“You shut up.”
I hear their footsteps fading as, thankfully, they leave through the door on the other side of the room, heading back to the dinner party.
I smile to myself, listening to them go, teasing each other the whole way.
I take it all back. Siblings are the best.
You are cordially invited to the wedding of
Lady Cordelia Swann and Jonathan Farlow
31 December 2021
I try not to cry when she steps out in her dress. I know she’ll hate it if I’m crying.
“Are you crying?”
“No!” I squeak.
“You’re doing that weird puppet face again.”
“No, I’m not.”
“It’s creepy.”
“I’m not doing it. This is my normal face.”
She smiles. “Well? What do you think?”
It really is true, you know, that every bride looks beautiful on her wedding day. All those overused words to describe brides are overused for a reason. Radiant. Stunning. Gorgeous. I think it’s because they know they’re allowed to be unabashedly happy that day.
“Beautiful,” I say, grabbing a tissue from the hairstylist and dabbing the corner of my eye. “You look beautiful.”
Lady Meade lets out an “eep” sound next to me. The hairstylist offers her a tissue, too. Clio Vaughn moves so gracefully and quietly around the room taking pictures that she’s almost invisible to the rest of us.
It’s an exquisite dress, designed (very quickly) by the team at Alexander McQueen. A halter neck, fitted at the top, showing off her delicate shoulders, then a gentle, sloping A-line skirt with an overlayer of hand-embroidered floral lace with a train. It’s elegant, sophisticated, and romantic. It’s perfect.
She turns round to show me the giant bow at the back, in the middle of which is pinned Lucky Blue, the sapphire horseshoe brooch I found.
Beth steps forward holding out our bouquets for us. Her hands are full so she can’t dab her cheeks, tears flowing freely down her face. There was an awkward moment this morning when we were having our hair done and Beth came bustling in, saw me, and went, “Emily! Hi!” But Cordelia explained the story with such flair that Beth not only thought my job sounded fabulous but got tears in her eyes when Cordelia reached the bit about asking me to be her bridesmaid for real.
“What a lovely story of friendship.” Beth sniffed. “It’s like… fate!”
“Oh, God.” Cordelia sighed, nodding toward me. “Don’t get her started.”
Beth hands me my bouquet and, unable to stop blubbing, passes Cordelia hers. Through great sniffs, she tells Cordelia how wonderful she looks and how she can’t believe that she’s so grown-up and sophisticated. “It feels like just yesterday you got your foot stuck in that toilet,” she says, blowing her nose.
“Umm, I’m sorry,” I say, holding up the hand that isn’t holding the bouquet. “What’s this about the toilet?”
“Oh, it was when Cordelia was working in the shop and—”
“It’s a story for another time,” Cordelia interrupts Beth, giving me a warning look as I stifle a laugh. “Now that I’m ready, shall we get Dad in here? We should be setting out soon.”
“Actually, before we do,” I say, picking up the card from a dressing table, “this is for you. It’s from Jonathan.”
Her eyes light up. “He wrote me a card?”
I nod, passing it to her. We all wait patiently as she opens the envelope. She reads it, a smile spreading across her face, and then, I assume when she gets to the bit about her gift, her jaw drops, and she clasps her hand around her mouth. She looks up at me. “Is thistrue? My wedding present…”
