Countdown to Bliss

Christina Gould and Sam Mogilner

Met: January 1999

Engaged: Feb. 11, 2005

Projected Wedding Date: Oct. 7, 2006

Condé Nast cutie Christina Gould, 27, a slender, olive-skinned brunette who has worked at GQ, Allure and now Brides, is marrying Sam Mogilner, 28, a soft-spoken, blond account manager at the Leverage Group. The wedding-planning company Fête is arranging a ceremony at St. Bartholomew’s Church, followed by a lavish reception at the Rainbow Room.

The couple met at Tufts University, but only really got to know one another during a junior year abroad in Paris, after many tedious walking tours, held “so we wouldn’t fall asleep—because we were all jetlagged,” Mr. Mogilner said. Several students had agreed to meet at an American-themed bar, Chesterfield’s, for Super Bowl Sunday (now that’s soaking up the local culture), but he and Ms. Gould were the only ones to show up. They did several kamikaze shots and—well, you can guess what happened next.

Ms. Gould had a suitor back home, but by Valentine’s Day, she had bid him au revoir over the telephone. “He was kind of a schmuck, so it’s O.K.,” she told the Love Beat with a wave of her hand.

Mr. Mogilner and Ms. Gould didn’t refer to each other as “boyfriend” and “girlfriend” until a few months into their stay in Paris, when they were suddenly hit with that American pressure to define their relationship—wielded most forcefully by Mr. Mogilner’s younger sister. “Ask her to be your girlfriend,” she ordered, and so he did.

At the end of senior year, Ms. Gould landed an internship at French Vogue, and the pair took off again for Gay Paree, where Mr. Mogilner studied cooking at the Cordon Bleu, worked nights at a youth hostel, and quickly ruled out a career in the hospitality industry. After a year, Ms. Gould returned to Manhattan, her hometown (she’s a graduate of the Convent of the Sacred Heart), and scored a cozy apartment on the Upper West Side. Mr. Mogilner joined her on Sept. 10, 2001. On the following morning, he woke up to a rush of sirens.

“Relax,” his girlfriend told him drowsily. “It’s just New York—go back to sleep.”

The terrorist attacks sabotaged many relationships, but not this one. Eventually, Ms. Gould found a ring in the diamond district made up of two carats’ worth of pear and marquis cuts. Mr. Mogilner bought it before the couple’s annual Valentine’s Day trip to Paris. Ms. Gould’s father gave his daughter a copy of his complete schedule for the duration of the trip, so she would be able to reach him at any moment to tell him the news of her engagement.

But Mr. Mogilner likes to keep ’em on their toes. Three days before their journey, he and Ms. Gould were walking through Times Square, his hand was tucked suspiciously inside his pants pocket. Next came the telltale knee plunge. “I love you,” he declared. “I’ve enjoyed our time together so much, and I can’t imagine being with anyone else. I’m excited to start the next part of our life together. Will you marry me?”

“Yes, yes,” Ms. Gould said, then got down on her own knees. (Luckily, Anna Wintour was nowhere in sight.) “I always wanted an audience for when I got engaged—some public thing like that,” she said. “Then it happened, and I was completely unaware of everything around me.”

Janine Provencher and Daniel Berstein

Met: November 2002

Engaged: Oct. 8, 2005

Projected Wedding Date: Nov. 4, 2006

We love a man in uniforms! Janine Provencher, 26, a Florida debutante and account director at Parasol Marketing Group, will marry Daniel Berstein, 31, manager of operations for Nixon Uniform Service, a textile rental and sales company headed by his father. The ceremony will take place at Ms. Provencher’s family country club in Orlando. After the wedding, Ms. Provencher, currently an Upper East Sider, will move down to Philadelphia to join Mr. Berstein, who recently relocated there to work in the family business. “I’m consoling myself now that it’s being called the sixth borough,” she joked. Keep fooling yourself, honey.

Ms. Provencher, a curvy brunette, met the dark and hunky Mr. Berstein at a large P.R. dinner at La Mela in Little Italy, when she was still fresh to the city. “I was constantly meeting new people at that time,” she said, “and any social activity was all new to me.”

“I thought she was beautiful,” Mr. Bernstein said. “Then we had a chance to talk, and she was so smart, and the conversation just flowed. Then I screwed up and didn’t ask for her phone number.” Oops!

Fortunately, New York is full of second chances. They ran into one another again several months later at a mutual friend’s birthday party at Reservoir Bar near Union Square, and Mr. Berstein invited Ms. Provencher out to Hoboken, where he was living at the time, for an annual art and music festival. “I was a little intimidated to go across the river to New Jersey,” she said. He met her at the PATH train station, and the two sat down at a little park and stared at the breathtaking view of the Manhattan skyline. Their date lasted eight hours, during which Mr. Berstein expounded at length on politics and humanity. “I thought he was just the smartest man I ever met,” she said.

“I think she just liked me talking a lot,” Mr. Berstein said. “And I talked, talked and talked and talked.”

After they became an item, she checked her voicemail one day and heard him ending a message, “Bye—love you.”

“I think I love you,” she told him several nights later, after some nookie at her apartment. “Which is very passive-aggressive,” she told the Love Beat, “but I wanted to hear him say it again.”

Bigger issues were looming. “We would talk about having kids, and our house and our family, but we didn’t talk about specifics,” Ms. Provencher said.

Then came the news about Philly. “I still remember when I told Janine that night,” Mr. Berstein said. “She was so upset, I thought she was going to cry.”

Ms. Provencher was coming out of the shower one day, wrapped in a towel and saying, “You know, I don’t think I’m going to blow-dry my hair in this weather,” when she saw him down on one knee. “Stop fooling around,” she told him.

“Come here,” ordered Mr. Berstein.

“Don’t mess with me!” Ms. Provencher said, tears coming to her eyes.

Whereupon Mr. Berstein pulled out a two-carat, brilliant-cut, platinum-set rock flanked between two baguettes, a little trinket he’d picked up at a Delaware jeweler. “You’re beautiful, and smart, and have a great heart, and I love everything about you,” he said. “Will you marry me?”

After she said yes, they were off to the Carlyle hotel to celebrate over a bottle of Nicolas Feuillatte champagne. Why didn’t Mr. Berstein propose at this grand hotel? “She just loves that apartment so much,” he said of the one-bedroom he is heartlessly forcing her to abandon. “It was her first apartment after school, and it’s surrounded by pictures of her family. It’s a cute little place.” Countdown to Bliss