attire.
— Eden dear, you're going to turn several heads today!Eden waved her hand dismissively.
— No way. You, on the other hand, Amanda, might get yourself hitched to a hunk today. First you stun him with the perfume, then you blind him with the dress. Just kidding. I love your energy, I want to be just like you when I grow up. Serious.
Amanda scoffed modestly. She had been widowed for five years, shortly before Eden became her neighbor and companion for coffee, confidences, and frequent evening card games.
— Do you think it's too much?Eden assumed a solemn expression.
— Amanda, a look made up only of neutral colors is for boring people, for the poor in spirit. You can't dress anonymously; it wouldn't do you justice. And besides, the grandmother of the groom has a moral duty to eclipse everyone else.
Amanda smoothed a strand of hair above her ear.
— You're right. Let's go cause some havoc.
Half an hour later, they stepped out of a black cab, walking slowly down the gravel path that led to the garden where the ceremony was to be held. Fortunately, the lawn was dry, and her heels managed to avoid being swallowed by the grass.
The country estate smelled of wisteria and had been sumptuously decorated with fritillaries and lilacs.
Eden and Amanda approached the grand pagoda towering over the green expanse, where an elderly lady with thick glasses and fists propped on her hips was grumbling loudly.
— Susan! There you are.Amanda gave her a fleeting kiss on the cheek.
— So, what do you think of the decorations?Susan pursed her lips in disapproval and shook her ash-blonde curls, fresh out of rollers.
— You're seriously asking me that? It looks like these flowers randomly stuck to the chairs and the structure after a hurricane, or got tossed up by a retreating tide at best!
Amanda chuckled.
— It's intentional, Susan, young people appreciate this slightly romantic, wild style. Do you find it that ugly?
Susan smoothed the jacket of her light blue suit with the expression of someone who knows it all, and stated firmly:
— It's a wedding, not a five-year-old's picnic in the park. These flowers are mounted without an ounce of technique. Not a single straight stem, zero symmetry. They might as well have put poppies here.
With that, Susan moved along, wandering the estate with the indignant waddle of a pigeon to find more flaws to be outraged about, with Eden and Amanda following behind, exchanging amused glances.
Soon, the time for the ceremony to begin finally arrived, along with, little by little, all the guests.
And it was at that precise moment, while Susan babbled her umpteenth tirade against the utter lack of elegance in the side planters, that Eden felt the world around her suddenly fall silent and everything move in slow motion.
Among the colorful crowd, part of which had begun taking their seats on the light wooden chairs, a gorgeous detail stood out against the bucolic chaos of the lilacs.
He possessed a powerful, confident, and, damn it, arrogant aura.
His white shirt, without a tie, its collar slightly unbuttoned, mockingly defied convention, and his tall, broad-shouldered, lean, and solid figure was wonderfully dressed—unfortunately—in a sharp, modern two-piece bespoke navy blue suit that made the other guests' suits look mundane and almost wrinkled.
And judging by how her stomach had just knotted up, Eden felt extremely rumpled herself.
His facial features were sharp and chiseled: elongated, deep eyes, dark and impenetrable, a well-defined jawline, and fair skin in delightful contrast with his medium-length raven hair, which just grazed his high cheekbones, styled with an impeccable side part and a carefully messy strand falling across his forehead.
Eden thought that, give or take, he could be some Korean rich kid.
An exceptionally well-made one.
He made his way down the side path with a certain, decisive stride—an icy, implacable creature.
— Close your mouth, dear, — Amanda advised her.Eden startled.
— Were you looking at that sexy Chinese man? — her neighbor teased.— Huh? Oh, yeah. He's clearly Korean, Amanda, everyone is Chinese to you, you crack me up.
Amanda shrugged.
— He looks like the type who arranges his socks in chronological color order in the drawer. And anyway, I barely noticed him, — Eden said, trying to maintain her composure.
— Sure, of course. And I'm Cleopatra of Egypt, — she muttered, adjusting her purple fascinator with a smirk.
At that instant, the man stopped near Peter, the groom, who was chuckling excitedly with his friends, awaiting the imminent start of the ceremony and the bride's arrival.
Peter welcomed him with a wide, warm smile, which the man returned.
Eden forgot her own name for a second.
That chiseled Korean face warmed into a bright, disarming expression, revealing a row of perfectly white teeth and softening his eyes with a striking genuineness.
It lasted only a moment.
While she stood there with a goofy face glued to the way that sculptural face had suddenly melted, their gazes locked for a fraction of a second.
Eden caught her breath, turning toward Amanda and placing her hand on her arm, shrugging her shoulders. — Christ, how embarrassing... — she hissed. Amanda stood tall.
— Language dear, we aren't at the pub. Keep your composure, or you'll look like an aging, rebellious troublemaker.
Eden furrowed her brow.
— Amanda, I'm thirty.
— Exactly. And you're still single, darling.
Eden covered her face in a mask of mock dismay, carefully avoiding looking back in the direction of the Asian problem.
— Amanda Lloyd, are you getting in on this too? Are you in cahoots with my mother?
Amanda looked at her with a glimmer of complicit amusement.
Meanwhile, the man continued to study Eden, shifting his gaze only when speaking directly with Peter, with whom he had attended his master's program at Oxford.
Peter ran a hand through his perfectly tamed red curls and, with a relaxed face, said:
— Steven thought you weren't coming, Jay, because you're always busy getting the departments you manage off the ground.
Steven, a stocky and energetic little man, smoothing down the jacket of his gray suit, declared theatrically:
— The great Lee Ji-Ho, praised star of Oxford, dropping his large-scale financial expansion plans just to come mix with us mere mortals—what a momentous day!
He tapped him on the bicep, adding with a frown:
— It's been two years since you came to the reunions to make your sharp jokes, you should be ashamed! I expect you to catch up today.
Ji-Ho laughed, grabbing his shoulders and squeezing them slightly, towering over him from his height of six foot one.
— Oh, don't worry, I will. I'll focus mostly on you, Steve.
But he was lying, because he had just determined with ruthless clarity that his real target would be the girl talking animatedly to an elderly lady wearing bold colors, gesturing as if she were delivering a closing argument in court.
