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“Not even for a second?” he asks.

“Okay, maybe just a second.”

Rob clears his throat, anxious about his commission I suspect. “You make a striking couple,” he says, and I smile as I look back at Owen because he’s right—we do make a striking couple.

“That’s the whole idea,” I say.

20

Owen

The irony of this whole situation isn’t lost on me as Rob zips up the suit bag and hands it over, pleased he’s managed to snag such a tidy sale with little effort.

Alice is positively beaming beside me and keeps offering to pay or go halves, but I bat away her suggestions, as I can afford the suit and am happy to buy it. I just can’t believe which suit I’ve ended up getting.

Because this isn’t the first time I’ve had my eye on a brown tweed suit, but the first time I tried to buy it, I was thwarted at the get-go. I should’ve read the signs when they were there, but I was too wrapped up in the moment to consider the alarm bells—or, more likely, being deafened by the wedding bells.

It’s always proclaimed as the bride’s day, her chance to shine, to live out any childhood dreams of princess dresses, tiaras, and horse-drawn carriages. No one ever considers that the groom might have visions of what he wants to wear on his wedding day, that, when he’s been suit shopping, he’s always pondered what he’d like to get married in.

Mine was always a three-piece brown tweed suit.

It caught my eye when I was shopping for a friend’s wedding years ago, the different flecks of colouring embedded amongst the tweed, the old-fashioned yet sophisticated style that was ultimately timeless. But I’d been under strict instructions for my mate’s wedding that the colour theme was dark grey. It didn’t stop me from imagining myself wearing the brown tweed suit when I got married.

And I never forgot the suit, even when I hit thirty and popped the question. Pippa said yes, and I knew it was the suit I was going to get married in. I hadn’t realised how long it took to plan a wedding. We spent endless months at wedding fairs and visiting possible venues before Pippa finally decided on where she wanted us to get married. The place had an eighteen-month waiting list, though, which annoyed her, but I said it would give us plenty of time to sort out everything else.

During that time, we never discussed my suit until finally we went shopping, and Pippa quickly shot down any ideas I might have had about what I was going to wear to our wedding.

“But the bridesmaids are going to be in duck-egg blue,” Pippa chirped as we battled it out in the suit shop. “So I think the groom needs to be in light grey, wouldn’t you agree?”

She’d turned to the ageing sales assistant, a man in a chequered suit who looked like he’d dealt with enough fussy brides to know when to keep his mouth shut. Both he and I knew that if the bridesmaids were going to be wearing duck-egg blue, then the groom should be in navy, but who were we to correct the blushing bride, because, after all, it’s “her” day.

So I stood there being measured and fitted into the most hideous light grey suit I could’ve imagined that drained my colouring and did nothing for my blond hair. But Pippa was happy. And wasn’t that what it was all about? Just as long as she was happy.

I should’ve known. Should’ve called the whole thing off there and then. But I didn’t, and look how it all turned out.

Looking at Alice in the gold dress as she’d stood in front of the mirror, positively glowing, I knew exactly which suit would go perfectly with it: the one I’d always intended to get married in.

It’s funny how life sometimes gives you what you want at what you think is completely the wrong time. I’m trying to tell myself it isn’t a sign. That it isn’t life trying to steer me into something that’ll probably lead to more heartbreak. Because that’s the only thing at the end of this. Heartbreak.

And mine has barely put itself back together.

21

Alice

Owen is quiet when we leave the shop, more so than normal. It’s almost as if his face is silent… his body, his aura. It’s as if he’s wrapped himself up in his thoughts, and no one can get to him. I leave him in his stillness as we make our way back through the garden and over to the car park.

“Here’s to a successful shopping trip,” I say as we near our cars.

He smiles slightly and squints at the sun.

“Got time for a coffee?” I ask, because everything feels very awkward all of a sudden, and I don’t know why. The shopping had been good. Owen opened up to me, and I felt as if we were finally getting to know each other outside of Kitchen City. But since buying the suit, his shutters have come down and he’s retreated into himself.

I just have no idea why. He loves clothes. He looked amazing in that suit. I wondered if it was the money. I kept offering to pay, but he wouldn’t let me. Is his social battery running on low, or is he feeling unwell? What’s got into him?

Owen checks his watch. “I have to get back for Paul.”

“Oh, sure thing. Don’t want puddles on the floor.” I laugh, but it sounds strained. I want nothing more than to ask him what’s wrong, but I don’t want to box him into a corner when he already looks caged.