‘Exactly.’
Sarah gives my answer some thought. ‘So, when did you know that something was. . . well, missing? I mean, not all love is like BAM! It can grow over time.’
‘True,’ I reply. ‘But who wants to spend the next sixty years getting there? Or worse, just settling because it’s better than being alone. You saw the way she looks at Will. . . she never looked at me that way.’
‘Well, you deserve that too,’ Sarah says softly. ‘You deserve to be looked at that way.’ She unfortunately is studying the ground as she says this.
‘You’re right,’ I reply. ‘And one day, when I least expect it. . . I will find my very own Will.’
She grins. ‘I have no doubt. Let’s get back in; that Dom Pérignon isn’t going to drink itself.’
Greta and Will’s first dance is a surprising one. Knowing Greta as long as I have, I didn’t expect some cringey, choreographed dance routine, but neither did I expect her to choose ‘You Make My Dreams Come True’ by Hall and Oates.
‘Why are you laughing?’ Sarah asks as I snort unexpectedly.
‘It’s just. . . Greta is a ballad kind of girl. I was expecting Etta James or some grand romantic number. This is, well. . . fun!’
She grins, watching Will eighties-bop his new wife around the floor. They are radiating happiness as he twirls her round.
‘We had “Annie’s Song”. My middle name is Annie so. . . actually seems a bit weird now, having a first dance solely dedicated to the bride. It should really be a team song.’
‘Nice, though,’ I reply. ‘Though you can’t dance likethatto “Annie’s Song”.’
I gesture towards Greta who is gleefully stomping her expensive shoes into the equally expensive floor. God, she’s like a different woman with Will. He obviously brings out a side in her that I never could.
‘What would you choose?’ Sarah asks me. ‘For a first dance? I reckon you’d go for. . . something super cool like Bowie or The White Stripes. I’ve seen your Spotify playlists.’
I laugh. ‘No, actually. It would be something simple. Like “Should I Stay or Should I Go” by The Clash.’
She frowns and socks my arm. ‘I should hope you aren’t even considering going anywhere the day you get married. I see now why you’re single.’
‘. . . or maybe “God Only Knows” by The Beach Boys. Not that I’ve ever given it much thought.’
She looks surprised. ‘Well, you’ve managed to redeem yourself just in time; that’s romantic as fuck.’
‘I can be romantic.’ I smirk. ‘I’m like the Barry White of the legal world. I can make a woman feel like she’s walking on clouds.’
‘Unless you have a beanstalk in your trousers, I’m calling bullshit.’
I laugh a little too loudly, drawing daggers from Shondra, who’s living her best life via Greta’s dress. Thankfully, Greta’s mum and dad have now joined them on the dance floor, and everyone is gearing themselves up to do the same.
‘I think I need more booze before I hit the floor,’ I confess. ‘You up for another?’
‘Definitely,’ she replies. ‘Something with a double in it. This dress only works when I don’t give a fuck.’
I walk towards the bar, trying to remain upbeat. While I might already be having the best time with Sarah, deep down I know that this is as far as it goes. No matter how funny she is or how beautiful she looks, I’m here on a purely platonic basis.
‘Nick! At least one of my good friends made the effort to be here!’
‘You look beautiful,’ I reply, smiling at the bride, ‘and you know they’d be here if they could. But unless you want Harriet throwing up on your dress. . .’
Greta, now slightly tipsy on wine and adrenaline, and also without shoes, pulls me in for a hug before grabbing a seat at our table. ‘I’ve been dying to grab a chat with you all day! Did you get some cake? You must try the cake.’
Sarah holds up her slice, wrapped in a napkin for confirmation. ‘I’ll share it with Alfie.’
‘Oh, take more for him!!’ she replies. ‘There’re four tiers, we’re not on rations. I’m so glad you came with Nick; he’s the more fun one, anyway, Sarah.’ Greta winks.
‘So, Mrs Howard, where to on the honeymoon?’ I ask, also feeling slyly glad that Sarah is here with me.
