2. Casey, London

Ilean against a department store pillar and check my work emails while Eva drums her glossy, manicured nails on the shelf of a display unit.

‘I can't decide,' Eva says to Dante, the wedding planner. ‘I love the decanter, but we'd probably get more use out of the glasses. We should use our gifts, right?'

‘Oh, absolutely,' Dante says. I glance up from my phone as Dante picks up a tumbler, carefully turns it and says, ‘And these are gorgeous. Look at the detail in the crystal.'

‘Hmm,' Eva says, tapping a fingertip against her bottom lip. ‘But that decanter…'

This back-and-forth has lasted for at least five minutes and if I'm ever going to get back to work today, it needs to end. ‘What the fuck are we going to use a decanter for, Eva?' I say.

Dante clears their throat and replaces the glass.

Eva slowly turns to face me, a faint scowl marking her brow. ‘It would be a wedding gift, Casey. Something nice to have. It's a Louis the Thirteenth from France.'

I smirk at the retort that's popped into my head and can't resist voicing it. ‘Well, I hope he blew the fucking glass himself for that price.'

Eva's scowl deepens. ‘Do you have to swear in the middle of Selfridges?' Her plummy accent has suddenly become more pronounced.

I narrow my eyes at her. She knows I hate the little digs that serve as a reminder she's a step above me in the society food chain – or thinks she is. But then I check myself; maybe I'm overreacting. I have been a mardy cow today. I give a conciliatory sigh and push myself off the pillar. ‘Sorry. Work is full-on at the minute. My head's a mess. Do you want the decanter?'

‘Not if you don't,' she says with exasperation and shifts her attention back to Dante. ‘We'll go for the glasses.'

My eyes widen when I clock the price tag of said glasses. ‘They're over two thousand quid!'

Eva turns back to me, one dark eyebrow raised. ‘They're Waterford crystal. What do you expect?'

‘I expect our wedding guests to have affordable options.' I soften my tone. ‘You know my friends and family can't afford anything like that, and even if they could I wouldn't want them to spend it.'

She sniffs. ‘Well, these will be the gifts for my guests to buy then. If I can't have the decanter, I want the glasses.'

Dante's eyes dart between us, finger poised over their iPad. ‘We're going for the glasses?'

I stare at Eva, dumbfounded that she can be so dismissive of my concerns. I shake my head and return to my emails. ‘I guess.'

‘Do you want this cutlery set on the gift registry?' Eva asks me.

‘Sure,' I say, typing out a reply to an email on my phone.

‘Casey! Will you please stop working. This is important.'

I hit send, slip my phone into my trouser pocket and peer down at gold-plated stainless-steel cutlery. ‘Isn't normal stainless steel good enough?'

Eva places her hands on her hips, green eyes blazing, while Dante glances around the shop floor awkwardly.

‘I'll take that look as a no,' I say. ‘Then, yes. Put them on. They're nice.' An image forms in my head of the two of us years from now, sitting across from each other, eating with our gold cutlery, silent and miserable, and a heaviness lodges in my chest.

‘Gold-plated cutlery…' Dante murmurs as they tap their screen. ‘Splendid. That's the gift list done.' They slip the iPad into a leather satchel. ‘I've got to dash to another client, sweetie, but we'll catch up on the weekend to go over the menu and table settings.'

‘Thanks, Dante,' Eva coos. ‘Oh, does that homewares company still want us to do a paid partnership on Insta for the reception?'

I inwardly groan at the idea of our wedding being splashed all over Instagram. I only agreed to it because the reception is going to be in the art gallery where I work. Not only did I love the idea of being surrounded by art while we ate and danced, I thought it would be a good opportunity for gallery exposure.

‘I think so,' Dante says. ‘I'll confirm tomorrow. See you both soon.' They kiss Eva, then me on both cheeks and scurry off through the maze that is the lower ground floor.

Eva shoots me a glare, snatches up her handbag and struts off, her short dress swaying.

‘Eva, wait,' I say. ‘Why are you storming off?'

‘Oh, let's see…' The low heels of her strappy summer sandals click on the hard floor. ‘Maybe because I'm organising this entire wedding myself.'

Because you wanted to get married. The thought bursts into my head, but thankfully I'm a think-before-you-speak kind of person. ‘I'm here, aren't I?'

‘Physically, yes. But you argue every point and then leave it all up to me. We're getting married in seven weeks and you don't even have a wedding outfit!'

I shrug. ‘I'm wearing a suit. I have a wardrobe full of them.'

She steps onto the ascending escalator and makes a face at me. ‘You can't wear a work suit to your own wedding.'

‘Why not?' I hop onto the step behind her. ‘They're good quality, expensive suits.'

She grunts and throws her hands up.

‘Okay, okay. I'll buy a new suit.'

‘When?'

‘Um … at the weekend? I'll sort it with Jaz now so she can help me.' I pull out my phone and tap out a message.

Help me find a wedding outfit this weekend?

Three dots appear, followed by a string of eyeroll emojis.

‘Was that Jaz?' Eva asks. ‘What did she say?'

I slip the phone into my pocket. ‘Yeah. She's dead excited about it. We good now?'

We step off the escalator and Eva's face softens. I take her hand. The large solitaire diamond of her engagement ring shimmers under the downlights. ‘Besides, you're all over this wedding stuff, and you've got that side biz going on with your influencer thing. I'll just mess everything up.'

She pouts as she fiddles with my belt buckle. ‘Well, that's true, I suppose.'

I give her the sexy smile and sultry eyes that win her over every time.

She tuts but stretches up to kiss me. ‘You only get away with this because you're so hot, you know that?'

My smile widens; I absolutely know that.

‘Have lunch and a glass of champagne with me at the oyster bar?'

I raise my brows. ‘Champagne and oysters? I have to be back at work in half an hour. A sarnie and coffee will do.'

She huffs a defeated sigh. ‘Fine.'

We stroll into the bustling Selfridges Foodhall. It's noisy with chatter and customer exchanges, and the scent is coffee, sweetness and spice. We wander past counters brimming with luscious cakes and glossy pastries, deli meats and cheeses, and vibrant displays of fruits and vegetables. Eva stops at the chiller cabinet and I head for the small café by the exit to order a Reuben sandwich and a latte.

With my order in hand, I grab two free seats by the window overlooking Orchard Street and give Eva a wave. By the time she sits, I'm already biting into my sandwich and moaning as the warm, salty beef mingles with the tangy sauerkraut and nutty cheese. ‘These sarnies are the best,' I mumble through my mouthful.

Eva picks at her salmon buddha bowl. ‘Oysters and champagne would've been nicer.'

‘Nicer than a Reuben? Are you for real?' I take another huge bite.

She rolls her eyes, jabbing her fork through a piece of salmon, and I gaze at the flurry of pedestrians passing by while I chew. A woman with honey-coloured hair falling loose around her shoulders stops in front of the window. Nostalgia washes over me as I scan her body, take in her clothing, the way she moves, searching for something familiar.

‘What are you thinking about?' Eva asks.

I take another bite and home in on the woman's face.

‘Casey!'

I twist in my seat and gulp down my mouthful. ‘Sorry. Work. I was thinking about work.'

Eva sips her sparkling water and eyes me thoughtfully. ‘You work too hard.'

‘That's because I'm curating exhibitions in two countries.'

‘Well,' she says, running her hand up my thigh. ‘There will be zero working when we're on our honeymoon.'

‘None?' I say, only half-joking.

She leans closer with a coquettish smile. ‘None. Because we'll be too busy doing honeymoon things.'

I lick a drop of Reuben sauce from the crust. ‘Drinking cocktails and smoking loads of weed?'

She sits back and scrunches her face. ‘You are not taking weed to Bora Bora.' She resumes the flirty smile. ‘I meant other honeymoon things.'

I swallow the last bite and wipe my hands on a napkin. ‘We shaggin' every minute of every day for two solid weeks? We can do that in our flat here.'

She huffs and fixes me with a deadpan expression. ‘Yes, we're shagging every minute of every day for two solid weeks. That's what newly married couples do. And they do it in a location that's not their home.'

I grin. ‘You're so easy to wind up. Okay. No weed and no working on honeymoon. But it goes both ways – no constant social media updates either.'

‘Babe. Influencers don't get paid holiday leave. My job is twenty-four seven.' She clicks her fingers rapidly as though that correlates with the pace of her online presence. ‘I'm always on the pulse.'

‘I'm sure you won't lose all your followers if you don't post for a few days.' I finish my coffee and glance at my watch. ‘I really need to go. See you at home tonight, yeah?' I lean forward to kiss her goodbye, but she places a hand against my chest.

‘No, not at home. We've got the cake tasting, remember?'

I groan. ‘Fuck, Eva. I've got to finish a funding application today. I probably won't even leave work until seven.'

‘I know. That's why I made it for seven-thirty and in Soho, so it's close to the gallery.'

My shoulders slump. ‘I'll be exhausted and hungry and I don't want cake for dinner.'

She pouts and walks her fingertips up the inside of my thigh, stopping a centimetre from my crotch. ‘It won't take long. I've already narrowed it down to seven cakes, and then we can go home and' – her eyes flick downward then back up to my face – ‘have an early night.'

I clear my throat and peer about, my face warm. ‘Fine. Text me the address. I really need to go.'

‘Go on, then. I have to get home to do a live feed of some new make-up I'm trialling.'

I give her a quick peck and exit the heavy glass doors, waving at her through the window as I pass, but she's busy snapping a photo of a new gold bracelet that appeared on her wrist this morning. I merge with the throng of people heading towards Oxford Street. It's mid-August and the crowds are lapping up the warm weather in their T-shirts, shorts and summer dresses as they amble along the wide footpaths and stroll in and out of shops. I jump on the number 139 bus and pull out my phone to message Jaz.

Wedding doing my head in.

Not only is Jaz my best mate, she's the only person I've been honest with regarding my conflicting feelings about Eva and marriage. Feelings that began as a tiny spark of uncertainty a few months ago, but as the date has drawn closer, have quickly gathered oxygen and ignited a fire that's hard to ignore.

Eva and I had only been going out a year and living together for a month when she proposed at our housewarming party. And because Eva always needs an audience, she popped the question in front of the forty people spilling out from our kitchen into the tiny garden and live streamed it to her 100,000 Instagram followers. It was a mild May evening, and I had a nice buzz from hours of drinking. I was in the garden chatting with friends when Eva appeared in front of me, her olive skin flushed from the champagne.

‘Hello,' she said, slipping her arms around my waist and kissing me.

I let our mouths linger before asking, ‘Having fun?'

‘Mmhmm.' She swayed a little as she gazed up at me. ‘I really love you.'

I kissed her again. ‘Love you, too.'

‘We get on well living together, don't you think?'

My mind quickly recalled the two barneys we'd had since we'd moved in, but it had mostly been good, so I said, ‘It's only been a month, but yeah, we do.'

‘It feels right, though, doesn't it?' Eva loosened her grip on my waist and reached for my free hand.

‘You okay?' I asked. ‘Are you drunk?'

‘A little bit…' She glanced at her friend Leila and gave a quick nod. Leila held her phone up, directing it at us.

My eyes darted between them, suddenly very sober.

‘Casey, the year we spent together' – Eva's voice rose and a hush fell among our guests – ‘before moving in together was one of my best.'

I sought out Jaz and spotted her by the kitchen door, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. When she caught my eye, she mouthed, ‘What the fuck?'

Eva looked up at me, eyebrows raised expectantly.

I took a swig of lager before I replied. ‘Um…good. It's been fun. I mean, it's been a good year for me, too.'

She beamed. ‘I didn't think we could get better, but waking up beside you every morning has made me love you more.'

The arguments, I wanted to say, what about the arguments?

Eva dropped to one knee and a collective gasp rippled around the garden while panic rippled through my body. ‘Marry me? I don't have a ring because you're not a ring person, but if you want one…'

My mouth opened and closed but no words emerged. The romantic garden decorations suddenly made sense – fairy lights, torch lanterns, glittery champagne flutes. I became aware of the piercing silence and Leila still pointing her phone at us. I helped Eva stand and whispered in her ear, ‘Is Leila recording this?'

‘I'm live streaming it,' she whispered back.

I stared at her, hoping the shock wasn't splashed all over my face. Her eyes flashed with panic, her cheeks grew red, and I crumbled. I forced a huge grin and said, ‘Of course I will.'

Eva squealed and threw her arms around me. The party erupted with cheers and whoops and the pop of champagne bottles. From the back door, Jaz winced at me, but who could say no in that situation? The following day, Eva was so caught up in the romance of it all that she swept me along with her, suggesting we hold the wedding reception at an art gallery – just for me – and I told myself that maybe it wasn't all bad. We loved each other, so why not?

The days became weeks and weeks became months, and now here I am, getting married in seven weeks, a permanent knot in my gut and the thought of admitting that maybe, just maybe, I should've said no, makes my throat seize. Because, what do I say without destroying her? Sorry, Eva, I didn't want to upset you on the night because I love you and getting married is important to you, but it's not important to me, and I should've said no and I'm sorry I didn't, but let's call off the wedding and see if we can still have a relationship.

No, that won't do. I shake my head, disappointed in myself, and jump up ready for my stop. I hop off the bus and head along Regent Street until I reach the side street that houses my gallery. My phone pings with a reply from Jaz.

It's getting serious now mate. We need to debrief. Meet you Friday after work. Put on your dancing shoes.