GRAZIA WEDDING BLOG

Considering I’ve been with Byron for almost a decade, it’s pretty impressive that his proposal was a total surprise. “I’ll definitely know when he’s about to do it,” I’d say. But, much to my incredulity, he proved me wrong.

It was Thursday morning and I was boarding the Eurostar to Paris (look away now if you’re adverse to mushiness). After a month of reporting from the biannual flurry of shows, the final leg of Fashion Week was in sight. It had been an exhilarating and exhausting season so I welcomed the chance to put my feet up, tuck into a pain au chocolat and sip on coffee before the next stint began. Little did I know, Byron was on the next train with a diamond ring in his pocket.

Friday 10th March was the day of the Chanel show. For AW15, Karl Lagerfeld transformed the Grand Palais into a brasserie. The Brasserie Gabrielle, to be exact. I jostled through the crowds to interview the likes of Florence Welch while fervently instagramming, tweeting and periscoping every moment for the Grazia channels.

Walking through the streets of Paris after the show, my feet were throbbing and my phone was buzzing with likes and comments. The thought of sitting in my hotel room alone to write up the events was a welcome one. Several hours later, my phone bleeped with a message from Katherine - Grazia’s fashion editor - saying she’d bagged a ticket to the McQueen show that evening and could we meet at her hotel. I didn’t think twice. ‘Mais oui,’ I replied, anticipating a night of pomme frites, wine and fashion week gossip.

When the taxi arrived at St James Paris, I gawped at the turrets, the fountains, the gates. How had Katherine landed such a beautiful hotel for a work trip? Must be part of a luxury press gift, I thought, something that was a frequent occurrence in her role. I was just grateful to be a part of it.

The concierge greeted me in the foyer - what excellent service! - and ushered me to the bar. Katherine wasn’t answering her phone, but I didn’t think much of it - she was likely stuck between shows and in all honesty, I was enjoying the plush surroundings and a glass of red.

Suddenly, a ruffled waiter appeared. “Your friend is ready for you,” he said. “It’s okay, I’ll wait for her to come down,” I replied. But “non, non, you must come maintenant”. Beads of sweat were popping up on his brow and without wanting to cause a scene, I grabbed my bag and followed him towards the lift.

One floor up, the waiter pointed to an open door, ushered for me to go inside and promptly disappeared into the lift. I edged towards the hotel room - the lights were off, candles were flickering and the carpet was covered in rose petals. “Katherine…?” Was this a luxury press trip or a clandestine seduction?

As I entered the suite, there was no Katherine at all. Instead, it was Byron, suited and booted, surrounded by roses, holding a bottle of champagne… and still I didn’t twig. My mind was rapidly trying to make sense of what was before me. How? What? Why is Byron at fashion week?!

It was only when he took a huge breath and began to speak very carefully that the penny dropped. “Jessica [pause] Naomi [pause] Vince”. He could barely get the words out. By the time he was on his knee holding the ring, I was beaming like a fool.

Of course, I said YES and went a bit Gollum over the ring. But most pressingly, I wanted to know every detail of how he’d pulled this off. I was still expecting Katherine to jump out of the wardrobe. But in fact, she was still in the UK, secretly taking part in the plan from our office, managing to lure me here under Byron’s instruction. He’d slipped the waiter a few Euros to play along, decked out the room with balloons and roses and packed my favourite red dress and heels so I could ditch my jeans and flats for a night on the town.

After a couple of celebratory cocktails, a Citroen 2CV appeared outside the hotel to whisk, or rather chug, us around the sights of Paris, from the Eiffel Tower to the Lourve, before we went for dinner at Chez Toinette, a sweet bistro near the Moulin Rouge. Yep, he’d really thought this one through.

And so here I am, taking up the mantle of Grazia Daily’s wedding blogger and facing a list of (albeit very exciting) decisions. Shall I go for a duvet-sized dress or keep it sleek and simple? How on earth do you make a seating plan? One thing’s for sure, I want a big party with everyone I love most. Just one request: no more surprises, please!